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ARTES
LIBRARY
1837
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
S & PLURIOUS WHUN
TUEBOR
SI-QUERIS-PENINSULAMAMⱭNAM
CIRCUMSPICE
AVAJA JAJAGA JAJADAYAN
GIFT OF
REGENT LLHUBBARD
:
9.
Hubbard
Imag. Voy.
PR
3721-
•F26
8.2
cep. 3

Pimm Sculpt
Quivis fperet idem. Hor
The
Poetical Works
the Rev: D:S
D.S. P.D.
1734
Containing the AUTHOR'S
POETICAL WORK S.
DUBLIN'
Printed by and for GEORGE FAULKNER, Printer
and Bookfeller, in Effex-Street, oppofite to the
Bridge. MDCC XXXV.
Res
Regent L. L. Zuttard,
9-28-1924
TH
Advertiſement.
HE firft Collection of this Author's Writings
were published near thirty Years ago, under
the Title of Mifcellanies in Verfe and Profe. Several
Years after, there appeared three Volumes of Mif-
cellanies, with a Preface to the first, figned J. Swift
and A. Pope. In these the Verfes, with great Ad-
ditions, were printed in a Volume by themselves.
But in each Volume were mixed many Poems and
Treatifes, writ by the fuppofed Author's Friends,
which we have laid afide; our Intention being only
to publish the Works of one Writer. The following
Poetical Volume is enlarged by above a third Part,
which was never collected before, although fome of
them were occafionally printed in London in fingle
Sheets. The reft were procured from the ſuppoſed
Author's Friends, who at their earnest Requeft
were permitted to take Copies.
The following Poems chiefly confift either of Hu-
mour or Satyr, and very often of both together.
What Merit they may have, we confess ourselves to
be no Fudges of in the leaft; but out of due Regard
to a Writer, from whofe Works we hope to receive
fome Benefit, we cannot conceal what we have heard
from feveral Perfons of great Judgment; that the
Author never was known either in Verſe or Profe to
borrow any Thought, Simile, Epithet, or particular
Manner
ADVERTISEMENT.
Manner of Style; but whatever he writ, whether
good, bad, or indifferent, is an Original in itſelf.
Although we are very fenfible, that in fome of
the following Poems, the Ladies may reſent certain
fatyrical Touches against the mistaken Conduct in
Some of the fair Sex: And that, fome warm Per-
fons on the prevailing Side, may cenfure this Au-
thor, whoever he be, for not thinking in publick
Matters exactly like themſelves: Yet we have been
affured by feveral judicious and learned Gentlemen,
that what the Author bath here writ, on either of
those two Subjects, had no other Aim than to re-
form the Errors of both Sexes. If the Publick be
right in its Conjectures of the Author, nothing is
better known in London, than that while he had
Credit at the Court of Queen Anne, he employed
So much of it in favour of Whigs in both King-
doms, that the Ministry uſed to railly him as the
Advocate of that Party, for ſeveral of whom he
got Employments, and preferved others from lofing
what they had: Of which fome Inftances remain
even in this Kingdom. Befides, he then writ and
declared against the Pretender, with equal Zeal,
though not with equal Fury, as any of our modern
Whigs; of which Party he always profeffed himself
to be as to Politicks, as the Reader will find in
many Parts of his Works.
Our Intentions were to print the Poems accord-
ing to the Time they were writ in; but we could not
do it fo exactly as we defired, because we could ne-
ver get the leaft Satisfaction in that or many other
Circumftances from the fuppofed Author.
THE
!
THE
CONTENTS.
HE bumble Petition of Frances Harris.
TH
A Ballad in Lady Betty Berkeley.
Verfes wrote on a Lady's Ivory Table Book.
The Defcription of a Salamander.
On Mrs. Biddy Floyd.
Apollo outwitted.
Baucis and Philemon.
Vanbrug's Houſe.
Page 1
P. 9
P. II
P. 13
P. 16
P. 17
P. 21
P. 30
The Hiftory of Vanbrug's Houfe.
P. 36
A Defcription of a City Shower.
P. 39
A Defcription of the Morning.
P. 43
The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician's Rod.
P. 44
Atlas, or the Minister of State.
P. 48
Epigram
P. 50
Corinna.
Cadenus and Vaneffa.
P. 5 I
P. 53
The Fable of Midas.
Horace, Epiftle VII. Book I.
P. 93
The Faggot.
Horace, lib. 2. Sat. 6. Part of it imitated.
An Elegy on the fuppofed Death of Patrige? p. 114
the Almanack-Maker.
Phyllis; or the Progress of Love.
P. 120
Stella's
P. 97
P. 100
P. 108
CONTENTS.
Stella's Birth-Day, 1718.
Stella's Birth-Day, 1720.
The Progrefs of Poetry.
The Progrefs of Beauty.
P. 125
P. 126
P. 129
P. 131
An Elegy on Mr. Demar.
P. 137
To Stella, who collected his Poems.
P. 140
Upon the South-Sea Project.
P. 147
Stella's Birth-Day, 1722.
P. 159
Mary the Cook-Maid's Letter to Dr. Sheridan.
P. 163
Pethox the Great.
P. 167
Epilogue to a Play.
p. 172
Stella's Birth-Day, 1724.
Part of a Summer at the Houſe of George? p. 174
Rochfort, Efq;
Apollo to the Dean.
On Dreams.
P. 180
p. 185
P. 188
Dr. S. to Mr. Pope.
p. 190
Stella's Birth-Day, 1726-7.
P. 192
To Stella, vifiting me in my Sickness.
P. 196
On cutting down the old Thorn at Market-Hill.
p. 202
Joan cudgels Ned.
P. 207
The Run upon the Bankers.
P. 208
Stella at Wood-Park.
P. 212
A Receipt to restore Stella's Youth.
P. 217
To Quilca.
P. 220
A Paftoral Dialogue.
ibid.
The Journal of a modern Lady.
P. 224
The grand Question debated.
Horace, Book I. Ode XIV.
P. 238
P. 250
A Libel on Dr. Delany and Lord Carteret. p. 255
To Dr. Delany on the Libels writ against him. p. 265
An excellent new Ballad on a true Engliſh Dean.
The Place of the Damn'd.
P. 273
P 278
Whitfhed's
CONTENTS
Whitſhed's Motto on his Coach.
A Panegyrick on the Dn.
A Defcription of an Irish Feaft.
P. 279
P. 281
P. 295
Clever Tom Clinch going to be hanged.
On reading Dr. Young's Satyrs.
P. 298
P. 299
Verfes fent by Dr. Delany to Dr. S.
P. 302
The Answer.
P. 303
The Lady's Dreffing-Room.
P. 305
A beautiful Nymph going to Bed.
P. 312
Strephon and Chloe.
P. 316
A quibbling Elegy on Judge Boat.
P. 331
The Power of Time.
P. 334
Apollo, or a Problem folved.
ibid.
On burning a dull Poem.
P. 336
Caffinus and Peter, a tragical Elegy.
P. 337
The Author upon himself.
P-343
To the Earl of Oxford.
P.348
Wood an Infect.
A quiet Life and a good Name.
To the Earl of Peterborough.
Judas.
In Sickness.
An excellent Song on a feditious Pamphlet.
A Simile on the Want of Silver.
On Wood the Iron-Monger.
Advice to the Grub-Street Writers.
Defire and Poffeffion.
Lodge and Marble-Hill.
On five Ladies at Sots-Hole:
A Riddle.
Another.
The Gulph of all human Poffeffions.
Louifa to Strephon
Another.
On Cenfure.
P. 349
P.352
P.355
P. 356
P-358
P. 361
P. 363
P.365
P. 367
P. 369
A Paftoral Dialogue between Richmond-
} P-372
P. 378
P. 380
p. 382, 383, 384, 386, 388
P. 390
P. 395
P. 397
P. 398
!
To
CONTENTS.
To Botty the Grizette.
Death and Daphne.
Ori Mr. Py being put out of the Council.
Upon the horrid Plot discovered.
The Furniture of a Woman's Mind.
400
P 402
p. 406
P. 409
P. 413
On Stephen Duck the Thresher.
P. 416
Hardship put upon Ladies.
P. 417
To Mr. Gay on his being Steward to the
Duke of Queensberry.
On the B
S.
A Love Song in the modern Tafte.
On Poetry, a Rapfody.
}
ibid.
P. 426
P. 430
P. 433
The Dog and Thief.
The Revolution at Market-Hill.
To Janus on New Year's Day.
Drapier's Hill.
P. 457
P. 458
P. 464
P. 466
ned the Drapier's Printer.
Verfes on the upright Judge, who condem-y
On feeing Verfes written upon Windows.
$
P. 468
P. 459
On the Words Brother Proteftants and
Fellow Chriftians.
}
P. 471
Ad Amicum Eruditum Thomam Sheridan.
Carberia Rupes in Comitatu Corgagenfi?
apud Hybernicos.
P. 475
An English Tranflation of Carberie Rupes. p. 479
p.477
.
To
TO THEIR
*EXCELLENCIES
THE
LORDS JUSTICES
OF
IRELAND.
The humble Petition of Frances Harris,
Who must starve, and die a Maid if it mifcarries.
Written in the Year 1701.
Humbly fheweth,
T
HAT I went to warm myſelf in Lady
Betty's Chamber, becauſe I was cold;
And I had in a Purfe Seven Pounds,
Four Shillings and Six Pence, (be-
fides Farthings,) in Money and Gold;
* Earl of Berkeley, and the Earl of Galway,
VOL. II.
B
So
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 ſmall Stock,)
I keep in my Pocket, ty'd about my Middle, next
my Smock.
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 fafè
as my Maidenhead.
So, when I came up again, I found my Pocket feel
very light,
But when I fearch'd, and miſs'd my Purſe, Lord!
I thought, I ſhould have funk outright :
Lord! Madam, fays Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed,
faid I, never worſe :
But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done
with my Purfe!
Lord
Poems on feveral Occafions.
77
Lord help me, faid Mary, I never ſtirr'd out of this
Place:
Nay, faid I, I had it in Lady Betty's Chamber
that's a plain Cafe.
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 tumbl'd and tofs'd all Night, as you may very
well think;
But hardly ever fét my Eyes together, or flept 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
fwearing;
Then my Dame 5 Wadgar came, and ſhe, you
know, is thick of Hearing:
Dame,
† Earl of Berkeley's Valet. ★ The old deaf Hcufe-
Keeper.
ས
B 2
4
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know
what a Lofs I have had?
Nay, faid fhe, my Lord Collway's Folks are all
very fad;
For my Lord † Dromedary comes a Tueſday with-
out fail;
Pugh! faid I, but that's not the Buſineſs 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 ſuch
a Thing.
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 Gooseberries.
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.)
How-
Drogheda, who with the Primate were to
Clerk of the Kitchen.
* Galway.
fucceed the two Earls.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
5
However, I was refolv'd to bring the Diſcourſe fli-
ly about;
Mrs.
Dukes, faid I, here's an ugly Accident has
happen'd out:
'Tis not that I value the Money 5 three Skips of a
Loufe;
But the Thing I ftand upon is, the Credit of the
Houfe:
"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
thefe Ages.
Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every Body un-
derftands,
That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet Money can't go
without Hands.
The Devil take me, faid fhe (bleffing her ſelf,) if
ever I faw't!
So fhe roar'd like a Bedlam, as thof 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 be-
fore.
Well:
* A Servant, one of the Footmen's Wives. ¶ Ap ufual Sayı
ing of bers.
6
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Well: But then they would have had me gone to
the Cunning-Man :
No, faid I, 'tis the fame Thing, the Chaplain will
be here anon.
So the Chaplain came in. Now the Servants fay
he is my Sweet-heart,
Becauſe he's always in my Chamber, and I always
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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
7
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 twifted his Girdle at me like a Rope;
as who ſhould ſay,
Now you may go hang yourself for me; and for
went away.
Well; I thought, I fhould have fwoon'd: Lord,
faid I, what fhall I do?
I have loft my Money; and I fhall lofe my True-
love too.
*
So, my Lord call'd me; Harry, faid my Lord
don't cry,
I'll give fomething towards thy Lofs: And fays my
Lady, fo will I.
Oh! but ſaid I; what if after all, the Chaplain
won't come to?
For that, he faid, (an't pleaſe your Excellencies,)
I muſt petition You.
* 4 Cant Word of my Lord and Lady to Mrs. Harris.
THE
Sa
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THE Premiffes tenderly confider'd; I defire your
Excellencies Protection:
And that I may have a Share in next Sunday's Col-
lection:
And over and above, that I may have your Excel.
lencies Letter,
With an Order for the Chaplain aforefaid; or in-
ftead of him a better.
And then your poor Petitioner, both Night and Day,
Or the Chaplain (for 'tis his Trade,) as in Duty
bound, fhall ever pray.
Lady
Poems on feveral Occafions.
:a
Lady Betty Berkeley finding in the
Author's Room Jome Verfes unfi-
nished; underwrit a Stanza of her
own, with Raillery upon him, which
gave Occafion to this Ballad.
O
Written in the YEAR 1703.
To the Tune of the Cut-purfe.
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 Midft of a Verfe,
Becauſe he could find out noWord to come pat in,
Then all in the Place
He left a void Space;
And fo went to Bed in a defperate Cafe.
When behold, the next Morning a wonderful Riddle:
He found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the Middle.
Cho. Let cenfuring Criticks then think what they
lift on't,
Who would not write Verfes with fuch an Affiftant?
This
10
Poems on feveral Occafions,
IL
This put me the Friar into an Amazement ;
For he wifely confider'd it muſt be a Sprite,
That
came through the Key-Hole, and in at the
Cafement;
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 invifible Hand.
Then good Dr. S—
Pay thanks for the Gift,
For you freely muft own you were at a dead Lift:
And tho' fome malicious young Spirit did do't,
You may fee by the Hand it had no cloven Foot.
Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.
VERSES
Poems on feveral Occafions.
VERSES
Wrote on a
Lady's Ivory Table-Book,
Written in the YEAR 1706.
ERUSE my Leaves thro' ev'ry Part,
PER
And think thou feeft my Owner's Heart;
Scrawl'd o'er with Trifles thus; and quite
As hard, as feníeleſs, 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 Deom.)
There, (a fafe Way to use Perfume.)
Here, a Page fill'd with Billet-Doux ;
On t'other Side, (laid out for Shoes.)
(Madam,
12
Poems on feveral Occafions.
(Madam, I die without your Grace.)
(Item, for half a Yard of Lace.)
Who, that had Wit would 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 fittest Tool;
Of whom it may be juſtly ſaid,
He's a Gold Pencil tip'd with Lead.
*
THE
Poems on several Occafions.
13
THE
DESCRIPTION
OF A
SALAMANDER.
Out of Pliny's Nat. Hift. lib. 10. c. 67. & lib. 29. c. 4.
Written in the YEAR 1706.
A
S Maſtiff Dogs in modern Phraſe are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæfar;
As Pies and Daws are often ftyl'd
With Chriftian 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 will beft their Natures fuit.
The Lion, Eagle, Fox and Boar
Were Hero's Titles heretofore,
Beſtow'd as Hi'roglyficks fit
To fhew their Valour, Strength or Wit
For
14
Poems on feveral Occafions.
For what is understood by Fame
Befides the getting of a Name?
But e'er fince Men invented Guns,
A diff'rent Way their Fancy runs :
To paint a Hero, we enquire
For ſomething that will conquer Fire.
Would you defcribe Turenne or Trump,
Think of a Bucket, or a Pump.
Are theſe too low? -
then find out grander,
'Tis well:
But fince we live among
Call my Lord Cutts, a Salamander.
Detractors with an evil Tongue,
Who may object againſt the Term;
Pliny fhall prove what we affirm:
Pliny ſhall 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 fhining Train,
But loathfome Spots his Body ftain:
Out from fome Hole obfcure he flies,
When Rains defcend, and Tempefts rife,
Till the Sun clears the Air; and then
Crawls back, neglected, to his Den.
So
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
19
So when the War has rais'd a Storm;
I've ſeen 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 General, Peer, and Beau;
Till Peace hath made the Sky ferene,
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 extreamly 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 Luft, or both,)
Of Matter purulent and white,
Which happening on the Skin to light,
And there corrupting to a Wound,
Spreads Leprofy and Baldneſs round,
So have I feen a batter'd Beau,
By Age and Claps grown cold as Snow,
}
Whofe
1
16
Poems on Several Occafions.
Whofe Breath, or Touch, where'er he came,
Blew out Love's Torch, or chill'd the Flame :
And ſhould fome Nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or fam'd Du Ruel,
Receive the Filth which he eje&s;
She foon would 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-ftander,
If this be not a Salamander?
ON
Mrs. BIDDY FLOYD.
WHEN
Written in the Year 1707.
HEN Cupid did his Grandfire Jove intreat
To form fome Beauty by a new Receipt;
Fove fent and found far in a Country Scene,
Truth, Innocence, Good-Nature, Look ferene:
From
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
From which Ingredients, firſt the dextrous 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 beſt Clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy Compofition Floyd.
APOLLO Outwitted.
To the Honourable Mrs. Finch, (fince
Countess of Winchelſea,) under the
Name of Ardelia.
P
Written in the Year 1707.
HOEBUS now fhort'ning every Shade,
Up to the Northern Tropick came,
And thence beheld a lovely Maid
Attending on a Royal Dame.
Q
THE
18
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 Apolic by his Looks,
And guefs'd his Buſineſs e'er he ſpoke.
1
He in the old Celeſtial Cant,
Confefs'd his Flame, and fwore by Styx,
Whate'er fhe would defire, to grant ;
But wife Ardelia knew his Tricks.
Ovid had warn'd her to beware
Of ftroling Gods, whoſe uſual Trade is,
Under Pretence of taking Air,
To pick up Sublunary Ladies.
How-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
19
Howe'er, ſhe gave no flat Denial,
As having Malice in her Heart;
And was refolv'd upon a Tryal,
To cheat the God in his own Art.
Hear my Requeſt, 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 Prayer
He wav'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,
Ga 2
Hi
20
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
He hop'd to find fome lucky Hour,
When on their Queen the Mufes wait;
But Pallas owns Ardelia's Power:
For Vows divine are kept by Fate.
Then full of Rage Apollo fpoke,
Deceitful Nymph! I fee thy Art;
And though I can't my Gift revoke,
I'll diſappoint its nobler Part.
Let ftubborn Pride poffefs thee long,
And be thou negligent of Fame;
With ev'ry Muſe to grace thy Song,
May'ſt thou defpife a Poet's Name.
Of modeft Poets thou be firft,
To filent Shades repeat thy Verfe,
Till Fame and Eccho almoſt burſt,
Yet hardly dare one Line rehearſe.
And laft, 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.
Baucis
Poems on feveral Occafions.
21
Baucis and Philemon.
Imitated from the Eighth Book of OVID.
Written about the YEAR 1708.
N ancient Times as Story tells,
IN
The Saints would often leave their Cells,
And ftrole about, but hide their Quality,
To try good People's Hofpitality.
Ir happen'd on a Winter Night,
(As Authors of the Legend write,)
Two Brother-Hermits, Saints by Trade,
Taking their Tour in Mafquerade,
Diſguis'd in tatter'd Habits, went
To a finall Village down in Kent;
Where, in the Strolers 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.
OUR
N7
N
Poems on feveral Occafins.
OUR wand'ring Saints in woful State,
Treated at this ungodly Rate,
Li
Having thro' all the Village paſt,
To a fmall Cottage came at laſt;
Where dwelt a good old honeft Ye'man,
Call'd in the Neighbourhood, Philemon.
Who kindly did the 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 Side
Cut out large Slices to be fry'd:
Then ſtep'd afide to fetch 'em Drink,
Fill'd a large Jug up to the Brink;
And faw it fairly twice go round ;
Yet (what was wonderful) they found
"Twas ftill repleniſh'd to the Top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a Drop.
The good old Couple was amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd:
For both were frighted to the Heart,
And juſt began to cry, — What art
art!
Then
Poems on feveral Occafions.
23
Then foftly turn'd afide to view,
Whether the Light 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 fit to live on Chriftian Ground,
They and their Houſes fhall be drown'd;
While you ſhall fee
ſhall ſee your Cottage riſe,
And grow a Church before your Eyes.
THEY fcarce had fpoke; when fair and ſoft,
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 hoift,
And there ftood faſten'd to a Joiſt;
But
$4
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
But with the Up-fide down, to fhow
Its Inclination for below:
In vain; for fome fuperior Force,
Apply'd at Bottom, ftops its Course;
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 roast,
A fudden Alteration feels,
Increas'd by new inteftine Wheels:
And what exalts the Wonder more,
The Number made the Motion flow'ṛ,
The Flyer which, tho't had Leaden Feet,
Turn'd round fo quick you ſcarce could fee't;
Now flacken'd by fome fecret Pow'r,
Can hardly move 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 up againſt the Steeple rear'd,
Became a Clock, and ftill adher'd:
LI
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
25
And ſtill its Love to Houshold Cares,
By a fhrill Voice at Noon declares ;
Warning the Cook-Maid not to burn
That roaſt Meat which it cannot turn.
THE groaning Chair was feen to crawl,
Like an huge Snail half up 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 Mott,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood;
Now feem'd to look abundance bettes,
Improv'd in Picture, Size, and Letter;
And high in Order plac'd deſcribe
The Heraldry of ev'ry Tribe.
A
36
Poems on several Occafions.
A BEDSTEAD of the antique Mode,
Compact of Timber many a Load;
Such as our Grandfires wont to uſe,
Was metamorphos'd into Pews;
Which ſtill their ancient Nature keep,
By lodging Folks difpos'd to fleep.
THE Cottage, by fuch Feats as thefe,
Grown to a Church by juft Degrees;
The Hermits then defire their Hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd moft.
Philemon having paus'd a while,
Return'd them Thanks in homely Style;
Then faid; My Houfe is grown fo fine,
Methinks I ftill would call it mine:
I'm old, and fain would live at Eaſe,
Make me the Parfon, if you pleafe.
HE fpoke, and preſently 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;´
Bul
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But being old, continu'd juſt
As thread-bare, and as full of Duft.
His Talk was now of Tythes and Dues:
Could ſmoke 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,
And thought whofe Sow had farrow'd laft:
Againſt Diffenters would repine,
And ſtood up firm for Right Divine z
Found his Head fill'd with many a Syſtem,
But Claffick Authors,-
he ne'er mift 'em,
THUS having furbiſh'd up a Parſon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their Farce on;
Inſtead of home-ſpun Coifs, were ſeen
Good Pinners edg'd with Colberteen ?
Her Petticoat transform'd apace,
Became black Sattin flounc'd with Lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down;
Twas Madam, in her Grogram Gown.
Phile-
28
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Philemon was in great Surprize,
And hardly could believe his Eyes;
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim;
And the admir'd as much at him,
THUS, happy in their Change of Life,
Were feveral Years the Man and Wife:
When on a Day, which prov'd their laft,
Difcourfing o'er old Stories paft;
They went by chance, amidft their Talk,
To the Church-yard, to fetch a Walk :
When Baucis haftily cry'd out,
My Dear, I ſee your Forehead ſprout!
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
now I cannot ſtir my Foot:
It feels as if 'twere taking Root.
DESCRIPTION would but tire my Mufe:
In short, they both were turn'd to Yews.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
20
OLD Goodman Dobfon, of the Green,
Remembers he the Trees has feen;
He'll talk of them from Noon to Night,
And goes with Folks to fhew the Sight;
On Sundays, after Evening Prayer,
He gathers all the Pariſh there;
Points out the Place of either Yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:
'Till once, a Parfon of our Town
To mend his Barn, cut Baucis down;
At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd,
How much the other Tree was griev'd;
Grew fcrubby, dy'd a-top, was ſtunted:
So, the next Parfon ftubb'd and burnt it.
VAN
30
Poems on Several Occafions.
VANBRUG's Houfe.
Built from the Ruins of Whitehall,
that was burnt:
Written in the Year 1708.
N Times of Old, when Time was young,
IN
And Poets their own Verfes fung,
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 it's diff'rent Pow'r;
Heroick Strains could build a Tow'r;
Sonnets, or Elegies to Chloris,
Might raiſe a Houfe about two Stories;
A Lyrick Ode would flate; a Catch
Would tile; an Epigram would thatch.
}
BUT
Poems on feveral Occafions.
31
M
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 ſhould they build as faft 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 the Wits the fpacious Air,
With Licence to build Caffles there:
And 'tis conceiv'd their old Pretence
To lodge in Garrets, comes from thence.
PREMISING thus in modern Way
The better Half we have to ſay;
Sing Mufe, the Houſe of Poet Van
In higher Strains than we began.
VAN, (for 'tis fit the Reader know it,)
Is both a Herald and a Poet;
No
32
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
No Wonder then, if nicely skill'd
In both Capacities to build.
As Herald, he can in a Day,
Repair a Houſe 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 reſtore,
To build by Verfe, as heretofore;
And make my Mufe the Architect;
What Palaces fhall we ere&t!
No longer ſhall forſaken Thames
Lament his old Whitehall in Flames:
A Pile fhall from its Aſhes rife,
Fit to invade, or prop the Skies.
JOVE fmil'd, and like a gentle God,
Confenting with his uſual Nod,
Told Van he knew his Talent beft,
And left the Choice to his own Breaſt.
So Van refolv'd to write a Farce;
But well perceiving Wit was ſcarce,
With Cunning that Defect ſupplies;
Takes a French Play as lawful Prize;
Steals
Poems on feveral Occafions.
33
Steals thence his Plot, and ev'ry Joke,
Not once fufpecting Jove would ſmoke ;
And (like a Wag) fat down to write,
Would whiſper to himſelf; A Bite.
Then from this motly mingl'd 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 beſt
To turn the Matter to a Jeſt :
Down from Olympus Top he flides,
Laughing as if he'd burſt his Sides;
Ay, thought the God, are thefe your Tricks?
Why then old Plays deferve old Bricks;
And fince you're fparing of your Stuff,
Your Building ſhall be ſmall enough.
He ſpake, 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:
A
}
VOL. II
D
And
}
34
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And firft the 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.
Two other Acts we may preſume
Were ſpent in building each a Room:
Thus far advanc'd, he made a Shift
To raiſe a Roof with A&t the Fift.
The Epilogue behind, did frame
A Place not decent here to name.
Now Poets from all Quarters ran
To fee the Houfe of Brother Van:
Look'd high and low, walk'd often round,
But no fuch Houfe was to be found:
One asks the Watermen hard by,
Where may
the Poct's Palace lie?
Another, of the Thames enquires,
If he has feen its gilded Spires?
N
At length they in the Rubbiſh ſpy
A Thing reſembling a Gooſe-Pye:
Thither
Poems on feveral Occafions:
食べ
​}
Thither in hafte the Poets throng,
And gaze in filent Wonder long;
Till one in Raptures thus began
To praiſe the Pile, and Buil der Ván.
THRICE happy Poet, who may trail
Thy Houſe about thee, like a Snail;
Or harneſs'd to a Nag, at Eaſe,
Take Journeys in it like a Chaife;
Or in a Boat, whene'er thou wilt,
Can't 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 Ille
May lodge within thy fpacious Pile.
Like Bacchus thou, as Poets feign,
Thy Mother burnt, art born again;
Born like a Phanix from the Flame,
But neither Bulk nor Shape the fame ;
As Animals of largeſt Size
Corrupt to Maggots, Worms, and Flies;
A Type of Modern Wit and Style,
The Rubbish of an ancient Pile.
D a
}
So
Poems on feveral Occafions.
So Chymifts boaft, they have a Pow'r
From the dead Afhes 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 paſt,
Which after they have overthrown,
They from its Ruins build their own.
THE
HISTORY
OF
VANBRUG'S HOUSE.
Written in the YEAR 1708.
HEN Mother Clud had rofe from Play;
WHI
And call'd to take the Cards away;
Van faw, but feem'd not to regard,
How Mifs pick'd ev'ry painted Card;
And bufy both with Hand and Eye,
Soon tear'd a Houſe two Stories high:
1
Van's
Poems on feveral Occafions.
37
Van's Genius, without Thought or Lecture,
Is hugely turn'd on Architecture:
He view'd the Edifice, and fmil'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 dabbling in their Clay;
He ftood behind a Stall to lurk,
And mark the Progrefs of their Work:
With true Delight obferv'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 ſo refolv'd a Houſe to build ;
A real Houfe, with Rooms and Stairs,
Five Times at leaſt as big as theirs,
Taller than Mifs'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 monftrous Pile,
That
38
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 firft it grew:
There all the little School-Boys run,
Envying to fee themſelves out-done.
FROM fuch deep Rudiments as thefe,
Van 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 apart,
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 might expect to fee next Year,
A Moufe-trap Man chief Engineer.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
39.
A
DESCRIPTION
OF A
CITY SHOWER.
C
Written in the YEAR 1712.
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 purſues her Tail no more.
Returning home at Night you find the Sink
Strike your offended Senfe with double Stink.
If you be wife, then go not far to dine,
You 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 ſeen ;
He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.
MEAN
40
Poems on feveral Occafions.
MEAN While theSouth, rifing with dabbled Wings,
A fable Cloud athwart the Welkin flings;
That fwill'd more Liquor than it could contain,
And like a Drunkard gives it up again.
Brisk Sufan whips her Linnen from the Rope,
While the first drizzling Show'r is born aflope :
Such is that ſprinkling which fome careleſs Quean
Flirts on you from her Mop; but not fo clean:
You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning, ftop
To rail; the finging, ftill whirls on her Mop.
Nor yet the Duft had ſhun'd th' unequal Strife,
But aided by the Wind, fought ftill for Life;
And wafted with its Foe by violent Guft,
'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which was
Duft.
Ah! where muft needy Poet feek for Aid,
When Duft and Rain at once his Coat invade ?
Sole Coat, where Duft cemented by the Rain
Erects the Nap, and leaves a cloudy Stain.
Now, in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down
Threat'ning with Deluge this devoted Town.
To
'Twas doubtful which was Sea, and which was Sky.
Garth Difp.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
41.
To Shops in Crouds the daggled Females fly,
Pretend to cheapen Goods; but nothing buy.
The Templer ſpruce, while ev'ry Spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet feems to call a Coach.
The tuck'd-up Sempftrefs walks with hafty Strides,
While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's Sides.
Here various Kinds by various Fortunes led,
Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed:
* Triumphant Tories, and defponding Whigs,
Forget their Feuds, and join to ſave their Wigs,
Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient fits,
While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Root 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 do,
Inftead of paying Chair-Men, run them thro')
Laocoon ftruck the Out-fide with his Spear,
And each imprifon'd Hero quak'd for Fear.
Now from all Parts the fwelling Kennels flow,
And bear their Trophies with them as they go :
* N. B. This was the first Year of the Ear! of Oxford's Mi-
niftry.
Filths
42
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Filths of all Hues and Odours, feem to tell
What Streets they fail'd from, by the Sight and
Smell.
They, as each Torrent drives with rapid Force
From Smithfield, or St. Pulchre's fhape their Courfe;
And in huge Confluent join at Snowhill Ridge,
Fall from the Conduit prone to Holbourn-Bridge.
*Sweepings from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts,
and Blood,
Drown'd Puppies, ftinking Sprats, all drench'd in
Mud,
Dead Cats, and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down
the Flood.
j
* Theſe three laft Lines were ietended againſt that li-
centious Manner of modern Poets, in making three Rhimes.
together, which they called Triplets; and the laſt of the
three, was two or fometimes more Syllables longer, called
an Alexandrian. Theſe Triplets and Alexandrians were brought
in by DRYDEN, and other Poets in the Reign of CHALES II.
They were the mere Effect of Hafte, Idleness, and want of
Money; and have been wholly avoided by the best Poets,
Since thefe Verfes were written.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
43
A Deſcription of the MORNING.
Nov
Written about the Year 1712.
OW hardly here and there a Hackney-
Coach.
Appearing, ſhow'd the ruddy Morn's Approach.
Now Betty from her Maſter's Bed had flown,
And foftly ſtole to diſcompofe her own.
The Slip-fhod 'Prentice from his Mafter's Door
Had par'd the Dirt, and ſprinkled 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-fweep.
Duns at his Lordship's Gate began to meet;
And Brick-duft Moll had ſcream'd thro' half a Street.
The Turn-key now his Flock returning fees,
Duly let out a-nights to ſteal for Fees.
The watchful Bailiffs take their filent Stands;
And School-Boys lag with Satchels in their Hands.
* To find old Nails.
THE
44
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THE
VIRTUES
X
O F
Sid Hamet the Magician's Rod.
Written in the Year 1712.
HE Rod was but a harmlefs Wand,
THE
While Mofes held it in his Hand;
But foon as e'er he laid it down,
"Twas a devouring Serpent grown.
OUR great Magician, Hamet Sid,
Reverfes what the Prophet did:
His Rod was honeft English Wood,
That fenfelefs in a Corner ftood,
Till metamorphos'd by his Grafp,
It grew an all-devouring Afp;
Would hiſs, and ſting, and roll and twiſt,
By the mere Virtue of his Fift:
Bus
}
Poems on feveral Occafions.
45
+
But when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the Figure of a Stick.
So to her Midnight Feafts 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 refumes
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:
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
45
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 juft a Type of Sid's,
Which o'er a British Senate's Lids
Could ſcatter 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 PLACE was faften'd to the Hook,
And many a Score of Gudgeons took;
Yet ſtill ſo happy was his Fate,
He caught his Fiſh, and fav'd his Bait.
SID's Brethren of the conj'ting Tribe
A Circle with their Rod deſcribe;
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 stood there to take them in.
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
49
But when th' enchanted Rod was broke,
They vaniſh'd in a ſtinking Smoke.
ACHILLES Scepter was of Wood,
Like Sid's, but nothing near fo good:
Though down from Anceſtors divine,
Tranfmitted to the Heroes Line,
Thence thro' a long Defcent of Kings,
Came an Heir-loom, as Homer fings:
Tho' this Deſcription looks fo big,
That Scepter was a fapleſs Twig;
Which, from the fatal Day, when firſt
It left the Foreft where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor Leaf, nor Fruit, nor Bloſſom bore.
Sid's Scepter, full of Juice, did fhoor
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
48.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
DEAR Sid, then why wer't thou ſo mad,
To break thy Rod like naughty Lad?
You ſhould have kifs'd it in your Diſtreſs,
And then return'd it to your Miftrefs;
Or made it a Newmarket Switch,
And not a Rod for thy own Breech.
But fince old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a Rod in P-si
ATLAS:
OR, THE
MINISTER of STATE.
TO THE
Lord Treaſurer OXFORD.
A
Written in the YEAR 1712.
TLAS, we read in antient Song,
Was fo exceeding tall and ftrong,
He bore the Skies upon his Back,
Juft as a Pedlar does his Pack:
But,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
49
But, as a Pedlar overpreſt,
Unloads upon a Stall to reft;
Or, when he can no longer ftand,
Defires a Friend to lend a Hand;
So Atlas, left the pond'rous Spheres
Should fink, and fall about his Ears;
Got Hercules to bear the Pile,
That he might fit and reſt a while.
YET Hercules was not fo ftrong,
Nor could have born it half fo long.
GREAT Stateſmen are in this Condition;
And Atlas is a Politician;
A premier Minifter of State;
Alcides one of fecond Rate.
Suppoſe then Atlas ne'er ſo wife,
Yet when the Weight of Kingdoms lies
Too long, upon his ſingle Shoulders,
Sink down he muft, or find Upholders.
E
EPI
50
1
Poems on feveral Occafions.
EPIGRAM.
A
Written in the YEAR 1712.
S Thomas was cudgel'd one Day by his Wife,
He took to the Street, and fled for his Life:
Tom's three deareft 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 Advice
But,
Tom is a Perfon of Honour fo nice,
Too wife to take Council, too proud to take
Warning,
That he ſent to all three a Challenge next Morn-
ing:
Three Duels he fought, thrice ventur'd his Life;
Went home, and was cudgel'd again by his Wife.
CORIN
Poems on feveral Occafions.
SA
CORINNA
Written in the YEAR 1712.
}
HIS Day, (the Year I dare not tell,)
TH
Apollo play'd the Midwife's Part,
Into the World Corinna fell,
And he endow'd her with his Art,
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 ſhall always fpeak 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 ſqual in Rhimes,
And all her Geftures were Lampoons,
E 2
At
52
Poems on feveral Occafions.
At fix Years old, the fubtle Jade
Stole to the Pantry-Door, and found
The Butler with my Lady's Maid ;
And you may fwear the Tale went round.
She made a Song, how little Miſs
Was kifs'd and flobber'd by a Lad:
And how when Mafter went to p —,
Miſs came, and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve a Poet, and Coquette;
Marries for Love, half Whore, half Wife,
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in Debt;
Turns Auth'refs, and is Curll's for Life.
CADENUS
(53)
CADENUS and VANESSA.
T
Written at Windſor, Anno 1713.
HE Shepherds and the Nymphs were
feen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen,
The Council for the Fair began,
Accufing that falſe Creature, Mani
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'r divine.
Now
54
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Now Love is dwindled to Intrigue,
And Marriage grown a Money-League.
Which Crimes aforefaid, (with her Leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Againſt our Sov'reign Lady's Peace,
Againſt the Statute in that Caſe :
Againſt her Dignity and Crown.
Then pray'd an Anſwer, and ſat 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 gentleft Heart would vex,
Laid all the Fault on t'other Sex.
That modern Love is no fuch Thing,
As what thoſe antient Poets fing;
A Fire celeſtial, chaſte, refin'd,
Conceiv'd and kindled in the Mind;
Which, having found an equal Flame,
Unites, and both become the fame;
In different Breafts together burn,
Together both to Aſhes turn.
But Women now feel no fuch Fire
And only know the grofs Defire:
Their
P
Poems on feveral Occafions.
55
Their Paffions move in lower Spheres,
Where-e'er Caprice or Folly fteers:
A Dog, a Parrot, or an Ape,
Or fome worſe Brute in human Shape,
Engroſs the Fancies of the Fair,
The few foft Moments they can ſpare,
From Vifits 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 every Trifle that employs
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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Hence we conclude, no Women's Hearts
Are won by Virtue, Wit, and Parts:
Nor are the Men of Senfe to blame,
For Breafts incapable of Flame;
The Fault muſt on the Nymphs be plac'd,
Grown fo corrupted in their Tafte.
THE Pleader having ſpoke his beſt,
Had Witneſs ready to atteſt;
Who fairly could on Oath depoſe,
When Queſtions on the Fact aroſe,
That ev'ry Article was true;
Nor further thofe Deponents knew:
Therefore he humbly would infiſt,
The Bill might be with Cofts difmift.
THE Caufe appear'd of fo much Weight,
That Venus, from her Judgment-Seat,
Defir'd them not to talk fo loud,
Elſe ſhe muſt interpofe a Cloud:
For if the Heav'nly Folk ſhould know
Theſe Pleadings in the Courts below,
That Mortals here difdain to love;
She ne'er could fhew her Face above:
For
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 Land and Sky;
Or elfe, fhut out from Heaven and Earth,
Fly to the Sea, my Place of Birth;
There live with daggl'd Mermaids pent,
And keep on Fiſh perpetual Lent.
BUT fince the Cafe appear'd ſo 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 ſhe might her Doubts propoſe
On all Emergencies that rofe.
The Mufes oft were ſeen to frówn;
The Graces half afham'd look down;
And 'twas obferv'd, there were but few,
Of either Sex, among the Crew,
Whom she or her Affeffors knew,
The Goddeſs foon began to fee
Things were not ripe for a Decree :
And
$8
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And faid, the muft confult her Books,
The Lovers Fleta's, Bractons, Cokes.
Firſt, to a dapper Clerk fhe beckon'd,
To turn to Ovid, Book the Second:
She then referr'd them to a Place
In Virgil (vide Dido's Cafe :)
As for Tibullus's Reports,
They never paſs'd for Law in Courts;
For Cowley's Briefs, and Pleas of Waller,
Still their Authority was fmaller.
THERE was on both Sides much to ſay;
She'd hear the Cauſe another Day;
And fo fhe did, and then a Third:
She heard it —————there she kept her Word;
But with Rejoinders and Replies,
Long Bills, and Anſwers, ſtuff'd with Lies;
Demur, Imparlance, and Effoign,
The Parties ne'er could Iffue join:
For Sixteen Years the Caufe was fpun,
And then ſtood where it first begun,
Now, gentle Clio, fing or ſay,
What Venus meant by this Delay,
The
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Goddeſs much perplex'd in Mind,
To fee her Empire thus declin'd;
When first this grand Debate aroſe
Above her Wiſdom to compoſe,
Conceiv'd a Project in her Head,
To work her Ends; which if it fped,
Wou'd fhew the Merits of the Caufe,
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
Thoſe Beauties in a Female Mind,
Which raiſe a Flame that will endure
For ever, uncorrupt and pure;
If 'tis with Reaſon they complain,
This Infant fhall reftore my Reign.
I'll fearch where ev'ry Virtue dwells,
From Courts inclufive, down to Cells,
+
1
What
60
Poems on feveral Occafions.
What Preachers talk, or Sages write;
Thefe I will gather and unite;
And reprefent them to Mankind
Collected in that Infant's Mind.
THIS faid, the plucks in Heav'ns high Bowers,
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 Cleanlineſs remains,
Incapable of outward. Stains;
From whence that Decency of Mind,
So lovely in the Female Kind;
Where not one careleſs Thought intrudes,
Leſs modeft than the Speech of Prudes :
Where never Bluſh was call'd in Aid;
That fpurious Virtue in a Maid;
A Virtue but at fecond-hand;
They bluſh becauſe they underſtand.
1
THE
*
Poems on feveral Occafions.
61
THE Graces next wou'd act their Part,
And fhew'd but little of their Art;
Their Work was half already done,
The Child with native Beauty ſhone;
The outward Form no Help requir'd:
Each breathing on her thrice, infpir'd
That gentle, foft, engaging Air,
Which, in old Times, adorn'd the Fair:
And ſaid, “Vaneſſa be the Name,
66
By which thou shalt be known to Fame:
"Vaneſſa, by the Gods enroll'd:
"Her Name on Earth-fhall not be told.
BUT ftill 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 ſhall ne'er be faid, a Child
So hopeful, has by me been ſpoil'd;
I have
Poems on feveral Occafions.
have enough befides to ſpare,
And give him wholly to your Care.
WISDOM's above fufpecting Wiles:
The Queen of Learning gravely fmiles;
Down from Olympus comes with Joy,
Miftakes Vanesa 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 Juftice, Truth and Fortitude ;
With Honour, which no Breath can ftain,
Which Malice muft 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;
She therefore, upon fecond Thought,
Infus'd, yet as it were by Stealth,
Some ſmall Regard for State and Wealth:
Of which, as fhe grew up, there ftay'd
A Tincture in the prudent Maid:
She
Poems on feveral Occafions.
63
子
​She manag'd her Eftate 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 Maſter ſhould be ſpoiled,)
Wou'd uſe 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 Breaſt would dart a Flame;
That ev'ry rich and lordly Swain
With Pride wou'd drag about her Chain ;
That Scholars fhould 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,
Offending Daughters oft' would hear
Vaneſſa's Praiſe
rung in their Ear:
Miſs Betty, when ſhe does a Fault,
Lets fall her Knife, or ſpills the Salt,
Will
64
.
Poems on feveral Occafions!
Will thus be by her Mother chid;
" "Tis what Vaneſſa never did.
Thus by the Nymphs and Swains ador'd,
My Pow'r ſhall be again reſtor'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 Helm, fhe knits her Brows,
And fir'd with Indignation vows,
To-morrow e'er the fetting Sun,
She'd all undo, that fhe had done.
BUT in the Poets we may find,
A wholfome 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 ſhe broke the Laws,
Muft yield her Foe the ftronger Cauſe;
"
A
Poems on feveral Occafions.
A Shame to one fo much ador'd
For Wiſdom at Jove's Council-Board,
Beſides, the fear'd, the Queen of Love
Wou'd meet with better Friends above:
And tho' ſhe muſt with Grief reflect,
To fee a mortal Virgin deck'd
With Graces hitherto unknown
To Female Breafts, except her own;
Yet fhe wou'd act as beſt became
A Goddeſs of unſpotted Fame:
She knew by Augury Divine,
Venus would fail in her Deſign:
She ſtudied well the Point, and found;
Her Foes Conclufions were not found,
From Premiffes erroneous brought,
And therefore the Deductions nought;
And must have contrary Effects
To what her treach'rous Foe expects..
IN proper Seafon Pallas meets
The Queen of Love, whom thus fhe greets:
(For Gods we are by Homer told,
Can in Celeftial Language (cold)
Perfidious Goddefs! but in vain
You form'd this Project in your Brain
VOL. II.
F
66
Poems on feveral Occafions.
A Project for thy Talents fit,
With much Deceit and little Wit:
Thou haft, as thou fhalt quickly fee,
Deceiv'd thy felf, inſtead 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 ſcorn to interpoſe;
But uſing neither Skill, nor Force,
Leave all Things to their nat'ral Courſe.
THE Goddeſs thus pronounc'd her Doom:
When, lo! Vaneſſa in her Bloom,
Advanc'd like Atalanta's Star,
But rarely feen, and feen from far :
In a new World with Caution ftept,
Watch'd all the Company fhe kept,
Well knowing from the Books ſhe read
What dang'rous Paths young Virgins tread:
Would
Poems on feveral Occafions.
61
Would feldom 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 iffu'd from Perfumers Shops,
A Croud of faſhionable Fops;
They ask'd her, how the lik'd the Play,
Then told the Tattle of the Day;
A Duel fought laft 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:
Laſt Night was fo extremely fine,
The Ladies walk'd till after Nine.
Then in foft Voice and Speech abfurd,
With Nonſenſe ev'ry ſecond Word,
With Fuftian from exploded Plays,
They celebrate her Beauty's Praife;
Run o'er their Cant of ftupid Lyes,
And tell the Murders of her Eyes.
F 2
WITH
68
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
WITH filent Scorn Vanesa fat,
Scarce lift'ning to their idle Chat;
Further than ſometimes by a Frown,
When they grew pert, to pull them down.
At laſt ſhe ſpitefully was bent.
To try their Wiſdom's full Extent;
And ſaid, the valu'd nothing lefs
Than Titles, Figure, Shape, and Drefs:
That Merit ſhould be chiefly plac'd
În Judgment, Knowledge, Wit, and Taſte ;
And thefe, the offer'd to difpute,
Alone diſtinguiſh'd Man from Brute :
That, prefent Times have no Pretence
To Virtue, in the nobleft Senfe,
By Greeks and Romans underſtood,
To perifh for our Country's Good.
She nam'd the antient Heroes round,
Explain'd for what they were renown'd:
Then ſpoke with Cenfure, or Applauſe,
Of foreign Cuſtoms, Rites, and Laws.
Thro' Nature, and thro' Art fhe rang'd,
And gracefully her Subject chang'd:
İn vain: Her Hearers had no Share
In all the ſpoke, except to ftare.
Their
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
69
Their Judgment was upon the Whole,
That Lady is the dulleft Soul-
Then tipt their Forehead in a Jeer,
As who ſhould ſay
ſhe wants it here;
She may be handíome, 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 Defhabille.
Their Clamour 'lighting from their Chairs,
Grew louder, all the Way up Stairs ;
At Entrance loudeft; where they found
The Room with Volumes litter'd round.
Vanessa held Montaigne, and read,
Whilft Mrs. Sufan 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 the thought;
Whe
70
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Whether the Red or Green were beſt,
And what they coft? Vaneſſa guefs'd,
As came into her Fancy firſt,
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 would 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.
Phyllis, 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 Vanela's Drefs;
That Gown was made for old Queen Befs.
Dear Madam, let me fet your Head:
Don't you intend to put on Red?
A Petticoat without a Hoop!
Sure, you are not afham'd to ſtoop;
With
Poems on Several Occafions.
71
With handfome Garters at your Knees,
No matter what a Fellow fees.
FILL'D with Difdain, with Rage inflam'd,
Both of her ſelf and Sex afham'd,
The Nymph ſtood filent out of Spite,
Nor would vouchſafe to ſet 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 moft;
But why proclaim her for a Toaſt?
A Baby Face, no Life, nor 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 would 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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Which ev'ry Girl at five Years old
Can do as foon as ſhe is told.
1
own, that out-of-faſhion Stuff
Becomes the Creature well enough.
The Girl might pafs, if we could get her
To know the World a little better.
(To know the World: A modern Phraſe,
For Vifits, Ombre, Balls and Plays.)
THUS, to the World's perpetual Shame,
The Queen of Beauty loſt her Aim.
Too late with Grief the understood,
Pallas had done more Harm than Good;
For great Examples are but yain,
Where Ignorance begets Difdain.
Both Sexes arm'd with Guilt and Spite,
Againſt Vaneſſa'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
}
73
Poems on feveral Occafions.
With Virtue, Knowledge, Tafte and Wit
She condefcended to admit :
With pleafing Arts fhe could reduce
Mens Talents to their proper Ufe;
And with Addrefs each Genius held
To that wherein it moſt excell'd;
Thus making others Wiſdom known,
Could pleaſe them, and improve her own,
A modeft Youth faid fomething new,
She plac'd it in the ſtrongeſt View.
All humble Worth ſhe ſtrove to raiſe;
Would not be prais'd, yet lov'd to praiſe,
The Learned met with free Approach,
Altho' they came not in a Coach,
Some Clergy too fhe would allow,
Nor quarrell'd at their aukward Bow;
But this was for Cadenus' Sake
A Gownman of a diff'rent Make;
Whom Pallas once Vanella's Tutor,
Had fix'd on for her Coadjutor.
BUT Cupid, full of Miſchief longs
To vidicate his Mother's Wrongs.
1
On
74
Poems on feveral Occafions.
On Pallas all Attempts are vain ;
One Way he knows to give her Pain;
Vows, on Vaneffa's Heart to take,
Due Vengeance for her Patron's Sake,
Thofe early Seeds by Venus fown,
In fpite of Pallas, now were grown;
And Cupid hop'd they wou'd improve
By Time, and ripen into Love,
The Boy made ufe 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 fome 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 cou'd forefee,
But not prevent the Fates Decree :
And human Caution tries in vain
To break that Adamantine Chain.
Vaneſſa, tho' by Pallas taught,
By Love invulnerable thought,
Search-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
75
Searching in Books for Wiſdom's Aid,
Was, in the very Search, betray'd.
CUPID, tho' all his Darts were loft,
Yet ſtill refolv'd to fpare no Coft;
He could not answer to his Fame
The Triumphs of that ſtubborn Dame;
A Nymph fo hard to be fubdu'd,
Who neither was Coquet nor Prude.
I find, faid he, ſhe wants a Doctor,
Both to adore her, and inftru&t her;
I'll give her what ſhe moſt admires;
Among thoſe venerable Sires.
Cadenus is a Subject fit,
Grown old in Politicks and Wit;
Carefs'd by Minifters 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;
Vaneſſa much efteem'd his Wit,
And
7.6
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And call'd for his Poetick Works;
Mean time the Boy in fecret Lurks,
And while the Book was in her Hand,
The Urchin from his private Stand
Took Aim, and ſhot with all his Strength
A Dart of fuch prodigious Length,
It pierc'd the feeble Volume thro',
And deep transfix'd her Bofom too.
Some Lines more moving than the reft,
Stuck to the Point that pierc'd her Breaſt ¿
And born directly to her Heart,
With Pains unknown encreas'd the Smart.
VANESSA, not in Years a Score,
Dreams of a Gown of forty-four;
Imaginary Charms can find,
In Eyes with Reading almoſt blind :
Cadenus now no more appears
Declin❜d in Health, advanc'd in Years
She fancies Mufick in his Tongue,
Nor further looks, but thinks him young.
What Mariner is not afraid
To venture in a Ship decay'd?
"
What
Poems on Several Occafions:
What Planter will attempt to yoke
A Sapling with a falling Oak?
As Years increaſe, fhe brighter fhines,
Cadenus with each Day declines,
And he muſt fall a Prey to Time,
While fhe continues in her Prime.
CADENUS, common Forms apart,
In every Scene had kept his Heart;
Had figh'd and languiſh'd, vow'd and writ,
For Paftime, or to fhew his Wit:
But Books, and Time, and State Affairs,
Had fpoil'd his faſhionable Airs;
He now cou'd praife, efteem, approve,
But underſtood not what was Love:
His Conduct might have made him ſtyl'd
A Father, and the Nymph his Child.
That innocent Delight he took
To ſee the Virgin mind her Book,
Was but the Maſter's fecret Joy
In School to hear the fineſt Boy.
Her Knowledge with her Fancy grew;
She hourly prefs'd for fomething new:
Ideas
78
Poems on feveral Occafions.
İdeas came into her Mind
So faft, his Leffons lagg'd behind:
She reafon'd, without plodding long;
Nor ever gave her Judgment wrong.
But now a fudden Change was wrought,
She minds no longer what he taught.
Cadenus was amaz'd to find
Such Marks of a diftracted Mind;
For tho' fhe feem'd to liften more
To all he spoke, than.e'er before;
He found her Thoughts would abſent range,
Yet guefs'd not whence could fpring the Change.
And firſt, he modeftly conjectures
His Pupil might be tir'd with Lectures;
Which help'd to mortify his Pride,
gave him not the Heart to chide :
Yet gave
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 hide her from the World fo long;
And in dull Studies to engage,
One of her tender Sex and Age:
That
Poems on feveral Occafions.
19
That ev'ry Nymph with Envy own'd,
How the might ſhine in the Grand-Monde:
And ev'ry Shepherd was undone
To fee her cloiſter'd like a Nun.
This was a vifionary Scheme,
He wak'd and found it but a Dream;
A Project far above his Skill,
For Nature muſt be Nature ſtill.
If he were bolder than became
A Scholar to a courtly Dame,
She might excuſe a Man of Letters;
Thus Tutors often treat their Betters.
And fince his Talk offenfive grew,
He came to take his laft Adieu.
VANESSA, fill'd with juft Diſdain,
Wou'd ſtill her Dignity maintain;
Inftructed 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 and Wrong,
Yet cou'd fuch Notions entertain
That all his Lectures were in vain?
She
80
Poems on Several Occafions.
She own'd the wand'ring of her Thoughts,
But he muſt anſwer for her Faults.
She well remember'd to her Coſt,
That all his Leffons were not loft.
Two Maxims ſhe could ftill produce,
And fad Experience taught their 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.
Now, faid the Nymph, to let
you fee
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 Árms:
Your Leffons found the weakeſt Part,
Aim'd at the Head, but reach'd the Heart.
CA-
Poems on several Occafions:
81
CADENUS felt within him rife
Shame, Difappointment, Guilt, Surprize.
He knew not how to reconcile
Such Language, with her uſual Style:
her Words were fo expreft,
And yet
He cou'd not hope the fpoke in jeft.
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 diſtinguiſhing her Face.
Much lefs could his declining Age,
Vaneſſa's callieft Thoughts engage:
And if her Youth Indifference met,
His Perfon muft Contempt beget.
Or, grant her Paffion be fincere,
How shall 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 Ufe
Of Wit, to flatter and feduce :
The Town wou'd fwear he had betray'd,
By Magick Spells, the harmlefs Maid;
VOL. II.
Ꮐ
And
81
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And ev'ry Beau wou'd have his Jokes,
That Scholars were like other Folks:
That when Platonick Flights are over,
The Tutor turns a mortal Lover:
So tender of the Young and Fair?
It fhew'd a true paternal Care:
Five Thouſand Guineas in her Purfe.
The Doctor might have fancy'd worfe.
HARDLY at length he Silence broke,
And faulter'd ev'ry Word he ſpoke:
Interpreting her Complaifance,
Juft as a Man fans Confequence.
She railly'd well, he always knew;
Her Manner now was fomething new;
And what he spoke was in an Air,
As ferious as a Tragick Play'r.
But thofe, who aim at Ridicule,
Shou'd fix upon fome certain Rule;
Which fairly hints they are in jeſt,
Elfe he muft álter his Proteft:
For, let a Man be ne'er fo wife,
He may be caught with fober Lies;
ब्द
Poems on feveral Occafions.
83
A Science, which he never taught,
And, to be free, was dearly bought:
For, take it in its proper Light,
'Tis just what Coxcombs call, a Bite.
BUT, not to dwell on Things minute;
Vaneſſa 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 the firft imbib'd;
What he had planted, now was grown;
His Virtues ſhe might call her own;
As he approves, as he diflikes,
Love or Contempt, her Fancy ftrikes.
Self Love, in Nature rooted faft,
Attends us firft, and leaves us laſt:
Why the likes him, admire not at her;
She loves her felf, and that's the Matter.
How was her Tutor wont to praiſe
The Genius's of ancient Days!
(Thofe Authors he fo oft had nam'd
For Learning, Wit, and Wifdora fam'd;)
Was ftruck with Love, Efteem and Awe,
For Perfons whom he never faw.
G 2
Sup-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Suppofe Cadenus flourish'd then,
He muſt adore fuch God-like Men.
If one ſhort Volume could compriſe
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 would for his Friendſhip ſtrive;
And come in Crowds to fee his Face:
And this ſhe takes to be her Cafe:
Cadenus anfwer'd 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 Syſtem, 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 diſpute.
This Topick, never touch'd before,
Difplay'd her Eloquence the more :
Her
Poems on feveral Occafions.
85
Her Knowledge, with fuch Pains acquir'd,
By this new Paffion grew infpir'd:
Thro' this ſhe inade all Objects paſs,
Which gave a Tincture o'er the Mafs:
As Rivers, tho' they bend and twine,
Still to the Sea their Courſe incline :
Or as Philofophers, who find
Some fav'rite Syſtem to their Mind;
In ev'ry Point to make it fit,
Will force all Nature to fubmit.
CADENUS, who could ne'er fufpect
His Leffons would 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
$6
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And oft' the Dancing-Maſter's Art
Climbs from the Toe to touch the Heart.
In Learning let a Nymph delight,
The Pedant gets a Miſtreſs by't.
Cadenus, to his Grief and Shame,
Cou'd fcarce oppofe Vaneſſa's Flame;
And tho' her Arguments were ftrong,
At leaſt could hardly with them wrong.
Howe'er it came, he could not tell,
But fure fhe never talk'd fo well,
His Pride began to interpofe;
Preferr'd before a Crowd of Beaux :
So bright a Nymph to come unfought,
Such Wonder by his Merit wrought:
'Tis Merit muft with her prevail,
He never knew her Judgment fail:
She noted all the ever read,
And had a moſt difcerning Head,
"Tis an old Maxim in the Schools,
That Flattery's the Food of Fools;
Yet now and then your Men of Wit
Will condefcend to take a Bit.
So when Cadenus could not hide,
He chofe to juſtify his Pride;
Con-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
87
Conftr'ing the Paffion ſhe had ſhown,
Much to her Praife, more to his own.
Nature in him had Merit plac'd;
In her, a moſt judicious Taſte.
Love, hitherto a tranfient Gueft,
Ne'er held Poffeffion of his Breaft;
So, long attending at the Gate,
Difdain'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 ſharp 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 laft,
When Love's Allurements long are paft;
Which gently warms, but cannot burn;
He gladly offers in return:
His want of Paffion will redeem,
With Gratitude, Refpect, Efteem:
With
8-8
Poems on feveral Occafions.
With that Devotion we beftow,
When Goddeſſes appear below.
1
WHILE thus Cadenus 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 think it ftrange,
If both ſhou'd now their Stations change,
The Nymph will have her Turn, to be
The Tutor; and the Pupil, he:
Tho' fhe already can diſcern,
Her Scholar is not apt to learn;
Or
Poems on feveral Occafions.
89
Or wants Capacity to reach
The Science the defigns to teach;
Wherein his Genius was below
The Skill of ev'ry common Beau;
Who, tho' he cannot fpell, is wife
Enough to read a Lady's Eyes;
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 laſt deſcends
To act with lefs Seraphick Ends;
Or, to compound the Bufinefs, whether
They temper Love and Books together ;
Muft never to Mankind be told,
Nor fhall the conſcious Muſe unfold.
MEAN time, the mournful Queen of Love
Led but a weary Life above.
She ventures now to leave the Skies,
Grown by Vaneſſa's Conduct wife;
For
90
Poems on feveral Occafions,
For tho' by one perverſe Event
Pallas had crofs'd her firft Intent;
Tho' her Defign was not obtain'd,
Yet had the much Experience gain'd;
And by the Project vainly try'd,
Cou'd better now the Caufe decide.
SHE gave due Notice, that both Parties,
* Coram Regina prox' die Martis,
Should 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 diſcover'd in her Face,
Refentments for her late Difgrace;
And, full of Anger, Shame, and Grief,
Directed them to mind their Brief;
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 cach Lawyer faid;
Gave her own Reaſons laft; and then
Decreed the Cauſe againſt the Men.
* Before the Queen on Tuesday next.
BUT,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
91
BUT, in a weighty Cafe like this,
To fhew ſhe did not judge amifs,
Which evil Tongues might elfe report:
She made a Speech in open Court;
Wherein ſhe grievouſly complains,
"How ſhe was cheated by the Swains:
On whofe Petition, (humbly fhewing
That Women were not worth the wooing;
And that unleſs 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 cou'd one Lover find.
"She faw her Favour was mifplac'd;
"The Fellows had a wretched Tafte;
She needs must tell them to their Face,
They were a ftupid, fenfelefs 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 elſe, wou'd do't.
This
92
Poems on feveral Occafions.
"This might their mutual Fancy ſtrike,
Since ev'ry Being loves its Like.
"BUT now, repenting what was done,
"She left all Buſineſs to her Son:
* She puts
the World in his Poffeffion,
" And let him ufe it at Difcretion.
THE Cry'r was order'd to diſmiſs
The Court; who made his laft 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.
THE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
93
THE
FABLE of MIDAS
Written in the Year 1712.
IDAS, we ate in Story told,
M'D
Turn'd ev'ry Thing he touch't to Gold:
He chip't his Bread; the Pieces round
Glitter'd like Spangles on the Ground :
A Codling e'er it went his Lip in,
Would ſtrait become a Golden Pippin :
He call'd for Drink; you faw him ſup
Potable Gold in Golden Cup.
His empty Paunch that he might fill,
He fuck't his Vittels thro' a Quill;
Untouch'r it paſs't between his Grinders,
Or't had been happy for Gold-finders.
He cock't his Hat, you would have faid
Mambrino's Helm adorn'd his Head.
Whene'er he chanc'd his Hands to lay
On Magazines of Corn, or Hay,
Gold
Poems on several Occafions.
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, inſtead
Of paultry Provender and Bread:
Hence we are by wife Farmers told,
Old Hay is equal to old Gold;
And hence a Critick deep maintains,
We learn't to weigh our Gold by Grains.
THIS Fool had got a lucky Hit,
And People fancy'd he had Wit:
Two Gods their Skill in Mufick try'd,
And both chofe Midas to decide;
He againſt Phebus Harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's Oaten Reed:
The God of Wit to fhew his Grudge,
Clap't Affes Ears upon the Judge;
A goodly Pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide
AND now the Virtue of his Hands,
Was loft among Pactolus Sands,
Againſt whofe Torrent while he fwims,
The Golden Scurf peels off his Limbs:
Fame ſpreads the News, and People travel
From far, to gather golden Gravel;
Midas;
Poems on feveral Occafions.
95
Midas, expos'd to all their Jears,
Had loſt his Art, and kept his Ears.
THIS Tale inclines the gentle Reader,
To think upon a certain Leader;
To whom, from Midas down, defcends
That Virtue in the Fingers Ends:
What elſe by Perquifites are meant,
By Penfions, Bribes, and Three per Cent?
By Places and Commiſſions fold;
And turning Dung it felf to Gold?
By ſtarving in the Midft of Store,
As t'other Midas did before?
NONE e'er did modern Midas chufe
Subject or Patron of his Mufe,
But found him thus their Merit ſcan,
That Phebus muſt give Place to Pan:
He values not the Poet's Praiſe,
Nor will exchange his Plumbs for Bays:
To Pan alone, rich Mifers call,
And there's the Jeft, for Pan is ALL:
Here English Wits will be to feek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek,
BE-
96
on feveral Occafions.
Poems &
BESIDES, it plainly now appears,
Our Midas too has Affes Ears;
Where every Fool his Mouth applies,
And whiſpers in a Thouſand Lies;
Such grofs Deluſions could not paſs,
Thro' any Ears but of an Aſs.
BUT Gold defiles with frequent Touch;
There's nothing fouls the Hands fo much:
And Scholars give it for the Cauſe,
Of Britiſh Midas dirty Paws;
Which while the Senate itrove to fcower,
They wasn't away the Chymick Power.
While he his utmoſt Strength apply'd,
To fwim against this pop'lar Tide,
The golden Spoils flew off apace;
Here fell a Penfion, there a Place:
The Torrent, mercilefs, imbibes
Commiffions, Perquifites, and Bribes;
By their own Weight funk to the Bottom;
Much Good may do 'em, that have caught 'um.
And Midas now neglected ſtands,
With Alles Ears, and dirty Hands.
THE
Foems on feveral Occafions.
97
THE
FAGGO T.
Written in the Year 1713, when the QUEEN'S Mi-
nifters were quarrelling among themſelves.
O
BSERVE the dying Father fpeak:
Try Lads, can you this Bundle break ;
Then, bids the youngeſt of the Six,
Take up a well-bound Heap of Sticks.
They thought it was an old Man's Maggot;
And ſtrove by Turns to break the Faggot:
In vain: The complicated Wands
Were much too ſtrong for all their Hands.
See, faid the Sire, how foon 'tis done:
Then, took and broke them one by one.
So ftrong you'll be, in Friendſhip ty'd;
So quickly broke if you divide.
VOL. II.
H
Keep
98
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Keep cloſe then Boys, and never quarrel.
Here ends the Fable and the Moral.
THIS Tale may be apply'd in few Words
To Treaſurers, Controllers, Stewards,
And others, who in folemn Sort
Appear with flender Wands at Court:
Not firmly join'd to keep their Ground,
But laſhing one another round:
While, wife Men think they ought to fight
With Quarter-ſtaffs inſtead of White;
Or Conftable with Staff of Peace,
Should come and make the Clatt'ring ceaſe;
Which now diſturbs the Queen and Court,
And gives the Whigs and Rabble Sport.
IN Hiftory, we never found
'The Conful's * Fafces were unbound;
Thoſe Romans were too wife to think on't,
Except to laſh fome grand Delinquent.
How would they bluſh to hear it ſaid,
The Prætor broke the Conful's Head;
Or,
* A Bundle of Rods, or fmall Sticks, carried before the Con-
fuls at Rome.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
99
Or, Conful in his Purple Gown,
Came up, and knock't the Prator down.
COME Courtiers: Every Man his Stick:
* Lord-Treaſurer; for once be quick:
And, that they may the clofer cling,
Take your blue Ribbin for a String.
Come trimming 5 Harcourt; bring your Mace;
And ſqueeze it in, or quit your Place :
Diſpatch; or elſe that Raſcal † Northey,
Will undertake to do it for thee:
And, be affur'd, the Court will find him
Prepar'd to leap o'er Sticks, or bind 'em.
To make the Bundle ſtrong and ſafe,
Great Ormonde lend thy Gen'ral's Staff:
And, if the Crofter could be cramm'd in,
A Fig for Lechmere, King, and Hambden.
H 2
You'll
Robert Earl of Oxford.
Lord Chancellor. † Sir Ed-
ward Northey, Attorney-General, brought in by the Lord Hat-
court; yet very defirous of the Great Seal.
100
Poems on feveral Occafions.
You'll then defy the ſtrongeſt Whig,
With both his Hands to bend a Twig;
Though with united Strength they all pull,
From † Sommers down to ** Craigs and †† Walpole.
† Lord Sommers, who had been, at different Times, Lord
Chancellor and Prefident of the Council.
** Who bath ſince
been Secretary of State. The great Miniſter now in chief
Power.
HORA
A
C
CE,
EPISTLE VII. BOOK I.
Imitated, and addreffed to the Earl
of Oxford, in the Year 1713.
ARLEY, the Nation's great Support,
HARLEY, Support,
Returning home one Day from Court;
(His Mind with publick Cares poffeft,
All Europe's Bus'neſs in his Breaſt.)
:
r
1. Strennuus & fortis, caufifque Philippus agendis
Clarus, ab officiis o&tavam circiter horam
Dum redit.
Ob-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Iof
Obferv'd a Parfon near Whitehall,
Cheap'ning old Authors on a Stall.
The Prieſt was pretty well in Caſe,
And fhew'd fome Humour in his Face;
Look'd with an eaſy, careleſs Mien,
A perfect Stranger to the Spleen;
Of Size that might a Pulpit fill,
But more inclining to fit ftill.
My Lord, who (if a Man may ſay't)
Loves Miſchief better than his Meat,
Was now difpos'd to crack a Jeft;
And bid Friend Lewis go in queft;
(This Lewis is an arrant Shaver,
And very much in HARLEY'S Favour;)
In queft, who might this Parfon be;
What was his Name, of what Degree:
If poffible, to learn his Story;
And whether he were Whig, or Tory?
15
20
5
5.
-Confpexit, ut aiunt,
Adrafum quendam vacuâ tonforis in umbrá
Cultello proprios purgantem leniter ungues.
15. Demetri (puer hic non læve juſſa Philippi
Accipiebat) abi, quare, & refer: Unde domo, quis,
Cujus fortune, quo fit Patre, quove Patrono?
LEWIS,
102
Poems on feveral Occafions.
LEWIS his Patron's Humour knows,
Away upon his Errand goes;
And quickly did the Matter fift;
25
Found out that this was Dr. St:
A Clergyman of ſpecial Note,
For fhunning thoſe of his own Coat;
Which made his Brethren of the Gown,
Take Care betimes to run him down.
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;
3º
35
He hated Wharton like a Toad;
Had giv'n the Faction many a Wound,
And libell'd all the Junta round:
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;
23, 25. It, redit, & narrat, Volteium nomine Mænam,
31.
Tenui cenfu, fine crimine notum,
Et properare loco, & ceffare, & quærere, & uti,
Gaudentem.
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
103
And fince he could not ſpend his Fire,
He now intended to retire.
SAID Harley, I defire to know
From his own Mouth, if this be fo:
45
Step to the Doctor ftraight, and ſay,
I'd have him dine with me To-day.
50
St feem'd to wonder what he meant,
Nor would believe my Lord had fent;
So never offer'd once to ſtir;
But coldly faid, Your Servant, Sir.
Does he refuſe me? HARLEY cry'd.
55
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,
J
Where painted Monſters dangle out.
47. Scitari libet ex ipfo quodcunque refers. Dic
Ad cœnam veniat. Non fane credere Mæna;
Mirari fecum tacitus.
54. Benigne, Refpondet.
55. Negat ille mihi?
56.
-Negat improbus, & te
Negligit, aut borvet.
57.
Volteium mane Philippus,
Vilia vendentem tunicato fcruta popello,
Occupat, & falvere jubet prior.
бо
He
104
Poems on feveral Occafions.
He pull'd the String, and ftopt his Coach,
Beck'ning the Doctor to approach.
ST, who cou'd neither fly nor hide,
Came ſneaking to the Chariot Side,
And offer'd many a lame Excufe:
65
He never meant the leaſt Abuſe
My Lord-The Honour you defign'd
Extremely proud
·but I had din'd
I'm ſure I never fhou'd neglect
No Man alive has more Respect
66
79
Well, I ſhall 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
Difplays his Talent; fits till Ten;
Next Day invited, comes again:
Soon grows domeftick; feldom fails
Either at Morning, or at Meals:
Ille Philippo
65.
Excufare laborem.
71
·
Sic ignoviſſo putato
Me tibi, fi cœnas hodie mecum.
Poft nonam venies:
Ut libet. Ergo
74. Ut ventum ad coenam eft, dicenda, tacenda locutus,
Tandem dormitum dimittitur." Hic ubi fæpe
Occultum vifus decurrere pifcis ad hamum,
Mane cliens,
jam certus conviva;
75
Came
Poems on feveral Occafions,
105
Came early, and departed late :
In short, the Gudgeon took the Bait.
My Lord wou'd carry on the Jeft,
And down to Windfor takes his Gueſt.
St much admires the Place and Air,
And longs to be a Canon there;
In Summer, round the Park to ride,
In Winter
never to refide.
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 :
80
*$$
99
You need but croſs the Irish Seas,
To live in Plenty, Power, and Eafe.
Poor St departs; and, what is worſe,
With borrow'd Money in his Purfe;
Travels, at leaft, a Hundred Leagues;
95
And fuffers numberlefs Fatigues,
SUPPOSE him, now, a Dean compleat,
The
Demurely lolling in his Seat;
81.
Fubetur
Rura fuburbana indictis comes ire Latinis.
Impofitus mannis arvum cœlumque Sabinum
Non ceffat laudare.
87. lidet, vidétque Philippus.
106
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Silver Verge, with decent Pride,
Stuck underneath his Cuſhion Side.
Suppoſe him gone through all Vexations,
Patents, Inftalments, Abjurations,
Firft-Fruits and Tenths, and Chapter-Treats,
100
Dues, Payments, Fees, Demands, and -Cheats.
(The wicked Laity's contriving,
105
To hinder Clergymen from thriving)
Now all the Doctor's Money's fpent,
His Tenants wrong him in his Rent;
The Farmers, fpightfully combin'd,
Force him to take his Tythes in Kind;
And* Parvifol diſcounts Arrears,
By Bills, for Taxes and Repairs.
POOR St, with all his Loffes vext,
Not knowing where to turn him next:
Above a Thouſand 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:
107.
Oves furto, morbo periere capella ;
Spem mentita feges, hos eft enectus arando;
113. Offenfus damnis, mediâ de nocte caballur
Arripit, iratufque Philippi tendit ad ades.
*The Dean's Agent, a Frenchman,
{
i
110
115
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
107
}
But was fo dirty, pale, and thin,
Old † Read would hardly let him in.
SAID Harley, welcome Rev'rend Dean;
What makes your Worſhip look ſo lean?
Why ſure 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 your felf.
What? I fuppofe now Stocks are high,
You've fome good Purchaſe in your Eye;
Or is your Money out at Ufe?
Truce, good my Lord, I beg a Truce;
12Q
125
130
(The Doctor in a Paffion cry'd,)
Your Raillery is mifapply'd:
Experience I have dearly bought,
You know I am not worth a Groat :
But it's a Folly to conteft,
135
you
When refolve to have your Jeſt;
And
121. Quem fimul afpexit fcabrum intonfumque Philippus :
Durus, ait, Voltei, nimis attentufque videris
Effe mibi.
136 Quod te per Genium dextramque Deofque Penates
Obfecro, & obteftor; vite me redde priori.
The Lord Treaſurer's Porter.
108
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And fince you now have done your worſt,
Pray leave me where you found me first.
HORACE, Lib. 2. Sat. 6. Part
of it imitated.
I
Written about the YEAR 1713.
OFTEN wish'd that I had clear,
For Life, fix Hundred Pounds a Year;
A handſome Houſe to lodge a Friend;
A River at my Garden's End;
A Terras Walk, and half a Rood
Of Land, fet out to plant a Wood,
WELL: Now I have all this and more;
I ask not to encreaſe my Store;
t
And fhould be perfectly content,
Could I but live on this Side Trent ;
1. Hoc erat in votis: modus agri non ita magnus,
Hortus ubi, & tecto vicinus jugis aque fons,
Et paulum filve fuper his foret.
7.
Aullius atque
Di melius fecere.a
!
10
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
10g
Nor croſs the Channel twice a Year,
To ſpend fix Months with Statefmen here.
I MUST by all means come to Town,
"Tis for the Service of the Crown.
Lewis; the Dean will be of Ufe,
"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.
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,
green;
Chequer'd with Ribbons blue and
How should I thrust my felf between?
17. Sive aquilo radit terras, feu bruma nivalen
Interiore diem gyro trahit, ire neceffe eft.
35
jo
25
30
Some
110
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Some Wag obferves me thus perplex'd,
And ſmilling whiſpers to the next,
I thought the Dean had been too proud,
"To joftle here among a Crowd.
Another in a furly Fit,
Tells me, I have more Zeal than Wit,
"So eager to expreſs your Love,
"You ne'er confider whom you ſhove;
"But rudely preſs 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 would ſtand their Friend.
THIS, humbly offers me his Cafe:
That begs my Int'reft for a Place.
35. Quid vis infane, & quas res agis? improbus urget,
Iratis precibus, tu pulfes omne quod obftat,
Ad Mecanatem memori fi mente recurras,
Hoc juvat, & melli eft, non mentiar.
44.
Aliena negotia centum,
Per caput, & circa faliunt latus.
35
40
45
A
Poems on feveral Occafions.
A hundred other Men's Affairs
Like Bees are humming in my Ears:
"To-morrow my Appeal comes on,
gone
"Without your Help the Caufe is
The Duke expects my Lord and
About fome great Affair, at Two -
you,
"Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind,
"To
get my Warrant quickly fign'd
"Confider, 'tis my firſt Requeſt,
Be fatisfy'd, I'll do my beſt:
Then preſently he falls to teaze:
" You
You may
for certain, if you pleaſe;
"I doubt not, if his Lordſhip knew
"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,
50
55
60
65
And choſe me for an humble Friend;
Would take me in his Coach to chat.
And queſtion me of this and that;
As
60.
Si vis potes, addit & inftat.
63. Septimus octavo proprior jam fugerit annus,
Mecenas me cepit habere fuorum
Ex
quo
In numero; duntaxat ad hoc, quem tollere rhedâ,
Fellet iter faciens, & crui concedere nugas,
112
Poems on Several Occafion's
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 :
70
Or, "Have you nothing new To-day,
δε From Pope, from Parnel, or from Gay?
Such Tattle often entertains
My Lord and me as far as Stains:
As once a Week we travel down
To Windfor, and again to Town;
Where all that palles, inter nos,
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-Crofs.
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;
ff
My Lord and He are grown fo great,
Always together, tetê a tetê:
"What? They admire him for his Jokes
"See but the Fortune of fome Folks!
SI.
Invidia.
Subjectior in diem & horam,
75
80
85
THERE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
113
THERE flies about a ſtrange Report
Of fome Expreſs arriv'd at Court;
I'm ftopt by all the Fools I meet,
And catechiz'd in ev'ry Street.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the Great :
"Inform us, will the Emp'ror treat?
90
"Or do the Prints and Papers lye?
95
Faith, Sir, you know as much as I.
"Ah Doctor, how you love to jeft?
'Tis now no Secret-I proteft
'Tis one to me.-Then, tell us, pray
"When are the Troops to have their Pay?
And, though I folemnly declare
I know no more than my Lord-Mayor,
They ſtand amaz'd, and think me grown
The clofeft Mortal ever known.
THUS in a Sea of Folly toft,
My choiceft Hours of Life are loft;
VOL. II.
I
89. Frigidus à Roftris manat per compita rumor;
Quicunque obvius eft, me confulit.
101. Furantem me fcire nibil, mivantur, ut ununé
Scilicet egregii mortalem, altique filenti.
ΙΟΘ
105
Yet
114
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Yet always wishing to retreat:
Oh, could I ſee my Country Seat!
There leaning near a gentle Brook,
Sleep, or perufe fome antient Book;
And there, in fweet Oblivion, drown
Thofe Cares that haunt a Court and Town.
108. O Rus, quando ego te afpiciam, quandoque licebit,
Nunc veterum libris, nunc fomno, & inertibus horis,
Ducere follicita jucunda oblivia vite?
110
ΑΝ
E L EGY
On the fuppofed Death of
PARTRIGE the Almanack-maker.
WEL
Written in the YEAR 1708.
ELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has gueft,
Tho' we all took it for a Jeft:
Partrige is dead; nay more, he died
E'er he could prove the good 'Squire ly'd.
Strange,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
115
Strange, an Aftrologer ſhould 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,
Juft as if Partrige were not dead:
Nor hid himfelf behind the Moon,
To make a dreadful Night at Noon.
He at fit Periods walks through 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 'twist Cobbling and Aftrology:
How Partrige made his Opticks rife,
From a Shoe-Sole to reach the Skies.
A LIST the Coblers Temples ties,
To keep the Hair out of their Eyes;
From whence 'tis plain, the Diadem
That Princes wear, derives from them:
I 2
* Patrige was a Cobleṛ.
And
1
116
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And therefore Crowns are now a-days
Adorn'd with golden Stars and Rays:
Which clearly fhews the near Alliance,
"Twixt Cobbling and the Planets Science.
BESIDES; that flow-pac'd Sign Bootes,
As 'tis mifcall'd, we know not who 'tis?
But Partrige ended all Diſputes;
He knew his Trade, and call'd it † Boots.
THE borned Moon, which heretofore
Upon their Shoes the Romans wore,
Whoſe Wideneſs kept their Toes from Corns,
And whence we claim our Shooing-Horns;
Shews how the Art of Cobbling bears
A near Reſemblance to the Spheres.
(A
A SCRAP of Parchment hung by Geometry,
great Refinement in Barometry)
Can like the Stars foretel the Weather;
And what is Parchment elfe but Leather?
Which an Aftrologer might ufe,
Either for Almanacks or Shoes.
+ See his Almanack.
THUS
Poems on feveral Occafions.
117
THUS Partrige, 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 the Candle-Light;
So learned Partrige could as well
Creep in the Dark from Leathern Cell,
And in his Fancy fly as far,
To peep upon a twinkling Star.
BESIDES, he could confound the Spheres,
And fet the Planets by the Ears:
To fhew his Skill, he Mars could join
To Venus in Afpect Mali'n;
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 different Side:
One rofe a Star; the other fell
Beneath, and mended Shoes in Hell.
THUS
118
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THUS Partrige ſtill ſhines in each Art,
The Cobbling and Star gazing Part;
And is inftall'd as good a Star
As any of the Cæfars are.
TRIUMPHANT Star! fome Pity fhew
On Coblers militant below,
Whom roguish Boys in ftormy Nights
Torment, by piffing out their Lights;
Or thro' a Chink convey their Smoke,
Inclos'd Artificers to choke.
THOU, high-exalted in thy Sphere,
May'ſt follow ſtill thy Calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his Hide,
By Phabus newly tann'd and dry'd.
For thee they Argo's Hulk will tax,
And ſcrape her pitchy Sides for Wax.
Then, Ariadna kindly lends
Her braided Hair to make thee Ends.
The Point of Sagitarius' Dart
Turns to an Awl, by heavenly Art:
And Vulcan, wheedled by his Wife,
Will forge for thee a Paring-Knife,
For
Poems on feveral Occafions.
119
For want of Room, by Virgo's Side,
She'll ftrain a Point, and fit * aftride,
To take thee kindly in between,
And then the Signs will be Thirteen.
H
The EPITAPH.
ERE, five Feet deep, lies on his Back
A Cobler, Star-monger, and Quack;
Who to the Stars in pure Good-will,
Does to his best look upward still.
Weep all you Customers that ufe
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 fo much Virtue 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,
PHYL
* Tibi brachia contrabet ingens
Scorpius, &c.
120
Poems on Several Occafions.
PHYLLIS:
OR, THE
PROGRESS of Love.
D
Written in the YEAR 1710.
ESPONDING Phyllis was endu'd
With ev'ry Talent of a Prude:
She trembled when a Man drew near;
Salute her, and ſhe 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 dreſs her Head:
In Church you heard her, thro' the Crowd,
Repeat the Abfolution loud;
In Church, fecure behind her Fan,
She durft behold that Monſter, Man:
There
Poems on feveral Occafions.
痛
​121
There practis'd how to place her Head,
And bit her Lips, to make them red;
Or, on the Mat devoutly kneeling,
Wou'd lift her Eyes up to the Ceiling,
And heave her Bofom, unaware,
For neighb'ring Beaux to ſee it bare.
AT length, a lucky Lover came,
And found Admittance to the Dame,
Suppoſe all Parties now agreed,
The Writings drawn, the Lawyer fee'd,
The Vicar and the Ring befpoke:
Guefs, how could ſuch a Match be broke?
See then, what Mortals place their Blifs 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 skulk'd for Shame
Becauſe her Father us'd to fay,
The Girl bad fuch a bafhful Way.
Now John, the Butler, muſt be ſent,
To learn the Road that Phyllis went.
The
122
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Groom was wifh'd to faddle Crop;
For, John muſt neither light, nor ſtop.
But find her wherefoe'er fhe fled,
And bring her back, alive or dead.
SEE here again, the Dev'l 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 Toylet fees,
To my much honour'd Father
('Tis always done, Romances tell us,
Thefe.
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 Glafs had made her fee
A Serving-Man of low Degree.
"It was her Fate, muft be forgiven,
“For Marriages were made in Heaven:
"His
Poems on feveral Occafions.
123
"His Pardon begg'd; but, to be plain,
She'd do't if 'twere to do again.
"Thank God, 'twas neither Shame, nor Sin
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 fumm'd
up
all in,
"The Thing was done, and paft recalling;
And therefore hop'd fhe 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 Muſe,
Who now the wand'ring Pair purfues,
Away they rode in homely Sort,
Their Journey long, their Money ſhort;
The loving Couple well bemir'd;
The Horfe and both the Riders tir'd:
Their
124
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Their Victuals bad, their Lodging worſe;
Phyl cry'd, and John began to curſe;
Phyl wifh'd, that fhe had ftrain'd a Limb,
When firft fhe ventur'd out with him :
John wifh'd, that he had broke a Leg,
When firſt for her he quitted Peg.
BUT what Adventures more befel 'em,
The Muſe hath now no time to tell 'em.
How Johnny wheadled, threatned, fawn'd,
Till Phyllis all her Trinkets pawn'd;
How oft the broke her Marriage Vows,
In Kindneſs, to maintain her Spouſe,
Till Swains unwholfome fpoil'd the Trade;
For now the Surgeon muſt be paid,
To whom thoſe Perquifites are gone,
In Chriſtian Juſtice due to John.
WHEN Food and Rayment now grew fcarce,
Fate put a Period to the Farce,
And with exact poetick Juftice;
For, John is Landlord, Phyllis Hoſteſs:
They keep, at Staines, the old blue Boar,
Are Cat and Dog, and Rogue and Whore.
STEL
Poems on feveral Occafions.
123
STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY.
Written in the YEAR 1718.
TELLA this Day is Thirty-four,
STEL
(We ſhan't diſpute a Year or more :)
However Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy Size and Years are doubled,
Since firft I ſaw thee at Sixteen,
The brighteft Virgin on the Green.
So little is thy Form declin'd;
Made up fo largely in thy Mind.
OH, would it pleaſe the Gods, to ſplit
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit;
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 should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either Nymph might have her Swain,)
To ſplit my Worſhip too in twain.
STEL
126 Poems on Jeveral Occafions.
STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY.
A
Written in the Year 1720.
LL Travellers at firft incline
Where'er they fee the faire ft 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 though the Painting grows decay'd,
The Houfe will never lofe its Trade:
Nay, though 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 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
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
127
This drew us in at firſt, to find
În fuch a Form an Angel's Mind:
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 to fo fmall Expence :
Their Mind fo plentifully fills,
And makes fuch reafonable Bills;
So little gets for what ſhe gives,
We really wonder how the 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 ftop 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
128
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Your Inuendo'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 muſt print a furrow'd Trace
On ev'ry Feature of her Face;
Though you, and all your fenfeleſs Tribe,
Could Art, or Time, or Nature bribe,
To make you look like Beauty's Queen,
And hold for ever at Fifteen;
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.
THE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
izg
THE
Progrefs of POETRY.
Τ'
Written in the Year 1720.
HE Farmer's Goofe, who in the Stubble,
Has fed without Reſtraint, or Trouble;
Grown fat with Corn and fitting ſtill,
Can scarce get o'er the Barn-Door Sill:
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 muft be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren Common ftrays,
Hard Exerciſe, and harder Fare,
Soon make my Dame grow lank and ſpare :
Her Body light, ſhe tries her Wings,
And fcorns the Ground, and upward fprings,
VOL. II.
K
While
130
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 ſwill,
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 Pegafus could bear the Load,
Along the high celeſtial 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 Year's Coat fo fmooth and bare,
Through ev'ry Thread it lets in Air:
With
Poems on feveral Occafions.
73 £
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 Grub Street rings.
THE
Progrefs of BEAUTY
W
Written in the YEAR 1720.
HEN firft Diana leaves her Bed,
Vapours and Steams her Looks difgrace,
A frowzy dirty-colour'd Red
Sits on her cloudy wrinkled Face;
K 2
But,
13. 2
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But, by Degrees, when mounted high,
Her artificial Face appears
Down from her Window in the Sky,
Her Spots are gone, her Viſage clears.
"Twixt earthly Females and the Moon,
All Parallels exactly run;
If Celia ſhould appear too foon,
Alas, the Nymph would be undone!
To fee her from her Pillow rife,
All reeking in a cloudy Steam;
Crack'd Lips, foul Teeth, and gummy Eyes;
Poor Strephon, how would he blafpheme!
Three Colours, Black, and Red, and White.
So graceful in their proper Place,
Remove them to a different Light,
They form a frightful hideous Face.
For Inftance, when the Lilly skips
Into the Precincts of the Rofe,
And takes Poffeffion of the Lips,
Leaving the Purple to the Nofe.
So,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
133
So, Celia went entire to Bed,
All her Complexions fafe and found;
But, when the rofe, White, Black, and Red,
Tho' ſtill in fight, 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, after four important Hours,
Celia's the Wonder of her Sex:
Say, which among the heav'nly Powers.
Could caufe fuch marvellous Effects?
Fenus,
134
Poems on Several Occafions.
Venus, indulgent to her Kind,
Gave Women all their Hearts could wiſh,
When firſt ſhe taught them where to find
White Lead and Lufitanian Difh.
*
Love with white Lead cements his Wings;
White Lead was fent us to repair
Two brighteft, 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 bleſs our Sight;
When you are ſeen, be ſeen from far
And chiefly chufe to ſhine by Night.
1
* Portugal.
But,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
*"5
But, Art no longer can prevail,
When the Materials all are gone;
The beſt Mechanick Hand muft fail,
Where nothing's left to work upon.
Matter, as wife Logicians fay,
Cannot without a Form fubfift;
And Form, fay I as well as they,
Muſt 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 fay fhe's in her Wane.
While Partrige 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 ſhow,
That Swain Endymion is not found;
Or elfe, that Mercury's her Foe.
But,
136
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But, let the Cauſe be what it will,
In half a Month fhe looks fo thin,
That Flamstead can, with all his Skill,
See but her Forehead and her Chin,
Yet, as fhe waftes, fhe
grows diſcreet,
'Till Midnight never fhews her Head
So roting 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.
When Mercury her Treffes mows,
To think of black Lead Combs is vain
ง
No Painting can reftore a Nofe,
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 ſupply'd,
Send us new Nymphs with each new Moon.
A N
Poems on feveral Occafions.
137
AN
ELEGY
On the much lamented Death of Mr.
Demar, the famous rich Ufurer,
who died the Sixth of July, 1720.
K
Written in the Year 1720.
NOW all Men by thefe Prefents, Death
the Tamer
By Mortgage hath fecur'd the Corps of Demar;
Nor can four Hundred Thouſand Sterling Pound,
Redeem him from his Prifon under Ground.
His Heirs might well, of all his Wealth poffeft,
Beſtow to bury him one Iron Cheſt.
Pluto the God of Wealth, will joy to know
His faithful Steward, in the Shades below.
He walk'd the Streets, and wore a thread-bare Cloak
He din'd and fup'd at Charge of other Folk;
And
138
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And by his Looks, had he held out his Palms,
He might be thought an Object fit for Alms .
So, to the Poor if he refus'd his Pelf,
He us'd 'em full as kindly as himſelf.
WHERE'ER he went he never faw his Betters;
Lords, Knights and Squires, were all his humble
Debtors;
And under Hand and Seal, the Iriſh Nation
Were forc'd to own to him their Obligation.
HE that cou'd once have half a Kingdom bo
In half a Minute is not worth a Groat;
His Coffers from the Coffin could not ſave,
Nor all his Int'reft keep him from the Grave.
A golden Monument would not be right,
Becauſe we wiſh the Earth upon him light,
OH London Tavern! Thou haft loft a Friend,
Tho' in thy Walls he ne'er did Farthing ſpend :
He touch'd the Pence when others touch'd the Pot;
The Hand that fign'd the Mortgage paid the Shot.
OLD as he was, no vulgar known Diſeaſe
On him could ever boaſt a Pow'r to feize:
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
139
But as his Gold he weigh'd, grim Death in fpight,
Caft in his Dart, which made three Moydores light;
And as he faw his darling Money fail,
Blew his laſt Breath to fink the lighter Scale.
HE, who ſo long was current, 'twould be ſtrange
If he ſhou'd now be cry'd down fince his Change.
THE Sexton fhall green Sods on thee beſtow;
Alas the Sexton is thy Banker now!
A difmal Banker muſt that Banker be,
Who gives no Bills, but of Mortality.
The EPITAPH.
BENEATH this verdant Hillock lies
Demar the Wealthy, and the Wife.
His Heirs, that he might ſafely reft,
Have put his Carcafs in a Cheft:
very Cheft, in which, they fay,
The very
His other Self, 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 Self alive.
To
140
Poems on feveral Occafions.
To STELLA, who collected and
tranfcribed his POEMS.
A
Written in the Year 1720.
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
Should be approved in After-times;
If it both pleaſes and endures,
The Merit and the Praife are yours
THOU Stella, wert no longer young,
When firſt for thee my Harp I ftrung:
Without one Word of Cupid's Darts,
Of killing Eyes, or bleeding Hearts:
With Friendſhip and Efteem poffeft,
I ne'er admitted Love a Guest.
IN
Poems on feveral Occafions.
141
In all the Habitudes of Life,
The Friend, the Miftrefs, and the Wife,
Variety we ftill purſue,
In Pleaſure ſeek for fomething new:
Or elfe, comparing with the reft,
Take Comfort, that our own is beft:
(The beſt we value by the worſt,
As Tradefmen fhew their Trafh at firft:)
But his Purſuits are at an End,
Whom Stella chufes for a Friend.
A POET, ftarving in a Garret,
Conning old Topicks like a Parrot,
Invokes his Miftrefs and his Mufe,
And ſtays at home for want of Shoes:
Should but his Muſe deſcending 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 Stocking Soals ;
Or fend him in a Peck of Coals;
Exalted in his mighty Mind
He flies, and leaves the Stars behind;
* Cant Word for Streng-Beer.
Counts
142
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Counts all his Labours amply paid,
Adores her for the timely Aid.
OR, fhould a Porter make Enquiries
For Chloe, Sylvia, Phillis, Iris;
Be told the Lodging, Lane, and Sign,
The Bow'rs that hold thofe Nymphs divine;
Fair Chloe would perhaps be found
With Footmen tippling under Ground;
The charming Sylvia beating Flax,
Her Shoulders mark'd with bloody Tracks ;
Bright Phillis mending ragged Smocks;
And radiant Iris in the Pox:
THESE are the Goddeffes enroll'd
In Curl's Collections, new and old,
Whofe fcoundrel Fathers would not know 'em,
If they ſhould meet 'em in a Poem.
TRUE Poets can deprefs and raiſe;
Are Lords of Infamy and Praiſe :
They are not fcurrilous in Satire,
Nor will in Panegyrick flatter.
Unjustly Poets we afperfe;
Truth fhines the brighter, clad in Verſe:
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
143
And all the Fictions they purfue,
Do but infinuate what is true.
Now, fhould my Praiſes owe their Truth
To Beauty, Dreſs, or Paint, or Youth,
What Stoicks call without our Power;
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 could my Verfes bring,
Perhaps you're quite another Thing.
So Mevius, when he drain'd his Skull
To celebrate fome Suburb Trull;
His Similies in Order fet,
And ev'ry Crambo he could get;
Had gone through all the common 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
144
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Let Malice look with all her Eyes,
She dares not ſay the Poet lyes.
STELLA, when you theſe Lines tranſcribe,
Left you ſhould take them for a Bribe;
Refolv'd to mortify your Pride,
I'll here expofe your weaker Side.
YOUR Spirits kindle to a Flamë,
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 incenſe;
Perverſeneſs is your whole Defence:
Truth, Judgment, Wit, give Place to Spight,
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 Fau't;
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
145
And
yet a Fault we often find
Mix'd in a noble generous Mind;
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.
Thoſe who in warmer Climes complain,
From Phabus Rays they fuffer Pain;
Muft own, that Fain is largely paid
By gen'rous Wines beneath a Shade.
YET when I find your Paffions riſe;
And Anger fparkling in your Eyes,
I grieve thoſe 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, by different Pow`rs;
Ripens the Grape, the Liquor fours.
Thus Ajax, when with Rage poffeft;
By Pallas breath'd into his Breaft,
His Valour would no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer'd Troy;
VOL. II.
L
Bate
146
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But blinded by Refentment, ſeeks
For Vengeance on his Friends the Greeks.
You think this Turbulence of Blood
From ſtagnating preferves the Flood;
Which thus fermenting, by Degrees
Exalts the Spirits, finks the Lees.
STELLA, for once you reafon wrong;
For ſhould this Ferment laft 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 Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep ftrictly to the Text?
Dare you let theſe Reproaches ſtand,
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 muſt,
They'll prove my Accufation juft.
UPON
Poems on feveral Occafions.
147
UPON THE
SOUTH-SEA PROJECT.
Written in the Year 1721.
E wife Philofophers! Explain,
YE
What Magick makes our Money tiſe,
When dropt into the Southern Main;
Or do theſe Jugglers cheat our Eyes?
Put in your Money fairly told;
Prefto be gone
'Tis here agen:
Ladies and Gentlemen, behold,
Here's ev'ry Piece as big as Ten.
Thus in a Bafin drop a Shilling,
Then fill the Veffel to the Brim;
You fhall obferve, as you are filling,
The pond'rous Metal ſeems to ſwim.
L 2
It
148
Poems on Several Occafions.
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 Pounds;
I have in view a Lord's Eftate;
My Manors all contiguous round;
A Coach and Six, and ferv'd in Plate!
Thus the deluded Bankrupt raves;
Puts all upon a defp'rate Bet;
Then plunges in the Southern Waves,
Dipt over Head and Ears-in Debt.
So, by a Calenture miſled,
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 ſome enchanted Grove;
And in he leaps, and down he finks.
Five
Poems on feveral Occafions.
149
Five 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 fhatter'd on the Red-Sca 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 faſt;
The Wax is melted by the Height,
And down the tow'ring Boy is caft
A Moraliſt might here explain
The Raſhneſs of the Cretan Youth;
Defcribe his Fall into the Main,
And from a Fable form a Truth.
His
25.0
Poems on Several Occafions.
His Wings are his paternal Rent,
He melts the Wax at ev'ry Flame;
His Credit funk, his Money ſpent,
In Southern Seas he leaves his Name.
Inform us, you that beft can tell,
Why in yon dang'rous Gulph profound,
Where Hundreds, and where Thouſands fell,
Fools chiefly float, the Wife are drown'd?
So have I feen from Severn's Brink
A Flock of Geefe jump down together;
Şwim where the Bird of Jove would fink,
And fwimming never wet a Feather.
One Fool may from another win,
And then get
off with Money ftor'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 fmall;
So fares it in the Southern Sea;
But, Whale Directors eat up all.
When
Poems on feveral Occafions.
151
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 aroſe, and ſtopt the Light,
By intercepting ev'ry Beam :
The Day of Judgment will be foon,
(Cries out a Sage among the Croud;}
An Afs hath ſwallow'd up the Moon:
The Moon lay fafe behind a Cloud.
Each poor Subſcriber 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 moiſten'd Wings on high;
The Moiſture dry'd, they fink again,
And dip their Fins again to fly.
Undone
152
Poems on Several Occafions.
Undone at Play, the Female Troops
Come here their Loffes to retrieve;
Ride o'er the Waves in fpacious Hoops,
Like Lapland Witches in a Sieve.
Thus Venus to the Sea deſcends,
As Poet's feign; but where's the Moral?
It fhews the Queen of Love intends
To fearch the Deep for Pearl and Coral.
The Sea is richer than the Land,
I heard it from my Grannam's Mouth,
Which now I clearly underſtand,
For by the Sea fhe meant the South.
Thus by Directors we are told,
Pray, Gentlemen, believe your Eyes;
Our Ocean's cover'd o'er with Gold,
Look round, and fee how thick it lies!
Oh! would thoſe Patriots be fo kind,
Here in the Deep to wash their Hands,
Then, like Paftolus, we fhould find
The Sca indeed had golden Sands.
A Shil-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
$53
A Shilling in the Bath you fling,
The Silver takes a nobler Hue,
By Magick Virtue 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 Glaſs,
Than what it always did before.
So caft it in the Southern Seas,
Or view it through a Jobber's Bill
Put on what Spectacles you pleaſe,
Your Guinea's but a Guinea ftill,
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 the Flood;
There fprawl'd a while, and ſcarce got out,
All cover'd o'er with Slime and Mud.
Upon
134
Poems on Several Occafions.
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 bold Advent'rers came,
A narrow Sound, though 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 feldom knows
The Time it falls, or when 'twill rife.
Subſcribers here by Thouſands float;
And joftle one another down;
Each padling in his leaky Boat,
And here they fiſh for Gold, and drown.
*Now bury'd in the Depth below,
Now mounted up to Heaven agenh,
They reel and stagger to and fro,
At their Wits End, like drunken Mn.
Mean
* Pfalm cvii.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
155
Mean time, fecure on † Garr'way Cliffs,
A Savage Race by Shipwrecks fed,
Lie waiting for the founder'd Skiffs,
And ftrip the Bodies of the Dead.
But theſe, you ſay, are factious Lyes,
From fome malicious Tory's Brain;
For, where Directors get a Prize,
The Swifs and Dutch whole Millions drain.
Thus, when by Rooks a Lord is ply'd,
Some Cully often wins a Bet,
By vent'ring on the cheating Side,
Tho' not into the Secret let.
While fome build Caftles in the Air,
Directors build 'em in the Seas;
Subfcribers plainly fee 'em there,
For Fools will fee as wife Men pleaſe.
Thus oft by Mariners are ſhown,
(Unleſs the Men of Kent be Lyars,)
Earl Godwin's Caftles overflown,
And Palace-Roofs, and Steeple-Spires.
Mark
+ Coffee-House in 'Change-Alley.
156
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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.
Antaus could, by Magick Charms,
Recover Strength whene'er he fell;
Alcides held him in his Arms,
And fent 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.
Directors! for 'tis you I warn,
By long Experience we have found
What Planet rul'd when you were born;
We fee you never can be drown'd.
Beware,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
157
Beware, nor over-bulky grow,
Nor come within your Cully's Reach;
For if the Sea fhou'd fink ſo low,
To leave you dry upon the Beach;
You'll owe your Ruin to your Bulk:
Your Foes already waiting ſtand,
To tear you like a founder'd Hulk,
While you lie helpleſs on the Sand.
Thus when a Whale hath loft the Tide,
The Coaſters crowd to feize the Spoil;
The Monſter into Parts divide,
And ftrip the Bones, and melt the Oil.
Oh! may fome Western Tempeft fweep
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 fill the Madness of the Crowd.
But
158
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But never ſhall our Ifle have Reſt,
Till thoſe devouring Swine run down;
(The Devil's 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 beft a mighty Bubble.
Apparent rari nantes in Gurgite vasto,
Arma virûm, tabulaque, & Troia gaza per undas.
VIRG.
STEL
Poems on feveral Occafions.
STELLA's BIRTH-DAY.
A great Bottle of Wine, long buried,
being that Day dug up.
R
Written about the YEAR 1722.
ESOLV'D my annual Verfe to pay,
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 fcratch'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 coft 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.
FOR-
$48
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
+
FORSAKEN by th' inſpiring Nine,
I waited at Apollo's Shrine;
I told him what the World would ſay
If Stella were unfung To-day;
How I ſhould hide my Head for Shame,
When both the Jacks and Robin came;
How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer;
How Sh―n the Rogue would fneer:
And fwear it does not always follow,
That Semel'n anno ridet Apollo,
I have affur'd them Twenty Times,
That Phœbus help'd me in my Rhymes;
Phabus 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 poetick Licence:
And when I brag of Aid Divine,
Think Eufden'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.
APOL
Poems on feveral Occafions.
161
APOLLO, having thought a little,
Return'd this Anfwer to a Tittle.
THOUGH you thould live like old Metbufalem,
I furniſh Hints, and you ſhould uſe all 'em;
You yearly fing as ſhe grows old,
You'd leave her Virtues half untold.
But to fay Truth, fuch Dulneſs reigns
Through the whole Set of Irish Deans;
I'm daily ſtunn'd with fuch a Medley,
Dean Wd, Dean D-1, and Dean Smedly,
That, let what Dean 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.
For fhe, as Prieftefs, 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 deſcribe a Circle round
In * Saunder's Cellar on the Ground:
+
VOL. II.
M
↑ The Houſe-keeper.
The Bustler.
A Spade
162:
Poems on feveral Occafions.
A Spade let prudent 5 Archy hold,
And with Diſcretion dig the Mould :
Let Stella look with watchful Eye,
Rebecca, Ford, and † Grattans by.
BEHOLD the BOTTLE, where it lies
With Neck elated tow'rds the Skies!
The God of Winds and God of Fire,
Did to it's wondrous Birth confpire;
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 ſpacious Womb contains
A fov'reign Medicine for the Brains.
YOU'LL find it foon if Fate conſents;
If not, a Thouſand Mrs. Brents,
Ten Thouſand Archys arm'd with Spades,
May dig in vain to Pluto's Shades.
FROM thence a plenteous Draught infuſe,
And boldly then invoke the Muſe:
• The Footman. A Lady, Friend to Stella.
(But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
163
*
(But firft let Robert, on his Knees,
With Caution drain it from the Lees)
The Mufe will at your
Call appear,
With Stella's Praiſe to crown the Year.
+ The Valet.
@O¢?JOO001900000
MART the Cook-Maid's
LETTER
ΤΟ
Doctor SHERIDAN.
WE
ELL; if ever I faw fuch another Man
fince my Mother bound my Head,
You a Gentleman! marry come up, I wonder where
you were bred?
am fure fuch Words does not become a Man of
your Cloth,
I would not give fuch Language to a Dog, faith
and troth,
M z
Yes,
164
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Yes; you call'd my Mafter a Knave: Fie, Mr. She-
ridan, 'tis a Shame
For a Parfon, who fhou'd know better Things, to
come out with fuch a Name.
Knave in your Teeth, Mr. Sheridan, 'tis both a
Shame and a Sin,
And the Dean, my Maſter, is an honefter Man than
you and all
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 ſpindle-
ſhank'd Hoddy-doddy.
And now whereby I find you would fain make an
Excufe,
Becauſe my Maſter one Day, in Anger, call'd you
Goofe.
Which, and I am fure I have been his Servant four
Years fince October,
And he never call'd me worfe than Swect-heart
drunk or fober :
Not that I know his Reverence was ever concern'd
to my Knowledge,
Tho' you and your Come-rogues keep him out fo
late in your wicked College.
You
Poems on feveral Occafions.
165
You fay you will eat Grafs on his Grave; a
Chriftian eat Grafs!
Whereby you now confefs your felf to be a Gooſe
or an Afs:
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 be-
lieve that's a true Story,
And fo fay I told you fo, and you may go tell my
Mafter; what care I?
And I don't care who knows it, 'tis all one to
Mary.
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.
Befides, you found Fault with our Vittels one Day
that you was here,
I remember it was upon a Tuefday, 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
1
166
Poems on Several Occafions.
My Mafter is fo fond of that Minifter that keeps
the School;
I thought my Mafter 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 Difh-clout to his Tail.
And now I must go, and get Saunders to dire& this
Letter,
For I write but a fad Scrawl, but my Sifter Marget
fhe writes better.
Well, but I muſt run and make the Bed before my
Mafter comes from Pray'rs,
And fee now, it ftrikes Ten, and I hear him com-
ing up Stairs;
L
Whereof I cou'd fay more to your Verfes, if I
could write written Hand;
And ſo I remain in a civil Way, your Servant to
command,
1
MARY.
1
1
PE-
Poems on Several Occafions.
167
PETHOX the Great.
Written in the Year 1723.
ROM Venus born, thy Beauty ſhows;
FR
But who thy Father, no Man knows;
Nor can the skilful Herald trace
The Founder of thy antient Race.
Whether thy Temper, full of Fire,
Diſcovers Vulcan for thy Sire;
The God who made Scamandre boil,
And round his Margin fing'd the Soil';
(From whence Philofophers agree,
An equal Pow'r defcends to thee.)
Whether from dreadful Mars you claim
The high Defcent from whence you came,
And, as a Proof, fhew num'rous Scars
By fierce Encounters made in Wars;
(Thoſe honourable Wounds you bore
From Head to Foot, and all before;)
And-
168
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 defcend;
Or from * Parthenope the Proud,
Where numberlefs thy Vot'rics 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 jostling 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,
t
Thee to attend where-e'er thou go'ft.
*Naples. † Bubo, the Owl.
BYZAN-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
169
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 boaft of Thee.
THE greateſt Lord, when you appear
Will deign your Livery to wear,
In all thy various Colours ſeen,
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 Leifure wait;
And while his Fate is in thy Hands,
The Bus'nefs of the Nation ftands.
THOU dar'ft the greateſt Prince attack,
Can'ft hourly fet him on the Rack,
And, as an Inſtance 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
170
Poems on feveral Qccafions.
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 glitt'ring Beau could hardly tell,
Without your Aid, to read or ſpell;
But, having long convers'd with you,
Knows how to fcrawl a Billet-doux.
WITH What Delight, methinks, I trace
Thy Blood in ev'ry noble Race!
In whom thy Features, Shape, and Mien,
Are to the Life diftinctly feen.
THE Britons, once a favage Kind,
By you were brighten'd and refin'd:
Defcendents of the barb'rous Huns,
With Limbs robuft, and Voice that ftuns;
But you have molded them afreſh,
Remov'd the tough fuperfluous Fleſh,
Taught them to modulate their Tongues,
And ſpeak without the Help of Lungs.
PRO
Poems on feveral Occafions.
171
PROTEUS on you beſtow'd the Boon
To change your Vifage like the Moon;
You fometimes half a Face produce,
Keep t'other Half for private Ufe.
How fam'd thy Conduct in the Fight,
With 9 Hermes, Son of Pleias bright:
Out-number'd, half encompaſs'd round,
You ftrove for ev'ry Inch of Ground;
Then, by a foldierly 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 Chafm profound as Hell:
You, in your Capitol fecur'd,
A Siege as long as Troy endur'd.
J Mercury,
i
EPI
}
172
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
EPILOGUE to a PLAY,
For the BENEFIT of the
WEAVERS in IRELAND.
W
Written about the Year 1721.
*
HO dares affirm this is no pious Age,
When Charity begins to tread the Stage?
When Actors, who at beſt are hardly Savers,
Will give a Night of Benefit to Weavers?
Stay, let me fee, how finely will it found!
Imprimis, From his Grace an Hundred Pound.
Peers, Clergy, Gentry, all are Benefactors;
And then comes in the Item of the Actors.
Item, the Actors freely gave a Day,
The Poet had no more, who made the Play.
BUT whence this wondrous Charity in Play'rs?
They learnt it not at Sermons, or at Pray'rs :
Under
Poems on feveral Occafions.
173
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 Generals at the Comb;
We'll rig in Meath-ftreet Egypt's haughty Queen;
And Anthony fhall court her in Ratteen.
In blue Shalloon fhall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple Plad.
In Drugget dreft, of Thirteen Pence a Yard,
See Philip's Son amidſt his Perfian Guard;
And proud Roxana fir'd with jealous Rage,
With fifty Yards of Crape, ſhall ſweep the Stage.
In short, our Kings and Princeffes within,
Are all refolv'd the Project to begin;
And you, our Subjects, when you here refort,
Muft imitate the Faſhion of the Court.
OH! cou'd I fee this Audience clad in Stuff,
Tho' Money's fcarce, we ſhould have Trade
enough:
But Chints, Brocades, and Lace, take all away,
And ſcarce a Crown is left to ſee a Play:
* A Street in Dublin famcus for Woollen Manufa&tures.
Per-
174
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Perhaps you wonder whence this Friendſhip ſprings
Between the Weavers and us Play-Houſe Kings :
But Wit and Weaving had the fame Beginning;
Pallas firft 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.
THE
Part of a SUMMER,
AT THE
Houfe of George Rochfort, Efq;
Written in the YEAR 1723.
HALIA, tell in fober Lays,
TH
[Days.
How George, Nim, Dan, Dean, paſs their
BEGIN, my Mufe. Firft, from our Bow'rs
We fally forth at diff'rent Hours ;
At
Poems on feveral Occafions.
At Seven, 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 kifles George, and ends our Lectures;
And when ſhe has him by the Neck faſt,
Hauls him, and fcolds us, down to Breakfaſt.
We fquander there an Hour or more;
And then all Hands, Boys, to the Oar;
All, heteroclite Dan except,
Who never Time, nor Order kept,
But by peculiar Whimfies drawn,
Peeps in the Ponds to look for Spawn;
O'erfees the Work, or * Dragon rows,
Or mars 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;
From airy Garrets fome defcend,
Some from the Lake's remoteſt End:
1
* My Lord Chief Baron's ſmaller Boat.
My
176
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 ſoundly 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 paſs
In talking o'er a moderate Glaſs.)
Dan, growing drowſy, like a Thief,
Steals off to dofe away his Beef;
And this muft pafs for reading Hammond
While George and Dean go to Back-Gammon:
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 difturb 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 fhort'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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
177
"Tis late--the old and younger Pairs,
By * Adam lighted, walk up Stairs.
The weary Dean goes to his Chamber,
And Nim and Dan to Garret clamber.
So when this Circle we have run,
The Curtain falls, and all is done.
I MIGHT have mention'd fev'ral Facts;
Like Epiſodes between the A&ts;
And tell who loſes, and who wins,
Who gets a Cold, who breaks his Shins;
How Dan caught nothing in his Net,
And how the Boat was overſet,
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 Dragon;
How fteady in the Storm he fat,
And ſav'd his Oar, but loft his Hat.
How Nim (no Hunter e'er could match him,)
Still brings us Hares, when he can catch 'em;
How skilfully Dan mends his Nets;
How Fortune fails him, when he fets.
VOL. II.
N
* The Butler.
Or
178
Poems on feveral Occafions.
1
Or how the Dean delights to vex
The Ladies, and lampoon the Sex.
Or how our Neighbour lifts his Noſe,
To tell what ev'ry School-Boy knows,
And, with his Finger on his Thumb
Explaining, ftrikes Oppofers 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 fhe trucks her Dripping;
Was forc'd to fend three Miles for Yeft
To brew her Ale, and raiſe her Pafte;
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 Fowler 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 fets
On all Whig Papers, and Gazetts;
† Mr. Rochfort's Father.
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
179
But for the Politicks of Pue,
Thinks every Syllable is true,
And fince he owns the King of Sweden
Is dead at laft, without evading;
Now all his Hopes are in the Czar;
CC
Why, Muscovy is not fo far;
"Down the Black-Sca, and up the Streights,
"And in a Month he's at your Gates:
Perhaps from what the Packet brings
"By Christmas we fhall fee ftrange Things."
WHY fhould I tell of Ponds and Drains,
What Carps we met with for our Pains;
Of Sparrows tam'd, and Nuts innumerable,
But
To choak the Girls, and to confume a Rabble?
you, who are a Scholar, know
How tranfient all Things are below;
How prone to change is human Life ;
Laft Night arriv'd † Clem and his Wife
t
This grand Event hath broke our Meaſures;
Their Reign began with cruel Seizures :
The Dean muſt with his Quilt ſupply
The Bed in which thefe Tyrants lie:
N 2
Nim
A Tory News-Writer.
† Mr. Clement Barry.
180
Poems on several Occafions.
Nim loft his Wig-Block, Dan his Jordan;
(My Lady ſays ſhe can't afford one)
George is half ſcar'd out of his Wits,
For Clem gets all the tiny Bits.
Henceforth expect a different Survey;
This Houſe will foon turn Topfy-turvey.
They talk of further Alterations,
Which causes many Speculations.
APOLLO to the DEAN.
R
↓
Written in the Year 1720.
IGHT Trufty, and fo forth,-We let you to
know,
We are very ill us'd by you Mortals below:
For firft, I have often by Chymifts been told,
Tho' I know nothing on't, it is I that makes Gold,
Which when you have got, you ſo carefully hide it,
That fince I was born, I hardly have ſpy'd it.
Then it must be allow'd, that when ever I fhine,
I forward the Grafs, and I ripen the Vine;
To
Poems on feveral Occafions.
181
To me the good Fellows apply for Relief,
Without whom they could get neither Claret, nor
Beef;
Yet their Wine and their Victuals theſe Curmud-
geon Lubbards,
Lock up from my Sight, in Cellars and Cupboards.
That I have an ill Eye, they wickedly think,
And taint all their Meat, and fow'r all their Drink.
But thirdly and laftly, it muſt be allow'd,
I alone can inſpire the poetical Croud:
This is gratefully own'd by each Boy in the College,
Whom if I inſpire, it is not to my Knowledge.
This ev'ry Pretender to Rhime will admit,
Without troubling his Head about Judgment or
Wit.
Thefe Gentlemen ufe me with Kindneſs and
Freedom,
And
as for their Works, when I pleaſe I may read
'em:
They lie open on purpoſe on Counters and Stalls,
And the Titles I view, when I ſhine on the Walls.
But a Comrade of yours, that Traitor Delany,
Whom I, for your Sake, loye better than any,
And of my mere Motion and fpecial good Grace,
Intended in Time to fucceed in your Place;
OQ
182
Poems on feveral Occafions.
On Tueſday the Tenth feditiouſly came,
With a certain falfe Traitrefs, one Stella by Name,
༡
To the Deanary Houſe, and on the North Glaſs,
Where for fear of the Cold I never can paſs;
Then and there, Vi & Armis, with a certain Utenfil,
Of Value five Shillings, in English a Pencil,
Did maliciously, falfly, and trait'roully write;
Whilft Stella aforefaid ſtood by with a Light.
My Sifter has lately depos'd upon Oath,
That the ftopt in her Courfe to look at them both:
That Stella was helping, abetting and aiding,
And ſtill as he writ, ftood fmiling and reading;
That her Eyes were as bright as my ſelf at Noon-
day,
But her graceful black Locks were mingled with
grey.
And by the Deſcription I certainly know,
F
'Tis the Nymph that I courted fome ten Years ago;
Who, when I with the best of my Talents endu'd
On her Promiſe of yielding; the acted the Prude.
That fome Verfes were writ with felonious Intent,
Direct to the North, where I never went;
That the Letters appear'd reverſe thro' the Pane,
But in Stella's bright Eyes they were plac'd right
Wherein
again;
Poems on feveral Occafions.
183
Wherein ſhe diſtinctly could read e'ry Line,
And prefently gueſs'd the Fancy was mine.
Now you fee, why his Verfes fo feldom are fhewn;
The Reaſon is plain, they're none of his own;
And obferve while you live, that no Man is fhy
To difcover the Goods, he came honeſtly by.
If I light on a Thought, he'll certainly ſteal it,
And when he has got it, find Ways to conceal it;
Of all the fine Things he keeps in the Dark,
There's fcarce one in Ten, but what has my Mark;
And let them be ſeen by the World if he dare,
I'll make it appear, they are all ſtolen Ware,
But as for the Poem he writ on your Saſh,
I think I have now got him under my Laſh;
My Sifter tranfcrib'd it laft Night to his Sorrow,
And the Publick ſhall fee't, if I live till To-morrow
Thro' the Zodiack around, it fhall quickly be ſpread
In all Parts of the Globe, where your Language is
read.
He knows very well, I ne'er gave a Refuſal,
When he ask'd for my Aid in the Forms that are
ufual:
But the Secret is this. I did lately intend
To write a few Verfes on you, as my Friend:
I ftudied
184
Poems on several Occafions.
I ſtudied a Fortnight, before I could find,
As I rode in my Chariot, a Thought to my Mind,
And refolv'd the next Winter, (for that is my Time,
When the Days are at ſhorteſt,) to get it in Rhime;
'Till then it was lock'd in my Box at Parnaffus:
When that fubtil Companion, in Hopes to fur-
paſs us,
Conveys out my Paper of Hints by a Trick,
(For I think, in my Conſcience, he deals with old
Nick.)
And from my own Stock provided with Topicks,
He gets to a Window beyond both the Tropicks;
There out of my Sight, juſt againſt the North Zone,
Writes down my Conceits, and calls them his own;
And you, like a Cully, the Bubble can ſwallow :
Now, who but Delany that writes like Apollo?
High Treaſon by Statute. But here you object,
He only ſtole Hints, but the Verfe is correct.
Tho' the Thought be Apollo's, 'tis finely exprefs'd.
So a Thief ſteals my Horfe, and has him well
drefs'd.
Now, whereas the faid Criminal feems paft Re-
pentance,
We Phoebus think fit to proceed to the Sentence;
Since
Pocms on feveral Occafions.
185
Since Delany has dar'd, like Prometheus his Sire,
To climb to our Region, and thence to ſteal Fire;
We order a Vulture in Shape of the Spleen,
To prey on his Liver, but not to be ſeen.
And we order our Subjects of ev'ry Degree,
'To believe all his Verfes were written by me;
And, under the Pain of our higheſt Diſpleaſure,
To call nothing his, but the Rhime and the Mea-
fure.
And lastly, for Stella juft out of her Prime,
I'm too much reveng'd already by Time.
In return to her Scorn, I fent her Diſeaſes,
But will now be her Friend, whenever the pleaſes.
And the Gifts I beftow'd her will find her a Lover,
Tho' fhe lives to be grey as a Badger all over.
A
STELLA'S Birth-Day.
Written in the YEAR 1724.
S, when a beauteous Nymph decays,
We ſay, ſhe's paft her Dancing-Days;
So, Poets loſe their Feet by Time,
And can no longer dance in Rhyme.
Your
186
Poems on Several Occafions.
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 Sheridan is off the Hooks,
And Friend Delany 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 fhe Fifteen:
No Poet ever ſweetly fung,
Unleſs he were like Phabus, young
Nor ever Nymph inſpir'd to Rhyme,
Unless, like Venus, in her Prime.
At Fifty-fix, if this be true,
Am I a Poet fit for you?
Or at the Age of Forty-three,
Are you a Subject fit for me?
f
1
Adieu
Poems on feveral Occafions.
187
Adieu bright Wit, and radiant Eyes;
!
You muſt be grave, and I be wife.
Our Fate in vain we would oppoſe,
But I'll be ſtill your Friend in Proſe;
Eſteem and Friendſhip to exprefs,
Will not require poetick Drefs;
And if the Mufe deny her Aid
To have them fung, 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 erft fate 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 fomewhat dimmiſh grown;
For Nature, always in the Right,
To your Decays adapts my Sight;
And Wrinkles undiſtinguiſh'd paſs,
For I'm aſham'd to uſe a Glaſs ;
And till I fee them with theſe Eyes,
Whoever fays you have them, lyes.
No
88
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 fee;
Oh, ne'er may Fortune fhew her Spight,
To make me deaf, and mend my Sight.
ON
DREAM S.
An Imitation of PETRONIUS.
Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris, &c.
Written in the Year 1724.
HOSE Dreams that on the filent Night intrude,
TH
on
And with falſe flitting Shades our Minds de-
lude,
Jove never fends us downward from the Skies,
Nor can they from infernal Manſions riſe;
But are all mere Productions of the Brain,
And Fools confult Interpreters in vain.
FOR,
Poems on feverál Occafions.
189
FOR, when in Bed we reft our weary Limbs,
The Mind, unburthen'd, fports in various Whims.
The bufy Head with mimick Art runs o'er
The Scenes and Actions of the Day before,
THE drowſy Tyrant, by his Minions led,
To regal Rage devotes fome Patriot's Head.
With equal Terrors, not with equal Guilt,
The Murd'rer dreams of all the Blood he ſpilt.
THE Soldier fmiling hears the Widows Cries,
And ftabs the Son before the Mother's Eyes.
With like Remorfe his Brother of the Trade,
The Butcher, feels 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-Purfe, watching for a Job,
Fancies his Fingers in the Cully's Fob.
THE
190
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THE kind Phyfician grants the Husband's Prayers,
Or gives Relief to long-expecting Heirs.
The fleeping Hangman ties the fatal Nooſe,
Nor unfuccefsful waits for dead Mens Shoes.
THE
grave Divine with knotty Points perplext,
As if he were awake, nods o'er his Text:
While the fly Mountebank attends his Trade,
Harangues the Rabble, and is better paid.
THE hireling Senator of modern Days,
Bedaubs the guilty Great with naufeous Praiſe :
And Dick the Scavenger with equal Grace,
Flirts from his Cart the Mud in W's Face
Dr. Sw
to Mr. POPE,
While he was writing the Dunciad.
Written in the Year 1726.
OPE has the Talent well to ſpeak;
POP
But not to reach the Ear;
His loudest Voice is low and weak,
The Dean too deaf to hear,
A while
Poems on feveral Occafions.
igi
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 ſome other ſtruck,
All Turns and Motions 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
192
Poems on feveral Occafions:
Of 5 Sherlock thus, for preaching fam'd;
The Sexton reafon'd well,
And juſtly half the Merit claim'd,
Becauſe he rang the Bell.
STELLA'S Birth-Day.
TH
March 13, 1726-7.
HIS Day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall ftill 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 enuff
To hear fuch mortifying Stuff.
Yet, fince from Reafon may be brought
A better and more pleafing Thought,
Which can in ſpite of all Decays,
Support a few remaining Days:
From not the graveft of Divines,
Accept for once fome ferious Lines:
AL-
9 N. B. Not the prefent Bishop of Bangor, but his Father,
who was Dean of St. Paul's; the Son being only famous for his
enflaving Speech in the Houfe of Lords.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
193
ALTHOUGH We now can form no more
Long Schemes of Life, as heretofore
Yet while Time is running faſt,
you,
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 propoſe,
To have Companions in their Woes.)
Grant this the Cafe; yet fure 'tis hard,
That Virtue, ftil'd its own Reward,
And by all Sages underſtood
To be the chief of human Good,
Should, 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 ſhine through Life's declining Part.
Say, Stella, feel you no Content,
Reflecting on a Life well spent?
VOL. II,
Ο
Your
194
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Your skilful Hand employ'd to fave
Deſpairing 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 Boldneſs to defend
An innocent and abſent Friend:
That Courage which can make you juſt;
To Merit humbled in the Duft:
The Deteftation you expreſs
For Vice in all its glitt'ring Dreſs:
That Patience under tort'ring Pain,
Where ſtubborn Stoicks would complain.
SHALL thefe, like empty Shadows, paſs,
Or Forms reflected from a Glafs?
Of 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 ſtill ſupply'd,
It muſt a Thouſand Times have dy'd.
Then,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
195
Then, who with Reaſon 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 past;
And ſtill continued by the laft:
Then, who with Reafon 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 the 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;
Not
196
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Nor let your Ills affect your Mind,
To fancy they can be unkind.
Me, furely me, you ought to fpare,
Who gladly would your Suff'rings fhare;
Or give my Scrap of Life to you,
And think it far beneath your Due;
You, to whofe Care ſo oft I owe,
That I'm alive to tell you fo.
To STELLA, viſiting me in my
Sicknefs.
October, 1727.
ALLAS, obferving Stella's Wit
PAL
Shine 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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
197
If Honour I would here define,
It anſwers Faith in Things divine.
As natʼral 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 Moraliſts deſcribe,
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 Cafe,
Nor is Complexion Honour's Place.
BUT, left we ſhould for Honour take
The drunken Quarrels of a Rake;
Or think it feated in a Scar;
Or on a proud triumphal Car;
Or in the Payment of a Debt
We lofe with Sharpers at Piquet;
Or, when a Whore in her Vocation,
Keeps punctual to an Affignation;
Or
198
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Or that on which his Lordſhip ſwears,
When vulgar Knaves would lofe 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 afide :
Ask no Advice, but think alone:
Suppoſe the Queſtion not your own:
How ſhall I act? is not the Caſe;
But how would Brutus in my Place?
In fuch a Caufe would Cato bleed?
And how would Socrates proceed?
DRIVE all Objections from your Mind,
Elfe you relapfe to human Kind:
Ambition, Avarice, and Lufț,
And factious Rage, and Breach of Truſt;
And Flatt'ry tipt with nauseous Fleer,
And guilty Shame, and fervile Fear,
Envy, and Cruelty, and Pride,
Will in your tainted Heart prefide.
HEROES and Heroines of old,
By Honour only were enroll'd
Among
Poems on feveral Occafions.
199
Among their Brethren of the Skies;
To which (though late) fhall Stella riſe.
Ten Thouſand Oaths upon Record,
Are not fo facred as her Word:
The World ſhall in its Atoms end,
E'er Stella can deceive a Friend,
By Honour feated in her Breaft,
She ftill determines what is beft:
What Indignation in her Mind
Againſt Entlavers of Mankind!
Bafe 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,
Ar proper Times to fcream and ſtart;
Nor calls up all the Houfe at Night,
And fwears ſhe ſaw a Thing in White:
Doll
200
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Doll never flies to cut her Lace,
Or throw cold Water in her Face,
Becauſe ſhe heard a fudden Drum,
Or found an Earwig in a Plum.
HER Hearers are amaz'd from whence
Proceeds that Fund of Wit and Senfe;
Which though her Modefty would ſhroud,
Breaks like the Sun behind a Cloud:
While Gracefulneſs its Art conceals,
And yet through ev'ry Motion fteals.
SAY, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And forming you, miftook your Kind?
No: 'Twas for you alone he ftole
The Fire that forms a manly Soul;
Then to compleat it ev'ry way,
He molded it with Female Clay :
To that you owe the nobler Flame,
To this, the Beauty of your Frame.
How would Ingratitude delight?
And, how would Cenfure glut her Spight?
If I fhould Stella's Kindnefs hide
In Silence, or forget with Pride.
When
Poems on feveral Occafions.
201
When on my fickly Couch I lay,
Impatient both of Night and Day,
Lamenting in unmanly Strains,
Call'd ev'ry Pow'r to eafe my Pains:
Then Stella ran to my Relief,
With chearful Face, and inward Grief;
And, though by Heaven's fevere Decree
She ſuffers hourly more than me,
No cruel Mafter 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 the moves about my Bed,
I fee her taſte each naufeous Draught,
And fo obligingly am caught;
I blefs the Hand from whence they came,
Nor dare diſtort my Face for fhame,
BEST Pattern of true Friends, beware;
You pay too dearly for your Care,
If,
202
Poems on feveral Occafions.
If, while your Tenderneſs ſecures
My Life, it muſt endanger yours.
For fuch a Fool was never found,
Who pull'd a Palace to the Ground,
Only to have the Ruins made
Materials for an Houſe decay'd.
ON
Cutting down the old THORN
AT
MARKET-HILL.
Written in the YEAR 1727.
T Market-Hill, as well appears
A 3
By Chronicle of antient Date,
There ſtood for many a Hundred Years,
A fpacious Thorn before the Gate.
Hither
Poems on feveral Occafions.
293
Hither came every Village-Maid,
And on the Boughs her Garland hung,
And here, beneath the ſpreading Shade,
Secure from Satyrs fat and fung.
* Sir Archibald that val'rous Knight,
Then Lord of all the fruitful Plain,
Would come to liften with Delight,
For he was fond of rural Strain.
(Sir Archibald whofe fav'rite Name
Shall ſtand for Ages on Record,
By Scottish Bards of higheſt Fame,
&
+ Wife Hawthorden and Sterling's Lord.)
But Time, with Iron Teeth, I ween
Has canker'd all its Branches round 00
No Fruit or Bloffom to be ſeen,
Its Head reclining tow'rds the Ground.
#
This
* Sir Archibald Acheſon, Secretary of State for Scotland.
† Drummond of Hawthorden, and Sir William Alexan-
der, E. of Sterling, both famous for their Poetry, who suers
Friends to Sir Archibald.
·
204
Poems on feveral Occafions.
This aged, fickly, faplefs Thorn
Which muſt alas no longer ftand;
Behold! the cruel Dean in Scorn
Cuts down with facrilegious Hand.
Dame Nature, when fhe faw the Blow,
Aftoniſh'd gave a dreadful Shriek;
And Mother Tellus trembled fo
She ſcarce recover'd in a Week.
The Silvan Pow'rs with Fear perplex'd,
In Prudence and Compaffion fent
(For none could tell whofe Turn was next)
Sad Omens of the dire Event.
The Magpye, lighting on the Stock,
Stood chatt'ring with inceſſant Din;
And with her Beak gave many a Knock
To rouze and warn the Nymph within.
The Owl forefaw in penfive Mood,
The Ruin of her antient Seat;
And fled in Hafte with all her Brood,
To feek a more fecure Retreat.
Laft
Poems on feveral Occafions.
205
Laſt trotted forth the gentle Swine,
To eaſe her Itch againſt the Stump,
And difmally was heard to whine,
All as ſhe ſcrubb'd her meazly Rump.
The Nymph, who dwells in every Tree,
(If all be true that Poets chant)
Condemn'd by Fate's fupreme Decree,
Muft die with her expiring Plant.
Thus, when the gentle Spina found
The Thorn committed to her Care,
Receive its laſt and deadly Wound,
She fled and vanifh'd into Air.
But from the Root a difmal Groan
Firſt iſſuing, ſtruck the Murd'rer's Ears ;
And in a fhrill revengeful Tone,
This Prophecy he trembling hears.
"Thou chief Contriver of my Fall,
66
"Relentleſs Dean! to Miſchief born,
My Kindred oft' thine Hide fhall gall;
Thy Gown and Caflock oft be torn.
"And
206
Poems on feveral Occafions.
2
"And thy confed'rate Dame, who brags
"That ſhe condemn'd me to the Fire,
"Shall rent her Petticoats to Rags,
<<
And wound her Legs with ev'ry Bry'r.
Nor thou, Lord * Arthur, fhalt eſcape:
"To thee I often call'd in vain,
"Againſt that Affaffin in Crape,
"Yet thou could'ſt tamely fee me flain.
"Nor, when I felt the dreadful Blow,
"Orchid the Dean, or pinch'd thy Spoufe:
¿Since you could fee me treated ſo,
"An old Retainer to your Houſe.
"May that fell Dean, by whofe Command
"Was form'd this Machi'villian Plot,
Not leave a Thiftle on thy Land;
"Then who will own thee for a Scot?
"Pigs and Fanaticks, Cows, and Teagues
"Through all thy Empire I foreſee,
"To tear thy Hedges join in Leagues,
"Sworn to revenge my Thorn and me.
Sir Arthur Achefon.
" And
Poems on feveral Occafions
207
And thou the Wretch ordain'd by Fate,
"Neal Gaghagan, Hibernian Clown,
"With Hatchet blunter than thy Pate,
<<
"To hack my hallow'd Timber down;
When thou, fufpended high in Air,
..
Dy'ſt on a more ignoble Tree,
(For thou ſhalt fteal thy Landlord's Mare)
Then bloody Caitif think on me.
JOAN cudgels NE D.
Written in the Year 1723.
JOAN cudgels
OAN cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a Bully:
Will cudgels Befs, yet Will's a Cully.
Dye Ned and Befs; give Will to Joan,
She dares not ſay, her Life's her own.
Dye Joan and Will; give Befs to Ned,
And ev'ry Day fhe combs his Head.
Q
This
208
Poems on feveral Occafions.
This Poem was printed fome Years ago, and it should
feem by the late Failure of two Bankers to be
Somewhat prophetick, it was therefore thought fit
to be reprinted.
The Run upon the Bankers.
T
Written in the Year 1720.
1.
HE bold Encroachers on the Deep,
Gain by Degrees huge Tracts of Land,
Till Neptune with one gen'ral Sweep,
Turns all again to barren Strand,
II.
The Multitude's capricious Pranks
Are faid to repreſent the Seas;
Breaking the Bankers and the Banks,
Refume their own whene'er they pleaſe.
Money,
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
209
III.
Money, the Life-blood of the Nation,
Corrupts and ftagnates in the Veins,
Unleſs a proper Circulation
Its Motion and its Heat maintains.
IV.
Becauſe 'tis lordly not to pay,
Quakers and Aldermen, in State,
Like Peers have Levees ev'ry Day
Of Duns attending at their Gate.
V.
We want our Money on the Nail;
The Banker's ruin'd if he pays;
They ſeem to act an ancient Tale,
The Birds are met to strip the Jays.
VI.
Riches, the wifeft Monarch fings,
Make Pinions for themselves to fly:
They fly like Bats, on Parchment Wings,
And Geeſe their Silver Plumes fupply.
VII.
No Money left for fquand'ring Heirs!
Bills turn the Lenders into Debtors:
The Wiſh of Nero now is theirs,
That they had never known their Letters:
VOL. II
P
Conceive
210 Poems on feveral Occafions,
VIII.
Conceive the Works of Midnight Hags,
Tormenting Fools behind their Backs;
Thus Bankers o'er their Bills and Bags
Sit fqueezing Images of Wax.
IX.
Conceive the whole Enchantment broke,
The Witches left in open Air,
With Pow'r no more than other Folk,
Expos'd with all their Magick Ware.
X.
So pow'rful are a Banker's Bills
Where Creditors demand their Due;
They break up Counter, Doors, and Tills,
And leave the empty Cheſts in View.
XI.
Thus when an Earthquake lets in Light
Upon the God of Gold and Hell,
Unable to endure the Sight,
He hides within his darkeſt Cell.
XII.
As when a Conj'rer takes a Leaſe
From Satan for a Term of Years,
The Tenant's in a diſmal Cafe
Whene'er the bloody Bond appears.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
211
XIII.
A baited Banker thus defponds,
From his own Hand forefees his Fall;
They have his Soul who have his Bonds;
'Tis like the Writing on the Wall:
XIV.
How will the Caitif Wretch be fcar'd
When first he finds himſelf awake
At the laft Trumpet, unprepar'd,
And all his Grand Account to make?
XV.
For in that univerfal Call
Few Bankers will to Heav'n be Mounters;
They'll cry, Ye Shops upon us fall,
Conceal, and cover us, Ye Counters.
XVI.
When Other Hands the Scales fhall hold,
And They in Men and Angels Sight.
Produc'd with all their Bills and Gold,
Weigh'd in the Ballance, and found light.
STELLA
Pa
1
212
Poems on feveral Occafions.
STELLA
A T
WOOD-PARK,
A
Houfe of Charles Ford, Efq; eight
Miles from Dublin,
Cuicunqu; nocere volebat
Veftimenta dabat pretiofa.
Written in the Year 1723.
ON Carlos in a merry Spight,
D%
Did Stella to his Houfe invite
He entertain'd her half a Year
With gen'rous Wines and coftly Chear,
Don Carlos made her chief Director,
That ſhe might o'er the Servants hector.
In half a Week the Dame grew nice,
Got all things at the higheft Price.
Now
Poems on feveral Occafions.
213
Now at the Table-Head the fits,
Preſented with the niceſt Bits:
She look'd on Partridges with ſcorn,
Except they tafted of the Corn:
A Haunch of Ven'ſon made her ſweat,
Unleſs it had the right Fumette.
Don Carlos earnestly would beg,
Dear Madam, try this Pigeon's Leg;
Was happy when he could prevail
To make her only touch a Quail.
Through Candle-Light fhe view'd the Wine,
To ſee that ev'ry Glaſs was fine.
At laft grown prouder than the D—!,
With feeding high, and Treatment civil,
Don Carlos now began to find
His Malice work as he defign'd;
The Winter-Sky began to frown,
Poor Stella muft pack off to Town.
From purling Streams and Fountains bubbling,
To Liffy's ftinking Tide in Dublin:
*
From wholfome Exerciſe and Air
To foffing in an eafy Chair;
* The River that runs through Dublin.
}
From
`214
Poems on feveral Occafions.
From Stomach ſharp and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a Lady breeding:
From ruling there the Houshold fingly,
*
To be directed here by Dingly:
From ev'ry Day a lordly Banquet,
To half a Joint, and God be thank it :
From ev'ry Meal Pontack in plenty,
To half a Pint one Day in twenty.
From Ford attending at her Call,
To Vifits of
From Ford, who thinks of nothing mean,
To the poor Doings of the D-n.
From growing Riches with good Chear,
To running out by starving here.
BUT now arrives the diſmal Day a
She muſt return to † Ormond Key:
The Coachman ftopt, fhe lookt, and ſwore
The Rafcal had miſtook the Door:
At coming in you faw her ſtoop;
The Entry bruſht againſt her Hoop:
* A Lady. The two Ladies lodged together.
+ Where both the Ladies lodged.
Each
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
215
Each Moment rifing in her Airs,
She curft the narrow winding Stairs a
Began a Thouſand Faults to ſpy ;
The Ceiling hardly fix Foot high;
The ſmutty Wainſcot full of Cracks,
And half the Chairs with broken Backs 1
Her Quarter's out at Lady-Day,
She vows ſhe will no longer ftay,
In Lodgings, like a poor Grizette,
While there are Lodgings to be lett.
HOWE'ER, to keep her Spirits up,
She fent for Company to fup;
When all the while you might remark,
She ſtrove in vain to ape Wood Park.
Two Bottles call'd for, (half her Store;
The Cupboard could contain but four; )
A Supper worthy of her felf,
Five Nothings in five Plates of Delph.
THUS, for a Week the Farce went on;
When all her County-Savings gone,
She fell into her former Scene.
Small Beer, a Herring, and the D-n.
THUS
L
216
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THUS, far in jeft. Though now I fear
You think my jefting too ſevere :
But Poets when a Hint is new
Regard not whether falfe or true:
Yet Raillery gives nò Offence,
Where Truth has not the leaft Pretence;
Nor can be more fecurely plac't
Than on a Nymph of Stella's Taſte.
I muſt confefs, your Wine and Vittle
I was too hard upon a little ;
Your Table neat, your Linnen fine;
And, though in Miniature, you ſhine.
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-Park,
The Scene, the Welcome, and the Spark,
To languiſh in this odious Town,
And pull your haughty Stomach down;
We think you quite miſtake the Cafe;
The Virtue lies not in the Place:
For though my Raillery were true,
A Cottage is Wood-Park with you.
A
Poems on feveral Occafions.
217
A
RECEIPT
то
Reſtore STELLA'S Youth.
Written in the Year 1724-5.
"
T
HE Scottish Hinds too poor to houſe
ce to
In frofty Nights their ftarving Cows,
While not a Blade of Graſs, or Hay,
Appears from Michaelmas to May;
Muſt let their Cattle range in vain
For Food, along the barren Plain;
Meager and lank with faſting grown,
And nothing left but Skin and Bone
Expos'd to Want, and Wind, and Weather,
They just keep Life and Soul together,
Till
218
Poems on Several Occafions.
"Till Summer Show'rs and Ev'ning Dew,
Again the verdant Glebe renew;
And as the Vegetables rife,
The famiſh't Cow her Want fupplies;
Without an Ounce of laft Year's Fleſh,
Whate'er the gains is young and freſh;
Grows plump and round, and full of Mettle,
As rifing from Medea's Kettle;
With Youth and Beauty to enchant
Europa's counterfeit Gallant.
WHY, Stella, ſhould you knit your Brow,
If I compare you to the Cow?
'Tis juft the Cafe: For you have faſted
So long till all your Fleſh is wafted,
And muſt againſt the warmer Days
Be fent to * Quilca down to graze;
Where Mirth, and Exerciſe, and Air,
Will foon your Appetite repair.
The Nutriment will from within
Round all your Body plump your
Will agitate the lazy Flood,
Skin;
And fill your Veins with fprightly Blood
Nor Fleſh nor Blood will be the fame,
Nor ought of Stella, but the Name;
ง
A Friend's House feven or eight Miles from Dublin.
For,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
219
1
For, what was ever underſtood
By human Kind, but Fleſh and Blood?
And if your Fleſh and Blood be new,
You'll be no more your former You;
But for a blooming Nymph will pafs,
Juſt Fifteen, coming Summer's Grafs:
Your jetty Locks with Garlands crown'd,
While all the Squires from nine Miles round,
Attended by a Brace of Curs,
With Jocky Boots, and Silver Spurs ;
No less than Juftices o' Quorum,
Their Cow-boys bearing Cloaks before 'um,
Shall leave deciding broken Pates,
To kiſs your Steps at Quilca Gates ;
But, left you ſhould my Skill diſgrace,
Come back before you're out of Caſe;
For if to Michaelmas you ftay,
The new-born Fleſh will melt away;
The Squires in Scorn will fly the Houfe
For better Game, and look for Grouſe:
But here, before the Froft can marr it,
We'll make it firm with Beef and Claret.
To
210
Poems on feveral Occafions.
To Quilca, a Country House in no verj
good Repair, where the fuppofed
Author, and fome of his Friends,
Spent a Summer, in the Year 1725.
L
ET me thy Properties explain,
A rotten Cabbin, dropping Rain;
Chimnies with Scorn rejecting Smoak;
Stools, Tables, Chairs, and Bed-fteds broke:
Here Elements have loft their Ufes,
Air ripens not, nor Earth produces:
In vain we make poor Sheelah toil,
Fire will not roaft, nor Water boil.
Thro' all the Vallies, Hills, and Plains,
The Goddeſs Want in Triumph reigns;
And her chief Officers of State,
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft around her wait.
A
Paftoral DIALOGUE
A
DERMOT, SHEELAH.
NYMPH and Swain, Sheelab and Dermot
hight,
Who wont to weed the Court of 5 Gosford Knight.
• Sir Arthur Acheſon, whofe Great Grand-Father was Sir
Archibald of Gosford in Scotland.
While
Poems on feveral Occafions.
While each with ftubbed Knife remov'd the Roots
That rais'd between the Stones their daily Shoots;
As at their Work they fat in counterview,
With mutual Beauty fmit, their Paffion grew.
Sing heavenly Mufe in fweetly flowing Strain,
The foft Endearments of the Nymph and Swain.
DERMOT.
My Love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt,
Than ſtrongeſt Weeds that grow theſe Stones be-
twixt :
My Spud theſe Nettles from the Stones can part;
No Knife ſo keen to weed thee from my Heart.
SHEELAH.
Mr Love for gentle Dermot faſter
grows,
Than yon tall Dock that rifes to thy Noſe.
Cut down the Dock, 'twill fprout again; but O!
Love rooted out, again will never grow.
DERMOT.
No more that Bry'r thy tender Leg ſhall rake:
(I ſpare the Thiſtle for † Sir Arthur's Sake.)
t
↑ Who is a great Lover of Scotland.
Sharp
222
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
Sharp are the Stones, take thou this ruſhy Mar;
The hardeſt Bum will bruiſe with fitting ſquat.
SHEELAH.
THY Breeches torn behind, ftand gaping wide;
This Petticoat ſhall fave thy dear Back-fide;
feel it wet;
Nor need I bluſh, although you
Dermot, I vow, 'tis nothing elfe but Sweat,
DERMOT.
Ar an old ſtubborn Root I chanc'd to tug,
When the Dean threw me this Tobacco-plug:
A longer Half-p'orth never did I fee;
This, deareft Sheelah, thou fhalt ſhare with me,
SHEELAH.
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, ſhalt have the bigger Half
DERMOT.
WHEN you faw Tady at Long-bullets play,
You fat and lous'd him all a Sun-fhine Day.
+ Sir Arthur's Butler:
How
Poems on feveral Occafions.
223
How could you, Sheelah, liſten to his Tales,
Or crack fuch Lice as his betwixt your Nails?
I
SHEELAH.
WHEN you with Oonah ſtood behind a Ditch,
peept, and ſaw you kiſs the dirty Bitch,
Dermot, how could you touch thofe nafty Sluts!
I almoft wifht this Spud were in your Guts.
DERMOT.
If Oonah once I kiſs'd, forbear to chide;
Her Aunt's my Goffip by my Father's Side:
But, if I ever touch her Lips again,
May I be doom'd for Life to weed in Rain.
SHEELAH.
DERMOT, Ifwear, tho' Tady's Locks could
hold
Ten Thouſand Lice, and ev'ry Loufe was Gold;
Him on my Lap you never more fhould fee;
Or may I lose my Weeding Knife---and thee.
DERMOT.
O, COULD I earn for thee, my lovely Laſs,
A Pair of Brogues to bear thee dry to Maſs!
But
224
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But fee, where Norab with the Sowins comes--
Then let us rife, and reft our weary Bums.
THE
JOURNAL
OF A
MODERN LADY.
Written in the YEAR 1728.
T was a moft unfriendly Part
I'
In you, who ought to know my Heart,
Are well acquainted with my Zeal
For all the Female Commonweal:
How cou'd it come into your Mind,
To pitch on me, 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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
225
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 belye?
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 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 gave the Subject out of Spite:
The Journal of a modern Dame
Is by my Promiſe what you claim:
My Word is paſt, I muſt 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,
VOL. II.
Q
Of
226
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 Rake-well,
(As we ſhall ſhew you in the Sequel)
The modern Dame is wak'd by Noon,
Some Authors fay, not quite fo foon;
Becauſe, though fore againſt her Will,
She fat all Night up at Quadrill.
She ſtretches, gapes, unglues her Eyes,
And asks 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 to her Glaſs; 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
Poems on feveral Occafions.
227
"But run to Tom, and bid him fix
"The Ladies here To-night by Six."
Madam, the Goldfmith waits below,
He ſays, his Buſineſs is to know
If you'll redeem the Silver Cup
He keeps in Pawn?
Why, fhew him up.
Your Dreffing-Plate, he'll be content
To take, for Intereft Cent. Cent.
per
And, Madam, there's my Lady Spade
Hath fent this Letter by her Maid.
Well, I remember what fhe won;
"And hath the fent fo foon to dun?
"Here, carry down thofe ten Piftoles
t
My Husband left to pay for Coals:
I thank my Stars they all are 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 Succeſs 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 the combine,
And to each other
give
the Sign.
Q =
Through
118
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Through every Game purſues her Tale,
Like Hunters o'er their Evening Ale.
Now to another Scene give Place,
Enter the Folks with Silks and Lace:
Freſh 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 ſo 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 Madam almoft drefs'd by Four;
The Footman, in his ufual Phrafe,
CC
Comes up with, Madam, Dinner ftays;
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 up lefs;
"I'm hurry'd fo, it makes me ſick,
"I wiſh the Dinner at Old Nick.”)
At
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
229
At Table now fhe acts her Part,
Has all the Dinner-Cant by Heart :
"I thought we were to dine alone,
"My Dear, for fure if I had known
"This Company would come to Day
"But really 'tis my Spoufe's Way,
"He's fo unkind, he newer fends
"To tell when he invites his Friends:
"I wiſh you may but have enough."
And while, with all this paultry Stuff,
She fits tormenting every Gueſt,
Nor gives her Tongue one Moment's Reft,
In Phraſes batter'd, ftale, and trite,
Which modern Ladies call polite;
You ſee 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
230
Poems on Several Occafions.
And fair Difcretion left the Place,
And Modefty with bluſhing Face:
Now enters over-weening Pride,
And Scandal, ever gaping wide,
Hypocrify with Frown fevere,
Scurrility with gibing Air;
Rude Laughter ſeeming like to burſt
And Malice always judging worft;
And Vanity with Pocket-Glafs ;
And Impudence with Front of Brafs;
And ſtudied Affectation came,
Each Limb and Feature out of Frame:
While Ignorance, with Brain of Lead,
Flew hoy'ring o'er each Female Head.
WHY fhould I ask of thee, my Mufe,
An hundred Tongues, as Poets uſe,
When, to give ev'ry Dame her due,
An Hundred Thouſand were too few!
Or how ſhould I, alas! relate,
The Sum of all their fenfelefs Prate;
Their Innuendo's, Hints, and Slanders,
Their Meanings lewd, and double 'Entendres.
Now
Poems on feveral Occafions.
231
Now comes the gen'ral Scandal-Charge;
What fome invent, the reft enlarge:
And, Madam, if it be a Lye,
"You have the Tale as cheap as I:
"I muft conceal my Author's Name,
But now 'tis known to common Fame.
SA
A Y, foolish Females, Bold and Blind;
Say, by what fatal Turn of Mind,
Are you on Vices moft fevere
Wherein yourſelves have greateſt Share?
Thus ev'ry Fool herfelf deludes ;
The Prude condemns the abfent Prudes;
Mopfa, who ſtinks her Spouſe to Death,
Accufes Chloe's tainted Breath;
Hircina rank with Sweat, prefumes
To cenfure Phillis for Perfumes;
While crooked Cynthia fueering ſays,
That Florimel wears Iron Stays:
Chloe of ev'ry Coxcomb jealous,
Admires how Girls can talk with Fellows;
And full of Indignation frets
'That Women ſhould be fuch Coquets:
Iris
232
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
Iris, for Scandal moſt notorious,
Cries, "Lord, the World is ſo 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 Silvia full of inward Guilt,
Calls Amoret an arrant Jilt.
Now Voices over Voices rife,
While each to be the loudest vies;
They contradict, affirm, difpute;
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 made not fuch a Clatter:
Far lefs the Rabble roar and rail,
When drunk with four Election Ale,
NOR
Poems on feveral Occafions.
233
NOR do they truft their Tongue alone,
But ſpeak a Language of their own;
Can 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,
Deſcribe the Lady and the Man.
BUT fee, the Female Club disbands,
Each twenty Vifits on her Hands.
Now all alone poor Madam fits,
In Vapours and Hyfterick Fits:
"And was not Tom this Morning fent?
"I'd lay my Life he never went;
"Paft Six, and not a living Soul!
"I might by this haye won a Vole.”
A dreadful Interyal of Spleen!
How ſhall we paſs the Time between ?
"Here Betty, let me take my Drops,
"And feel my Pulfe, I know it ftops:
"This Head of mine, Lord, how it fwims!
" And fuch a Pain in all my Limbs!"
Dear
234
Poems on feveral Occafions.
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 Şup.
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 the Word, and ſo 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?
The fuperftitious Whims relate,
That fill a Female-Gamefter'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 earnest Eyes,
In hope to fee Spadillo rife;
In
Poems on feveral Occafions.
235
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 Charms to mend her Luck.
"This Morning when the Parfon came,
I faid, I ſhould 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 ſo ill.
66
Nay, Madam, give me Leave to ſay,
" 'Twas you that threw the Game away;
"When Lady Trickfy play'd a Four,
"You took it with a Matadore ;
;
"I faw you touch your Wedding-Ring
"Before my Lady call'd a King.
CC
You ſpoke a Word began with H,
"And I know whom you mean to teach,
"Becauſe
236
Poems on feveral Occafions.
"Becauſe you held the King of Hearts:
σε
Fie, Madam, leave thefe little Arts.
That's not fo bad as one that rubs
Her Chair to call the King of Clubs,
And makes her Partner underſtand
A Matadore is in her Hand.
"Madam, you haye no Caufe to flounce,
"Ifwear, 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.
WHILE thus they rail, and fcold, and ftorm,
It paffes but for common Form ;
And conſcious that they all ſpeak true,
They give each other but their Due;
It never interrupts the Game,
Or makes 'em fenfible of Shame.
THE Time too precious now to waite,
And Supper gobbled up in hafte;
Again
Poems on feveral Occafions.
237
{
Again a-freſh to Cards they run,
As if they had but juſt begun.
But I ſhall not again repeat
How oft they fquabble, fnarl and cheat.
At laft they hear the Watchman knock,
Afrofty Morn Paft Four a-Clock.
The Chair-Men are not to be found,
"Come, let us play the t'other Round.
Now, all in hafte they huddle on
Their Hoods, and Cloaks, and get them gone:
But first, the Winner muft invite
The Company to-morrow Night.
UNLUCKY Madam left in Tears,
(Who now again Quadrill forfwears,)
With empty Purſe, and aching Head,
Steals to her fleeping Spoufe to Bed.
то
238
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Grand Queſtion debated.
WHETHER
Hamilton's * Bawn ſhould be turned
into a Barrack or a Malt-Houſe.
The Preface to the English Edition.
HE Author of the following Poem, is faid
TH
to be Dr. J. S. D. S. P. D. who writ it, as
well as feveral other Copies of Verfes of the like
Kind, by Way of Amusement, in the Family of an
honourable Gentleman in the North of Ireland, where
be spent a Summer about two or three Years ago.
A certain very great Perſon, then in that King-
dom, having heard much of this Poem, obtained a
Copy from the Gentleman, or, as fome fay, the Lady,
in whofe Houſe it was written, from whence, I
know not by what Accident, ſeveral other Copies
were tranfcribed, full of Errors. As I have a great
Respect for the fuppofed Author, I have procured
a true Copy of the Poem, the Publication whereof
can do him lefs Injury than printing any of those in-
correct ones which run about in Manufcript, and
would infallibly be foon in the Prefs, if not thus pre-
vented.
Some Expreffions being peculiar to Ireland, I have
prevailed on a Gentleman of that Kingdom to ex-
plain them, and I have put the feveral Explanations
in their proper Places.
A BAWN was a l'lace near the Houfe, inclofed with Mud
or Stone-Walls, to keep the Cattle from being stolen in the
The
Night. They are now little uſed.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
239
The Grand Queftion, &c.
Written in the Year 1729.
HUS fpoke to my Lady, the Knight full of
THI
Care;
Let me have your Advice in a weighty Affair.
This HAMILTON's Bawn, while it fticks on my
t
Hand,
I loſe by the Houſe what I get by the Land;
But how to difpofe of it to the beſt Bidder,
* Barrack_or_Malt-House, we now muſt
For a
confider.
FIRST, let me fuppofe I make it a Malt-Houfe:
Here I have computed the Profit will fall t'us.
There's nine Hundred Pounds for Labour and Grain,
I increaſe it to Twelve, fo three Hundred remain :
A handſome Addition for Wine and good Chear,
Three Diſhes a Day, and three Hogfheads a Year.
† A large old Houfe two Miles from Sir AA's Seat.
The Army in Ireland, is lodg'd in ftrong Buildings over
the whole Kingdom, call'd Barracks.
With
240
Poems on feveral Occafions.
•
With a Dozen large Veffels my Vault ſhall be ſtor'd,
No little ſcrub Joint fhall come on my Board:
And you and the Dean no more ſhall combine,
To ſtint me at Night to one Bottle of Wine;
Nor fhall I for his Humour, permit you to purloin
A Stone and à quarter of Beef from my Sirloin.
If I make it a Barrack, the Crown is my Tenant:
My Dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't:
In Poundage and Drawbacks, I loſe half my Rent,
Whatever they give me I muſt be content,
Or join with the Court in ev'ry Debate,
And rather than that, I would lofe my Eftate,
THUS ended the Knight: Thus began his meek
Wife :
It muſt, and it ſhall be a Barrack, my Life:
I'm
grown a meer Mopus; no Company comes;
But a Rabble of Tenants, and ruſty dull * Rums ;
With Parfons, what Lady can keep herfelf clean?
I'm all over dawb'd when I fit by the Dean.
But, if you will give us a Barrack, my Dear,
The Captain, I'm fure, will always come here;
* A cant Word in Ireland for a poor Country Clergyman
I
Poems on feveral Occafions.
241
I then ſhall not value his Deanfhip a Straw,
For the Captain, I warrant, will keep him in Awe;
Or ſhould he pretend to be brisk and alert,
Will tell him that Chaplains ſhould not be fo pert;
That Men of his Coat fhould be minding their
Prayers,
And not among Ladies to give themſelves Airs.
THUS argu'd my Lady, but argu'd in vain ;
The Knight his Opinion refolv'd to maintain.
BUT *Hannah, who liften'd to all that was paft,
And could not endure fo vulgar a Tafte,
As foon as her Ladyfhip call'd to be dreft,
Cry'd, Madam, why furely my Maſter's poffeft;
Sir Arthur the Malfter! how fine it will found?
I'd rather the BAWN were funk under Ground.
But Madam, I gueft there wou'd never come Good,
When I ſaw him ſo often with † Darby and Wood.
t
And now my Dream's out: For I was a-dream'd
That I faw a huge Rat: O dear, how I fcream'd!
* My Lady's Waiting woman. Two of Sir A---'s Ma-
nagers.
VOL. II.
R
And
242
Poems on feveral Occafions
"
And after, me thought, I had loſt my new Shoes;
And, Molly, fhe faid, I fhould hear fome ill News.
DEAR Madam, had you but the Spirit to teaze,
You might have a Barrack whenever you pleaſe:
And, Madam, I always believ'd you fo ftout,
That for twenty Denials you would not give out.
If I had a Husband like him, I purteft,
'Till he gave me my Will, I wou'd give him no
Reft:
And rather than come in the fame Pair of Sheets
With fuch a crofs Man, I wou'd lye in the Streets.
But, Madam, I beg you contrive and invent,
And worry him out, 'till he gives his Confent.
DEAR Madam, whene'er of a Barrack I think,
An I were to be hang'd, I can't fleep a Wink :
For, if a new Crotchet comes into my Brain,
t
I can't get it out, tho' I'd never fo fain.
I fancy already a Barrack contriv'd
At HAMILTON'S Bawn, and the Troop is arriv'd.
Of this, to be fure, Sir Arthur has Warning,
And waits on the Captain betimes the next Morning.
Now
Poems on feveral Occafions.
243
Now, fee, when they meet, how their Honour's
behave;
Noble Captain, your Servant-Sir Arthur your
Slave;
You honour me much--the Honour is mine,
Twas a fad rainy Night---but the Morning is fine---
Pray, how does my Lady ?----My Wife's at your
Service.----
I think I have feen her Picture by Jervis.-----
Good Morrow, good Captain,- --I'll wait on you
1
down,
You fhan't ftir a Foot----You'll think me á Clown----
For all the World, Captain, not half an Inch farther--
You muſt be obey'd----your Servant, Sir Arthur
My humble Refpects to my Lady unknown.----
I hope you will ufe my Houſe as your own.
86 Go, bring me my Smock, and leave off your
"Prate,
Thou haft certainly gotten a Cup in thy Pate.
Pray, Madam, be quiet; what was it I faid?--
You had like to have put it quite out of my Head.
R 3
NEXT
244
Poems on feveral Occafions.
NEXT Day, to be fure, the Captain will come,
At the Head of his Troop, with Trumpet and Drum:
Now, Madam, obferve, how he marches in State:
The Man with the Kettle-drum enters the Gate;
Dub, dub, a-dub, dub. The Trumpeters follow,
Tantára, tantara, while all the Boys hollow.
See, now comes the Captain all dawb'd with gold
Lace:
O law! the ſweet Gentleman! look in his Face;
And fee how he rides like a Lord of the Land,
With the fine flaming Sword that he holds in his
Hand;
And his Horfe, the dear Creter, it prances and rears,
With Ribbins in Knots, at its Tail and its Ears:
At laſt comes the Troop, by the Word of Command
Drawn up in our Court; when the Captain cries,
STAND.
Your Ladyship lifts up the Safh to be feen,
(For fure, I had dizen'd you out like a Queen:)
The Captain, to fhew he is proud of the Favour,
Looks up to your Window, and cocks up his Beaver,
(His Beaver is cock'd; pray, Madam, mark that,
For, a Captain of Horſe never takes off his Hat;
Becaufe
Poems on feveral Occafions.
245
Becauſe he has never a Hand that is idle ;
For, the Right holds the Sword, and the Left holds
the Bridle,)
Then flouriſhes thrice his Sword in the Air,
As a Compliment due to a Lady fo fair;
How I tremble to think of the Blood it hath fpilt!
Then he low'rs down the Point, and kiffes the Hilt.
Your Ladyship fimiles, and thus you begin;
Pray, Captain, be pleas'd to light, and walk in:
The Captain falutes you with Congee profound;
And your Ladyship curchyes half way to the Ground.
KIT, run to your Mafter, and bid him come to us,
I'm fure he'll be proud of the Honour you do us;
And, Captain, you'll do us the Favour to ftay,
And take a fhort Dinner here with us to-Day:
You're heartily welcome: But as for good Chear,
You come in the very worst Time of the Year;
If I had expected fo worthy a Gueſt :----
Lord! Madam! your Ladyship fure is in jeſt ;
You banter me, Madam, the Kingdom muſt grant--
You Officers, Captain, are fo complaifant.
"HIST,
246
Poems on feveral Occafions.
"HIST, Huzzy, I think I hear fome Body
coming
No, Madam; 'tis only Sir Arthur a humming.
To fhorten my Tale, (for I hate a long Story,)
The Captain at Dinner appears in his Glory;
The Dean and the † Doctor have humbled their
Pride,
For the Captain's entreated to fit by your Side;
And, becauſe he's their Betters, you carve for him
firft,
The Parfons, for Envy, are ready to burft:
The Servants amaz'd, are ſcarce ever able,
To keep off their Eyes, as they wait at the Table;
And, Molly and I have truft in our Noſe,
To peep at the Captain, in all his fine Clo'es:
Dear Madam, be fure he's a fine ſpoken Man,
Do but hear on the Clergy how glib his Tongue ran;
"And, Madam, fays he, if ſuch Dinners you give,
"You'll never want Parfons as long as you live
I ne'er knew a Parfon without a good Nofe,
But the Devil's as welcome wherever he goes:
66 G-~~
+ Doctor Jenny, a Clergyman in the Neighbourhood.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
247
“ G--- d--- me, they bid us reform and repent,
"But, Z---s, by their Looks, they never keep Lent:
"Miſter Curate, for all your grave Locks, I'm
afraid,
"You caft a Sheep's Eye on her Ladyfhip's Maid;
"I wiſh ſhe wou'd lend you her pretty white Hand,
In mending your Caffock, and fmoothing your
Band:
(For the Dean was fo fhabby, and look'd like a
Ninny,
That the Captain ſuppos'd he was Curate to Jenny.)
"Whenever you ſee a Caſſock and Gown,
A Hundred to One, but it covers a Clown;
"Obferve how a Parfon comes into a Room,
“ Ĝ--- d--- me, he hobbles as bad as my Groom;
A Scholard, when juft from his College broke
looſe,
Can hardly tell how to cry Bo to a Gooſe;
"Your † Noveds, and Blutraks, and Qmurs and
Stuff,
"By G--- they don't fignify this Pinch of Snuff.
† Ovids, Plutarchs, Hemers.
" To
248
Poems on Several Occafions.
"To give a young Gentleman right Education,
"The Army's the only good School in the Nation;
.
CC
My School-Mafter call'd me a Dunce and a Fool,
But at Cuffs I was always the Cock of the School;
"I never cou'd take to my Book for the Blood o'me,
And the Puppy confefs'd, he expected no Good
o'me.
"He caught me one Morning coquetting his Wife,
"But he maul'd me, I ne'er was fo maul'd in my
Life:
"So, I took to the Road, and what's very odd,
"The firft Man I robb'd was a Parfon by G---.
"Now Madam, you'll think it a ſtrange Thing to
Lay,
"But, the Sight of a Book makes me fick to this
Day.
NEVER fince I was born did I hear ſo much Wit,
And, Madam, I laugh'd till I thought I ſhou'd ſplit.
So, then you look'd ſcornful, and ſnift at the Dean,
As, who ſhou'd ſay, Now, am I ¶ Skinny and Lean?
But,
Nick-Names for my Lady.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
749
But, he durft not ſo much as once open his Lips,
And, the Doctor was plaguily down in the Hips.
7
THUS mercileſs Hannah ran on in her Talk,
Till fhe heard the Dean call, Will your Ladyship
walk?
Her Ladyship anfwers, I'm just coming down;
Then, turning to Hannah, and forcing a Frown,
Altho' it was plain, in her Heart ſhe was glad,
Cry'd, Huzzy, why fure the Wench is gone mad :
How cou'd theſe Chimeraes get into your Brains?--
Come hither, and take this old Gown for your
Pains.
But the Dean, if this Secret fhou'd come to his Ears,
Will never have done with his Gibes and his Jeers:
For your Life, not a Word of the Matter, I charge
ye:
Give me but a Barrack, a Fig for the Clergy,
HORACE,
250
Poems on feveral Occafions.
HORACE, Book I.
ODE XIV.
O navis, referent, &c.
Paraphraſed and Inſcribed to IRELAND.
Written in the Year 1726.
The INSCRIPTION.
Poor floating Ifle, toft on ill Fortune's Waves,
Ordain'd by Fate to be the Land of Slaves:
Shall moving Delos now deep-rooted stand,
Thou, fixt of old, be now the moving Land?
Altho' the Metaphor be worn and ftale,
Betwixt a State, and Veffel under Sail;
Let me ſuppoſe thee for a Ship a while,
And thus address thee in the Sailor Stile.
NHAPPY Ship, thou art return'd in
UNH
vain :
New Waves fhall drive thee to the Deep again.
1.O navis, referent in mare te novż
Fluctus.
Look
Poems on feveral Occafions.
25$
Look to thy felf, and be no more the Sport
2. Of giddy Winds, but make fome friendly Port.
3. Loft are thy Oars that us'd thy Courſe to guide,
Like faithful Counfellors on either Side.
4. Thy Maſt, which like fome aged Patriot ſtood
The fingle Pillar for his Country's Good,
To lead thee, as a Staff directs the Blind,
Behold, it cracks by yon rough Eastern Wind.
5. Your Cables burft, and you must quickly feel
The Waves impetuous entring at your Keel.
Thus, Commonwealths receive a foreign Yoke,
When the ſtrong Cords of Union once are broke,
6. Torn by a fudden Tempeft is thy Sail,
Expanded to invite a milder Gale.
As when fome Writer in a publick Caufe,
His Pen to fave a finking Nation draws,
Fortiter occupa
Portum:
3. Nudum remigio latus.
4.
5.
Malus celeri faucius Africo,
Ac fine funibus
l'ix durare carine
Poffint imperiofius
Equor?
6. Non tibi funt integra lintea.
While
152
Poems on feveral Occafions.
7.
8.
While all is Calm, his Arguments prevail,
The People's Voice expand his Paper Sail;
Till Pow'r difcharging all her ftormy Bags,
Flutters the feeble Pamphlet into Rags.
The Nation fcar'd, the Author doom'd to Death,
Who fondly put his Truft in pop'lar Breath.
A LARGER Sacrifice in vain you vow;
1
There's not a Pow'r above will help you now;
A Nation thus, who oft Heav'ns Call neglects,
In vain from injur'd Heav'n Relief expects.
'TwILL not avail, when thy ftrong Sides are
broke,
That thy Deſcent is from the Britiſh Oak:
Or when your Name and Family you boaſt,
From Fleets triumphant o'er the Gallick Coaft.
Such was Ierne's Claim, as juſt as thine,
Her Sons defcended from the British Line;
Her matchlefs Sons; whofe Valour ſtill remains
On French Records, for Twenty long Campains;
Yet
7. Non Dii, quos iterum preſſa voces maio.
8. Quamvis Pontica pinus,
Sylva filia nobilis.
Þoems on ſeveral Òccafions.
253
9.
Yet from an Emprefs, now a Captive grown,
10.
She fav'd Britannia's Rights, and loft her own
IN Ships decay'd no Mariner confides,
Lur'd by the gilded Stern, and painted Sides:
Yet, at a Ball, unthinking Fools delight
In the gay Trappings of a Birth-Day Nights
They on the Gold Brocades and Satins rav'd,
And quite forgot their Country was enſlav’d.
II.
DEAR Veffel, ftill be to thy Steerage juſt,
Nor change thy Courſe with ev'ry ſudden Guſt:
Like fupple Patriots of the modern Sort,
Who turn with ev'ry Gale that blows from
Court.
WEARY and Sea-fick when in thee confin'd,
Now, for thy Safety, Cares diftract my Mind.
As
9. Nil piclis timidus navita puppibus.
10. Fidit tu, nifi ventis
Debes ludibrium cave.
11. Nuper follicitum que mibi tædium,
Nunc defiderium, curaque non levis,
Interfufa nitentes
Fites æquora Cycladas.
254
Poems on feveral Occafions.
As thoſe who long have food the Storms of
State,
Retire, yet ftill bemoan their Country's Fate.
Beware, and when you hear the Surges roar,
3
Avoid the Rocks on Britain's angry Shore:
They lye, alas! too eaſy to be found,
For thee alone they lye the Iſland round.
ร
LI-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
258
A
LIBE L
ΟΝ
The Reverend Dr. DELANY,
And His EXCELLENCY
JOHN Lord CARTERET.
To Dr. Delany, occafion'd by his
Epiftle to his Excellency John Lord
Carteret.
D
Written in the Year 1729.
ELUDED Mortals, whom the Great
Chufe for Companions tete à tete;
Who at their Dinners, en famille,
Get Leave to fit whene'er you will;
Then, boafting tell us where you
din'd,
And, how his Lordſhip was ſo kind;
How
256
Poems on feveral Occafions.
How many pleafant Things he spoke,
And, how you laugh'd at ev'ry Joke:
Swear, he's a moft facetious Man:
That you and he are Cup and Cann.
You travel with a heavy Load,
And quite mistake Preferment's Road.
ī
SUPPOSE my Lord and you alone;
Hint the leaſt Int'reft of your own;
His Vifage drops, he knits his Brow,
He cannot talk of Bus'neſs now:
Or, mention but a vacant Poſt,
He'll turn it off with, Name your Toast:
Nor could the niceſt Artiſt paint,
A Countenance with more Conſtraint.
FOR, as their Appetites to quench,
Lords keep a Pimp to bring a Wench;
So, Men of Wit are but a Kind
Of Pandars to a vicious Mind;
Who proper Objects inuft provide
To gratify their Luft of Pride,
When weary'd with Intrigues of State,
They find an idle Hour to prate.
Then,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
257
Then, fhou'd you dare to ask a Place,
You forfeit all your Patron's Grace,
And diſappoint the fole Defign,
For which he fummon'd you to diñe.
THUS, Congreve ſpent, in writing Plays.
And one poor Office, half his Days;
While Mountague, who claim'd the Station
To be Mecanas of the Nation;
For Poets open Table kept,
But ne'er confider'd where they flept:
Himſelf, as rich as Fifty Jews,
Was eaſy, though they wanted Shoes;
And, crazy Congreve fcarce cou'd fpare
A Shilling to diſcharge his Chair;
Till Prudence taught him to appeal
From Paan's Fire to Party Zeal;
Not owing to his happy Vein
The Fortunes of his latter Scene;
Took proper Principles to thrive ;
And fo might ev'ry Dunce alive.
THUS, Steel who own'd what others writ,
And flouriſh'd by imputed Wit,
VOL. II,
Į
S
From
258
Poems on feveral Occafions.
From Perils of a Hundred Jayls,
Withdrew to ftarve, and die in Wales.
THUS Gay, the * Hare with many Friends,
Twice fev'n long Years the Court attends;
Who, under Tales conveying Truth,
To Virtue form'd a princely Youth:
Who paid his Courtship with the Croud,
As far as modeft Pride allow'd;
Rejects a fervile Uber's Place,
And leaves St. James's in Difgrace.
THUS Addifon, by Lords carefs't,
Was left in foreign Lands diftrefs't;
Forgot at home, became for Hire,
A trav'lling Tutor to a Squire.
But, wifely left the Mufes Hill;
To Bus'nefs fhap'd the Poet's Quill,
Let all his barren Lawrels fade;
Took up
himfelf the Courtier's Trade:
And grown a Miniſter of State,
Saw Poets at his Levee wait.
*See his Fables.
HAIL!
Poems on feceral Occafions.
259
HAIL! happy Pope, whofe gen'rous Mind,
Deteſting all the Stateſman Kind!
Contemning Courts, at Courts unfeen,
Refus'd the Vifits of a
;
A Soul with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
By Sages, Prieſts, or Poets taught:
Whofe filial Piety excels
Whatever Grecian Story tells;
A Genius for all Stations fit,
Whofe meanest Talent is his Wit:
His Heart too great, though Fortune little,
To lick a Rafcal Statefman's Spittle;
Appealing to the Nation's Tafte,
Above the Reach of Want is plac't:
By Homer dead was taught to thrive,
Which Homer never cou'd alive:
And, fits aloft on Pindus Head,
Defpifing Slaves that cringe for Bread.
TRUE Politicians only pay
For folid Work, but not for Play;
Nor ever chufe to work with Tools
Forg'd up in Colleges and Schools.
S,
Con-
260
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Confider how much more is due.
To all their Journey-men, than you.
At Table you can Horace quote;
They at a Pinch can bribe a Vote:
You fhew your Skill in Grecian Story,
But, they can manage Whig and Torg:
You, as a Critick, are fo curious
To find a Verfe in Virgil spurious;
But, they can ſmoak the deep Deſigns,
When Bolingbroke with Pult'ncy dines.
BESIDES; your Patron may upbraid ye,
That you
you have
got a Place already :
An Office for your Talents fit,
To flatter, carve, and fhew your Wit;
To fnuff the Lights, and ftir the Fire,
And
get a Dinner for your Hire.
What Claim have you to Place, or Penfion?
He overpays in Condefcenfion.
BUT, Rev'rend Decor, you, we know,
Cou'd never condefcend fo low:
The Vice-Roy, whom you now attend
Wou'd, if he durft, be more your Friend;
Nor
Poems on Several Occafions.
26ṛ
Nor will in you thofe Gifts defpife,
By which himſelf was taught to riſe :
When he has Virtue to retire,
He'll grieve he did not raife you higher,
And place you in a better Station,
Although it might have pleas'd the Nation.
THIS may be true-ſubmitting ftill
To Wle's more than Royal Will,
And what Condition can be worfe?
He comes to drain a Beggar's Purfe:
He comes to tye our Chains on faſter,
And fhew us, E dis our Maſter :
Careffing Knaves, and Dunces wooing,
To make them work their own undoing.
What has he elfe to bait his Traps,
Or bring his Vermin in, but Scraps?
The Offals of a Church diftrefs't,
A hungry Vicarage at beft;
Or, fome remote inferior Poſt,
With Forty Pounds a Year at moft.
BUT, here again you interpofe:
Your favourite Lord is none of thofe,
Who
262
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Who owe their Virtues to their Stations,
And Characters to Dedications:
For keep him in, or turn him out,
His Learning none will call in doubt:
His Learning, though a Poet faid it,
Before a Play, wou'd lofe no Credit:
Nor POPE wou'd dare deny him Wit,
Although to praiſe it PHPS writ.
I own, he hates an Action bafe,
His Virtues battling with his Place;
Nor wants a nice difcerning Spirit,
Betwixt a true and fpurious Merit:
Can fometimes drop a Voter's Claim,
And give up Party to his Fame.
I do the moft that Friendship can;
I hate the Vice-Roy, love the Man.
BUT, You, who till your Fortune's made
Muſt be a Sweet'ner by your Trade,
Shou'd fwear he never meant us ill;
We fuffer fore againſt his Will;
That, if we could but fee his Heart,
He wou'd have chofe a milder Part:
14
We
Poems on feveral Occafions.
236
We rather ſhould lament his Cafe,
Who must obey, or lofe his Place.
SINCE this Reflection flipt your Pen,
Infert it when you write agen:
And, to illuſtrate it, produce
This Simile for his Excufe.
c
"So, to deſtroy a guilty Land,
"An Angel fent by Heav'n's Command,
"While he obeys Almighty Will,
"Perhaps, may feel Compaffion ftill;
"And wiſh the Task had been affign'd
"To Spirits of lefs gentle Kind.
BUT I, in Politicks grown old,
Whofe Thoughts are of a diff'rent Mold,
Who, from my Soul, fincerely hate
Both
and Minifters of State:
Who look on Courts with ftricter Eyes,
To fee the Seeds of Vice arife,
Can lend you an Alluſion fitter,
Though flatt'ring Knaves may call it bitter:
Which,
264
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Which, if
you durſt but give it Place,
Would fhew you many a Statefman's Face.
Freſh from the Tripod of Apollo,
I had it in the Words that follow.
(Take Notice, to avoid Offence
I here except His Excellence.)
So, to effect his Monarch's Ends,
From Hell a Viceroy Dev’L aſcends,
EV
His Budget with Corruptions cramm'd,
The Contributions of the Damn'd;
Which with unfparing Hand, he ftrows
Through Courts and Senates as he goes;
And then at Belzebub's Black-Hall,
Complains his Budget was too fmall.
YOUR Simile may better ſhine
In Verfe; but there is Truth in mine,
For, no imaginable Things
Can differ more than GoD and
And Statesmen, by ten Thouſand Odds,
Are ANGELS, juft as
are GODS.
->
To
Poems on feveral Occafions.
205
To Dr. Delany, on the Libels writ
againſt him.
Tanti tibi non fit opaci.
Omnis arena Tagi.
A
Written in the Year 1719.
S fome raw Youth in Country bred,
To Arms by Thirſt of Honour led,
When at a Skirmish firft he hears
'The Bullets whiftling round his Ears;
Will duck his Head, afide will ſtart,
And feel a trembling at his Heart :
Till, fcaping oft without a Wound,
Leffens the Terror of the Sound:
Fly Bullets now as thick as Hops,
He runs into a Cannon Chops.
An Author thus, who pants for Fame,
Begins the World with Fear and Shame,
{
Juv.
When
266
Poems on feveral Occafions.
When firſt in Print, you fee him dread
Each Pot-Gun levell'd at his Head:
The Lead yon Critick's Quill contains,
Is deftin'd to Beat out his Brains.
As if he heard loud Thunders roul,
Cryes, Lord have Mercy on his Soul
Concluding, that another Shot
Will ſtrike 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 paſt, takes Heart of Grace,
And looks a Critick in the Face.
THOUGH Splendor gives the fairest Mark
To poifon'd Arrows from the Dark,
Yet, *
* in your felf when Smooth and round,
They glance afide without a Wound.
'Tis faid, the Gods try'd all the Art,
How Pain they might from Pleaſure part;
* In feipfo totus teves atque rotundus.
Hor,
But
Poems on Several Occafions,
267
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,
WHY will you aim to be preferr'd
La Wit before the common Herd?
And yet grow mortify'd and vext
To pay the Penalty annext.
'Tis Eminence makes Envy rife;
As faireft Fruits attract the Flies.
Shou'd ſtupid Libels grieve your Mind,
You foon a Remedy may find;
Lye down obfcure like other Folks
Below the Lafh of Snarlers Jokes.
Their Faction is five Hundred Odds,
For, ev'ry Coxcomb lends them Rods
Can fneer as learnedly as they,
Like Females o'er their Morning Tea.
You ſay the Muſe will not contain ;
And write you muft, or break a Vein *
Then, if you find the Terms too hard,
No longer my Advice regard ;
But
168
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But raiſe 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 purfues,
How far their Hearts from private Views.
Make all true Patriots UP to Shoe-boys,
Huzza their Brethren at the † Blue-boys.
Thus grown a Member of the Club,
No longer dread the Rage of Grub.
How oft am I for Rhyme to feek?
To drefs a Thought, may toil a Week;
And then, how thankful to the Town,
If all my Pains will earn a Crown.
Whilft 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 and Spite;
Muft die for Want of Food and Rayment,
If Scandal did not find them Payment.
† The Iriſh Parliament fat at the Blue-Boys-Hofpital, while
the new Parliament-Houfe was building.
How
Poems on feveral Occafions.
269
How chearfully the Hawkers cry
A Satyr, and the Gentry buy!
While my hard--labour'd Poem pines
Unfold upon the Printer's Lines.
A GENIUS in the Rev'rend Gown,
Muſt ever keep its Owner down;
'Tis an unnatural Conjunction,
And ſpoils the Credit of the Function.
Round all your Brethren caft your Eyes;
Point out the fureſt Men to riſe,
GO
That Club of Candidates in Black,
The leaſt deferving of the Pack;
Aſpiring, factious, fierce, and loud
With Grace and Learning unendow'd:
Can turn their Hands to ev'ry Jobb,
The fitteft Tools to work for Bobb:
Will fooner coin a Thouſand Lies
Than fuffer Men of Parts to rife:
They crowd about Preferment's Gate,
And prefs you down with all their Wegn
And, as of old, Mathematicians
Were by the Vulgar thought Magicians;
}
So,
€70
Poems on feveral Occafions.
So, Academick dull Ale-drinkers
Pronounce all Men of Wit, Free-thinkers.
WIT, as the Chief of Virtue's Friends,
Diſdains to ſerve ignoble Ends.
Obferve what Loads of ftupid Rhymes
Opprefs us in corrupted Times:
What Pamphlets in a Court's Defence
Shew Reaſon, Grammar, Truth, or Senſe?
For, though the Muſe delights in Fiction,
She ne'er inſpires ägainſt Conviction.
Then keep your Virtue ftill unmist,
And let not Faction comic betwixt.
By Party-ſteps no Grandeur climb at,
Tho' it would make you England's Primate i
First learn the Science to be dull,
You then may foon your Conſcience lull
If not, however feated high,
Your Genius in your Face will fy.
WHEN Jove was, from his teeming Head,
Of Wit's fair Goddefs brought to Ped,
There follow'd at his lying-in
For After-birth, a Sooterkin;
Which,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
171
Which, as the Nurfe purfu'd to kill,
Attain'd by Flight the Muſes 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:
Hounds hunt the Hare, the wily Fox
Devours your Geefe, the Wolf your Flocks :
Thus Envy pleads a natʼral Claim
To perfecute the Muſes Fame;
On Poets in all Times abufive,
From Homer down to Pope inclufive.
YET what avails it to complain?
You try to take Revenge in vain.
A Rat your utmoſt Rage defies
That fafe behind the Wainſcot lies.
Say, did you ever know by Sight
In Cheeſe an individual Mite ?
Shew
272
Poems on several Occafions.
Shew me the fame numerick Flea,
That bit your Neck but Yesterday:
You then may boldly go in Queſt
To find the Grub Street Poet's Neſt.
What Spunging-houſe in dread of Jail
Receives them while they wait for Bail?
What Alley are they neftled in,
To flouriſh o'er a Cup of Gin?
Find the laft Garret where they lay;
Or Cellar, where they ftarve to-Day:
Suppoſe you had them all trepann'd
With each a Libel in his Hand:
What Puniſhment would you inflict?
Or call 'em Rogues, or get 'em kickt :
Theſe they have often try'd before;
You but oblige 'em ſo much more :
Themſelves would be the firſt to tell,
To make their Trafh the better felk
You have been libell'd---Let us know
What Fool officious told
you ſo.
Will you regard the Hawker's Cries,
Who in his Titles always lies?
Whate'er
Poems on feveral Occafions.
273
Whate'er the noiſy Scoundrel fays,
It might be fomething in your Praife:
And, Praiſe beſtow'd in Grub-ſtreet Rhymes,
Would vex one more a thouſand Times.
"Till Criticks 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.
AN
Excellent new BALLAD; or
the true English * Dean to
be hanged for a Rape.
Written in the YEAR 1730.
I.
UR Brethren of England, who love us fo
OUR
dear,
And in all they do for us fo kindly do mean,
A Bleffing upon them, have fent us this Year,
*
*
For the Good of our Church a true English Dean
VOL. II.
T
Sawbridge, Dean of Fernes, lately deccafed.
A ho-
274
Poems on Several Occafions.
A holier Prieft ne'er was wrapt up in Crape,
The worſt you can fay, he committed a Rape:
II.
In his Journey to Dublin, he lighted at Chester,
And there he grew fond of another Man's Wife
Burſt into her Chamber, and wou'd have careft her
But the valu'd her Honour much more than her
Life.
She buftled and ftruggled, and made her Eſcape,
To a Room full of Guefts for fear of a Rape.
III.
THE Dean he purfu'd to recover his Game:
And now to attack her again he prepares;
But the Company ſtood in Defence of the Dame,
They cudgel'd, and cuft him, and kickt him
down Stairs.
His Deanſhip was now in a damnable Scrape,
And this was no Time for commiting a Rape.
IV.
To Dublin he comes, to the Bagnio he goes,
And orders the Landlord to bring him a Whore ;
No Scruple came on him his Gown to expoſe,
"Twas what all his Life he had practis'd before.
He
;
Poems on feveral Occafions.
275
He had made himſelf drunk with the Juice of the
Grape,
And got a good Clap, but committed no Rape.
V.
THE Dean, and his Landlord, a jolly Comrade,
Reſolv❜d for a Fortnight to ſwim in Delight;
For why, they had both been brought up to the
Trade
Of drinking all Day, and of whoring all Night.
His Landlord was ready his Deanfhip to ape
In ev'ry Debauch, but committing a Rape,
VI.
THIS Proteftant Zealot, this English Divine,
In Church and in State was of Principles found;
Was truer than Steele to the Hanover Line,
And griev'd that a Tory ſhould live above Ground.
Shall a Subject fo loyal be hang'd by the Nape,
For no other Crime but committing a Rape?
VII.
Br old Popish Canons, as wife Men have penn'd 'em
Each Prieſt had a Concubine, jure Ecclefiæ;
Who'd be Dean of Ferns without a Commendam?
And Precedents we can produce, if it pleaſe ye:
T 2
Then,
276
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Then, why ſhould the Dean, when Whores are fo
cheap,
Be put to the Peril, and Toyl of a Rape?
VIII.
IF Fortune ſhould pleaſe but to take fuch a Crotcher,
(To thee I apply great Smedley's Succeffor)
To give thee Lawn Sleeves, a Mitre and Rotchet,
Whom would'ft thou refemble? I leave thee a
Gueffer;
But I only behold thee in † Atherton's Shape,
For Sodomy hang'd, as thou for a Rape
IX.
AH! doft thou not envy the brave Colonel Chartres,
Condemn'd for thy Crime, at three Score and Ten?
To hang him all England would lend him their
Garters;
Yet he lives, and is ready to raviſh agen.
Then throttle thy felf with an Ell of ftrong Tape,
For thou haft not a Groat to attone for a Rape.
X. THE
† A Biſhop of Waterford, fent from England a Hundred
Years ago.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
27%
X.
THE Dean he was vext that his Whores were fa
willing:
He long'd for a Girl that would ſtruggle and
fqual;
He raviſh'd her fairly, and fav'd a good Shilling;
But, here was to pay the Devil and all.
His Trouble and Sorrows now come in a Heap,
And hang'd he muſt be for committing a Rape.
XI.
IF Maidens are ravifh't, it is their own Choice;
Why are they ſo wilful to ſtruggle with Men?
If they would but lye quiet, and ftifle their Voice,
No Devil nor Dean could raviſh 'em then.
Nor would there be need of a ſtrong Hempen Cape,
Ty'd round the Dean's Neck, for committing a
Rape.
XII.
OUR Church and our State dear England maintains,
For which all true Proteftant Hearts ſhould be
glad;
She fends us our B----s and J-s and D----s;
And better would give us, if better ſhe had ;
PUST
278
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
But, Lord how the Rabble will ſtare and will gape,
When the good English Dean is hang'd up for a
Rape.
THE
Place of the Damn'd,
A
Written in the Year 173 1.
LL Falks, who pretend to Religion and Grace,
Allow there's a HELL, but difpute of the
Place;
But if HELL may by Logical Rules be defin'd
The Place of the Damn'd,
I'll tell you my Mind,
WHEREVER the Damn'd do chiefly abound,
Moft certainly there is HELL to be found;
Damn'd Poets, Damn'd Criticks, Damn'd Block-
heads, Damn'd Knaves,
Damn'd Senators brib'd, Damn'd prostitute Slaves;
Damn'd
Poems on feveral Occafions.
279
Damn'd Lawyers and Judges, Damn'd Lords and
Damn'd Squires,
Damn'd Spies and Informers, Damn'd Friends and
Damn'd Lyars;
Damn'd Villains corrupted in every Station;
Damn'd Time-Serving Prieſts all over the Nation.
And into the Bargain I'll readily give you
Damn'd ignorant Prelates, and Counsellors privy.
Then let us no longer by Parfons be Flamm'd,
For We know by thefe Marks, the Place of the
Damn'd:
And HELL to be fure is at Paris or Rome,
How happy for Us, that it is not at Home!
*WHITSHED's Motto on his Coach.
L
Libertas & natale Solum
Liberty and my native Country.
Written in the Year 1724.
IBERTAS & natale Solum ;
Fine Words; I wonder where you ftole 'um.
Could nothing but thy chief Reproach,
Serve for a Motto on thy Coach?
But,
* That infamous Chief Justice, who twice profecuted the Dra-
pier, and diſſolved the Grand Jury for not finding the Bill againſt
bim.
280
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
But, let me now the Words tranſlate :
Natale Solum: My Eftate:
My dear Eftate, how well I love it;
My Tenants, if you doubt, will prove it:
They fwear I am fo kind and good,
I hug them till Ifqueeze their Blood.
LIBERTAS bears a large Import;
Firft; how to ſwagger in a Court;
And, fecondly, to fhew my Fury
Againſt an uncomplying Jury:
And, Thirdly; 'tis a new Invention
To favour Wood and keep my Penfion:
And, Fourthly, 'tis to play an odd Trick,
Get the Great Seal, and turn out Brodrick.
And, Fifthly; you know whom I mean,
To humble that vexatious Dean.
And, Sixthly; for my Soul, to barter it
For Fifty Times its Worth, to Carteret.
Now, fince your Motto thus you conſtrue,
I muſt confefs you've ſpoken once true.
Libertas & natale Solum;
You had good Reaſon when you ſtole 'um.
To
Poems on feveral Occafions.
281
A
PANEGYRICK
ΟΝ ΤΗΕ
D-n, in the Perfon of a Lady in
the North.
R
Written in the Year 1750.
ESOLV'D my Gratitude to fhow,
Thrice Rev'rend D-n for all I owe;
Too long I have my Thanks delay'd;
Your Favours left too long unpay'd;
But now in all our Sexes Name,
My artleſs Muſe ſhall fing your Fame.
1
INDULGENT you to Female Kind,
To all their weaker Sides are blind;
Nine more fuch Champions as the D-n,
Would foon reſtore our antient Reign.
How well to win the Ladies Hearts,
You celebrate their Wit and Parts !
* T
How
282
Poems on feveral Occafions.
How have I felt my Spirits rais'd,
By you ſo oft, ſo highly prais'd!
Transform'd by your convincing Tongue
To witty, beautiful, and young.
I hope to quit that awkward Shame
Affected by each vulgar Dame;
To Modeſty a weak Pretence;
And foon grow pert on Men of Senſe;
To fhow my Face with fcornful Air;
Let others match it if they dare.
IMPATIENT to be out of Debt,
O, may I never once forget.
The Bard, who humbly deigns to chuſe
Me for the Subject of his Mufe.
Behind my Back, before my Noſe,
He founds my Praiſe in Verfe and Profe.
My Heart with Emulation burns
To make you fuitable Returns;
My Gratitude the World ſhall know:
And, fee, the Printer's Boy below:
Ye Hawkers all, your Voices lift;
A Panegyrick on D-n S.
And then, to mend the Matter ftill;
By Lady Anne of * Market-Hill.
I THUS.
* A Village near Sir A- A-'s House, where the
Author paſſed two Summers.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
283
;
I THUS begin. My grateful Mufe
Salutes the D-n in diff'rent Views;
D---n, Butler, Ufher, Jefter, Tutor
* Robert and Darby's Coadjutor :
And, as you in Commiffion fit,
To rule the Dairy next to † Kit.
IN each Capacity I mean
To fing your Praiſe. And, firſt as D---n:
Envy must own, you underſtand your
Precedence, and fupport your Grandeur:
Nor, of your Rank will bate an Ace,
Except to give D---n D
In
you fuch Dignity appears;
/
place.
So fuited to your State, and Years!
With Ladies what a ftrict Decorum!
With what Devotion you adore 'um!
Treat me with fo much Complaifance,
As fits a Princeſs in Romance.
By your Example and Affiftance,
The Fellows learn to know their Diſtance.
Sir A―r, fince you ſet the Pattern,
No longer calls me Snipe and Slattern ;
Nor dares he, though he were a Duke,
Offend me with the leaft Rebuke.
PRO-
*The Names of two Overfeers.
† My Lady's Footman.
294
Poems on Several Occafions,
PROCEED We to your preaching next:
How nice you ſplit the hardeſt Text!
How your fuperior Learning ſhines
Above our neighb'ring dull Divines!
At Beggar's-Op'ra not fo full Pit
Is feen, as when you mount our Pulpit.
CONSIDER NOW your Converſation;
Regardful of your Age and Station,
You ne'er was known, by Paffion ftir'd,
To give the leaft offenfive Word;
But ftill, whene'er you Silence break,
Watch ev'ry Syllable you ſpeak:
Your Style fo clear, and fo conciſe,
We never ask to hear you twice.
But then, a Parfon fo genteel,
So nicely clad from Head to Heel;
So fine a Gown, a Band ſo clean,
As well become St. P-
k's D
Such reverential Awe exprefs,
That Cow-boys know you by your Drefs!
Then, if our neighb'ring Friends come here,
How proud are we when you appear!
With fuch Addrefs, and graceful Port,
As clearly ſhows you bred at Court!
Now raiſe your Spirits, Mr. D---n :
I lead you to a nobler Scene;
* The Author preached but once while he was there,
124
When
Poems on feveral Occafions:
285
When to the Vault you walk in State,
In Quality of * Butler's Mate;
You, next to Dennis bear the Sway :
To you we often truft the Key:
Nor, can he judge with all his Art
So well, what Bottle holds a Quart:
What Pints may beft for Bottles paſs,
Juſt to give ev'ry Man his Glafs:
When proper to produce the beſt;
And, what may ſerve a common Gueſt.
With † Dennis you did ne'er combine,
Not you, to steal your Mafter's Wine;
Except a Bottle now and then,
To welcome Brother Serving-men;
But, that is with a good Defign,
To drink Sir Ar's Health and mine:
Your Maſter's Honour to maintain;
And
get the like Returns again.
YOUR Ufher's Poft muſt next be handled:
How blefs't am I by fuch a Man led!
Under whoſe wife and careful Guardſhip,
I now defpife Fatigue and Hardſhip:
Familiar grown to Dirt and Wet,
Though daggled round, I fcorn to fret:
From
* He fometimes used to direct the Butler.
↑ The Butler.
He fometimes used to walk with the Lady:
286
Poems on feveral Occafions.
From you my Chamber-Damfels learn
My broken Hofe to patch and dern.
Now, as a Jefter, I accoſt you ;
Which never yet one Friend has loft you.
You judge fo nicely to a Hair,
How far to go, and when to ſpare ;
By long Experience grown fo wife,
Of ev'ry Taſte to know the Size;
There's none fo ignorant or weak
*To take Offence at what you ſpeak.
Whene'er you joke, 'tis all a Cafe;
Whether with Dermot, or His Grace ;
With Teague O'Murphy, or an Ear!
A Dutchefs or a Kitchen Girl.
With fuch Dexterity you fit
Their ſev'ral Talents to your Wit,
That Moll the Chamber-maid can fmoak,
And Gaghagan take ev'ry Joke.
I Now become your humble Suitor,
To let me praiſe you as my † Tutor
Poor I, a Savage bred and born,
By you inſtructed ev'ry Morn,
AL
* The neighbouring Ladies were no great Underftanders of
Raillery.
† In bad Weather the Author uſed to dived my Lady in ber
Reading.
Poems on ſeveral Occafions?
287
Already have improv'd fo well,
That I have almoft learn't to fpell:
The Neighbours who come here to dine,
Admire to hear me ſpeak ſo fine.
How enviouſly the Ladies look,
When they ſurprize me at my Book!
And, fure as they're alive, at Night;
As foon as gone, will ſhow their Spight:
Good Lord! what can my Lady mean,
Converfing with that rufty D---n!
She's grown ſo nice, and ſo * penurious,
With Socratus and Epicurius.
How could the fit the live-long Day,
Yet never ask us once to play?
BUT, I admire your Patience moſt;
That, when I'm duller than a Poft,
Nor can the plaineft Word pronounce,
You neither fume, nor fret, nor flounce:
Are fo indulgent, and ſo mild,
As if I were a darling Child.
So gentle is your whole Proceeding,
That I could ſpend my Life in reading.
You merit new Employments daily:
Our Thatcher, Ditcher, Gard'ner, Baily.
And, to a Genius fo extenfive,
No Work is grievous or offenfive.
Whe-
* Ignorant Ladies often miftake the Word Penurious for nice,
and dainty.
$
288
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Whether, your fruitful Fancy lies
To make for Pigs convenient Styes:
Or, ponder long with anxious Thought,
To baniſh Rats that haunt our Vault.
Nor have you grumbled, rev'rend D---n,
To keep our Poultry fweet and clean;
To ſweep the Manfion-houſe they dwell in g
And cure the Rank unfav'ry Smelling.
Now, enter as the Dairy Hand-maid
Šuch charming * Butter never Man made.
Let others with Fanatick Face,
Talk of their Milk for Babes of Grace;
From Tubs their fnuffling Nonſenſe utter:
Thy Milk ſhall make us Tubs of Butter.
The Bishop with his Foot may burn it;
But, with his Hand, the D-- n can churn it.
How are the Servants overjoy'd
To fee thy D---nfhip thus employ'd!
Inſtead of poring on a Book,
Providing Butter for the Cook.
Three Morning-Hours you tofs and fhake
The Bottle, till your Fingers ake:
Hard is the Toil, nor fmall the Art,
The Butter from the Whey to part :
Behold; a frothy Subſtance rife;
Be cautious, or your Bottle flies.
The
* A Way of making Butter for Breakfast, by filling a Bottle
with Cream, and baking it till the Butter comess
Poems on feveral Occafions
289.
The Butter comes; our Fears are ceas't;
And, out you ſqueeze an Ounce at leaſt.
YOUR Rev'rence thus, with like Succefs,
Nor is your Skill, or Labour lefs,
When bent upon ſome ſmart Lampoon,
You tofs and turn your Brain till Noon;
Which, in its Jumblings round the Skull,
Dilates, and makes the Veffel full:
While nothing comes but Froth at first,
You think your giddy Head will burſt:
But, fqueezing out four Lines in Rhime,
Are largely paid for all your time.
BUT, you have rais'd your gen'rous Mind
To Works of more exalted Kind.
Palladio was not half fo skill'd in
The Grandeur or the Art of Building.
Two Temples of magnifick Size,
Attract the curious Trav'llers Eyes,
That might be envy'd by the Greeks;
Rais'd up by you in twenty Weeks :
Here, gentle Goddefs Cloacine
Receives all Off'rings at her Shrine.
In fep'rate Cells the He's and She's
Here pay their Vows with bended Knecs à
(For, 'tis prophane when Sexes mingle;
And ev'ry Nymph muft enter fingle;
And when the feels an inward Motion,
Comes fill'd with Rev'rence and Devotion.)
VOL. II.
U
The
290
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The baſhful Maid, to hide her Bluſh,
Shall creep no more behind a Buſh;
Here unobſerv'd, fhe boldly goes,
As who ſhould ſay, to pluck a Rofe.
YE who frequent this hallow'd Scene,
Be not ungrateful to the D-.-n ;
But, duly e'er you leave your Station,
Offer to him a pure Libation;
Or of his own, or * Smedly's Lay,
Or Billet-doux, or Lock of Hay :
And, O! may all who hither come,
Return with unpolluted Thumb.
YET, when your lofty Domes I praife,
I figh to think of antient Days.
Permit me then to raife my Style,
And fweetly moralize a while.
THEE bounteous Goddeſs Cloacine,
To Temples why do we confine?
Forbid in open Air to breath;
Why are thine Altars fix't beneath?
WHEN Saturn rul'd the Skies alone,
That golden Age, to Gold unknown;
This earthly Globe to thee affign'd,
Receiv'd the Gifts of all Mankind.
Ten Thouſand Altars fmoaking round
Were built to thee, with Off'rings crown'd:
* See his Character hereafter.
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
291
And here thy daily Vot'ries plac't
Their Sacrifice with Zeal and Hafte:
The Margin of a purling Stream,
Sent up to thee a grateful Steam.
(Though fometimes thou wer't pleas'd to wink,
If Nayads fwept them from the Brink)
Or, where appointing Lovers rove,
The Shelter of a ſhady Grove:
Or, offer'd in fome flow'ry Vale,
Were wafted by a gentle Gale.
There, many a Flow'r abfterfive
Thy fav'rite Flow'rs of yellow Hue;
The Crocus and the Daffodil,
The Cowflip foft, and fweet Jonquil.
grew.
BUT, when at laſt ufurping Jove
Old Saturn from his Empire drove;
Then Gluttony with greaſy Paws,
Her Napkin pinn'd up to her Jaws,
With watry Chaps, and wagging Chin,
Brac'd like a Drum her oily Skin;
Wedg'd in a ſpacious Elbow-Chair,
And on her Plate a treble Share,
As if the ne'er could have enuff;
Taught harmleſs Man to cram and ſtuff.
She fent her Priefts in Wooden Shoes
From haughty Gaul to make Ragous.
Inſtead of wholſome Bread and Cheeſe,
To drefs their Soupes and Fricaffyes;
U 2
And
F
292
Poems on feveral Occafions
And, for our home-bred British Chear,
Botargo, Catfup, and Caveer.
THIS bloated Harpy fprung from Hell,
Confin'd Thee Goddeſs to a Cell:
Sprung from her Womb that impious Line,
Contemners of thy Rites divine.
Firſt, lolling Sloth in Wollen Cap,
Taking her After-dinner Nap:
Pale Dropfy with a fallow Face,
Her Belly burft, and flow her Pace:
And, lordly Gout wrapt up in Furr:
And, wheezing Afthma, loth to ftir:
Voluptuous Eaſe, the Child of Wealth,
Infecting thus our Hearts by Stealth;
None feek thee now in open Air ;
To thee no verdant Altars rear ;
But, in their Cells and Vaults obfcene
Prefent a Sacrifice unclean;
From whence unfav'ry Vapours rofe,
Offenfive to thy nicer Nofe.
Ah! who in our degen'rate Days
As Nature prompts, his Off'ring pays?
Here, Nature never Diff'rence made
Between the Scepter and the Spade.
Ye Great ones, why will ye difdain.
To pay your Tribute on the Plain?
Why will you place in lazy Pride
Your Altars near your Couches Side?
* When
Poems on feveral Occafions.
293
* When from the homelieft Earthen Ware
Are fent up Off'rings more fincere
Than where the haughty Dutchefs Locks,
Her Silver Vaſe in Cedar-Box.
YET, fome Devotion ftill remains
Among our harmleſs Northern Swains;
Whofe Offrings plac't in golden Ranks,
Adorn our chryſtal River's Banks :
Nor feldom grace the flow'ry downs,
With ſpiral Tops, and Copple-Crowns:
Or gilding in a funny Morn
The humble Branches of a Thorn.
(So Poets fing, with † golden Bough
The Trojan Heroe paid his Vow.)
HITHER by luckiefs Error led,
The crude Confiftence oft I tread.
Here, when my Shoes are out of caſe,
Unweeting gild the tarniſh'd Lace :
Here, by the facred Bramble ting'd,
My Petticoat is doubly fring'd.
BE Witneſs for me, Nymph divine,
I never robb'd thee with Defign:
Nor, will the zealous Hannah pout
To wash thy injur'd Off'rings out.
BUT, ftop ambitious Mufe, in time a
Nor dwell on Subjects too fublime.
In vain on lofty Heels I tread,
Afpiring to exalt my Head:
* Vide Firgil and Lucretius.
† Fing lib. 6.
With
294
Poems on feveral Occafions.
With Hoop expanded wide and light,
In vain I tempt too high a Flight.
ME * Phabus in a † midnight Dream
Accofting; faid, I Go bake your Cream.
Be humbly minded; know your Poft;
Sweeten your Tea, and watch your Toaſt,
Thee beſt befits a lowly Style :
Teach Dennis how to ftir the Guile :
With * Peggy Dixon thoughtful fit,
Contriving for the Pot and Spit.
Take down thy proudly fwelling Sails,
And rub thy Teeth, and pair thy Nails.
At nicely carving how thy Wit;
But ne'er prefume to eat a Bit :
Turn ev'ry Way thy watchful Eye ;
And ev'ry Gueſt be ſure to ply:
Let never at your Board be known
An empty Plate except your own.
Be theſe thy Arts; nor higher Aim
Than what befits a rural Dame.
BUT, Cloacina Goddeſs bright,
Sleek.
claims her as his Right:
And Smedly, Flow'r of all Divines,
Shall fing the D-n in Smedley's Lines.
* Cynthius aurem vellit. Hor. † Cum fomnia vera. Hor›
In the Bottle to make Butter.
*Mrs. Dixon the Houfe-Keeper.
Ha tibi erunt artes. Virg.
A very stupid, infolent, factious, deformed, conceited Parfon, a
Vile Pretender to Poetry, preferred by the D. of Grafton for his W'it.
The
Poems on feveral Occafions.
295
The Deſcription of an Irish-Feast,
tranſlated almoſt literally out of
the Original Iriſh.
Tranflated in the Year 1720.
ROURK's noble Fare
Will ne'er be forgot,
By thoſe who were there,
Or thoſe who were not.
His Revels to keep,
We fup and we dine,
On feven Score Sheep,
Fat Bullocks and Swine.
Ufquebagh to our Feaſt
In Pails was brought up,
An Hundred at leaſt,
1
And a* Madder our Cup.
O there is the Sport,
We rife with the Light,
In diforderly Sort,
From fnoring all Night.
Oh how was I trick't,
My Pipe it was broke,
My Pocket was pick't,
I lost my new Cloak.
* Wooden Veſſel.
I'm
296
Poems on feveral Occafions.
I'm rifled, quoth Nell,
Of Mantle and † Kercher,
Why then fare them well.
The De'el take the Searcher,
Come, Harper, ftrike up,
But firft by your Favour,
Boy, give us a Cup ;
Ay, this has fome Savour:
O Rourk's jolly Boys
Ne'er dream't of the Matter,
Till rowz'd by the Noife,
And mufical Clatter,
They bounce from their Neft,
No longer will tarry,
They rife ready dreft,
Without one Ave Mary.
They dance in a Round,
Cutting Capers and Ramping,
A Mercy the Ground
Did not burft with their ftamping,
The Floor is all wet
With Leaps and with Jumps,
While the Water and Sweat,
Spliſh, ſplaſh in their Pumps.
Blefs you late and early,
Laughlin O Enagin,
By my Hand, you dance rarely,
* Margery Grinagin.
† Handkerchief.
* The Name of an Iriſh Woman.
Bring
Poems on feveral Occafions.
297
Bring Straw for our Bed,
Shake it down to the Feet,
Then over us ſpread,
The winnowing Sheet.
To ſhow, I don't flinch,
Fill the Bowl up again,
Then give us a Pinch
Of your Sneezing; † a Yean.
Good Lord, what a Sight,
After all their good Cheer,
For People to fight
In the Midft of their Beer:
They rife from their Feaſt,
And hot are their Brains,
A Cubit at leaſt
The Length of their 5 Skeans.
What Stabs and what Cuts,
What clatt'ring of Sticks,
What Strokes on Guts,
What Baftings and Kicks!
With Cudgels of Oak,
Well harden'd in Flame,
An hundred Heads broke,
An hundred ftruck lame.
You Churle, I'll maintain
My Father built Lusk,
The Caftle of Slain,
And Carrickdrumrusk :
† Another Irish Name for a Woman,
Daggers, or foort Swords.
The
298
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Earl of Kildare,
And Moynalta, his Brother,
As great as they are,
I was nurs'd by their Mother:
Ask that of old Madam,
She'll tell you who's who,
As far up as Adam,
She knows it is true,
Come down with that Beam,
If Cudgels are ſcarce,
A Blow on the Weam,
Or a Kick on the A-fe.
N
Clever Tom Clinch going to be hanged.
As
Written in the Year 1726.
S clever Tom Clinch, while the Rabble was
bawling,
Rode ſtately through Holbourn, to die in his Calling;
He ſtopt at the George for a Bottle of Sack,
And promis'd to pay for it when he'd come back.
His Waiſtcoat and Stockings, and Breeches were
white,
His Cap had a new Cherry Ribbon to ty't.
The Maids to the Doors and the Balconies rán,
And ſaid, lack-a-day! he's a proper young Man.
But;
Poems on feveral Occafions?
299
But, as from the Windows the Ladies he ſpy'd,
Like a Beau in the Box, he bow'd low on each Side;
And when his laft Speech the loud Hawkers did cry,
He ſwore from his Cart, it was all a damn'd Lye.
The Hangman for Pardon fell down on his Knee;
Tom gave him a Kick in the Guts for his Fee.
Then faid, I muſt ſpeak to the People a little,
But I'll fee you all damn'd before I will * whittle.
My honeſt Friend † Wild, may he long hold his Place,
He lengthen'd my Life with a whole Year of Grace.
Take Courage, dear Comrades, and be not afraid,
Nor flip this Occafion to follow your Trade.
My Conſcience is clear, and my Spirits are calm,
And thus I go off without Pray'r-Book or Pfalm.
Then follow the Practice of clever Tom Clinch,
Who hung like a Hero, and never would flinch.
* A Cant Word for confeffing at the Gallows.
† The noted Thief-Catcher.
On reading Dr. Young's Satyrs, called
the Univerfal Paffion, by which he
means Pride.
I
Written in the Year 1726.
F there be Truth in what you fing;
Such God-like Virtues in the King:
A* Minifter fo fill'd with Zeal
And Wiſdom for the Common-weal :
* Walpole.
If
300
Poems on feveral Occafions.
If he who in the † Chair prefides,
So fteadily the Senate guides:
If others whom you make your Theme;
Are Seconds in this glorious Scheme:
If ev'ry Peer whom you commend,
To Worth and Learning be a Friend.
If this be Truth, as you atteſt,
What Land was ever half fo bleft!
No Falfhood now among the Great,
And Tradefmen now no longer cheat;
Now on the Bench fair Justice fhines,
Her Scale to neither Side inclines.
Now Pride and Cruelty are flown,
And Mercy here exalts her Throne.
For fuch is good Example's Power,
It does its Office ev'ry Hour,
Where Governors are good and wife,
Or else the trueft Maxim lies;
For, fo we find, all antient Sages
Decree, that ad exemplum Regis,
Through all the Realm his Virtues run,
Rip'ning and kindling like the Sun.
If this be true, then how much more.
When you have named at leaſt a Score
Of Courtiers, each in their Degree
If poffible as good as he.
Or,
† Compton, the Speaker.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
303
Or, take it in a diff'rent View:
I ask, if what you ſay be true,
If
you affirm the preſent Age
Deferves your Satyr's keeneſt Rage :
If that fame Univerfal Paffion,
7
With ev'ry Vice hath fill'd the Nation:
İf Virtue dares not venture down
A fingle Step below the Crown:
If Clergymen, to fhew their Wit,
Praiſe Clafficks more than Holy Writ
If Bankrupts, when they are undone,
Into the Senate-houfe can run ;
And fell their Votes at fuch a Rate
As will retrieve a loft Eftate.
If Law be fuch a partial Whore,
To ſpare the Rich, and plague the Poor.
If theſe be of all Crimes the worſt;
What Land was ever half fo curft?
Sent
302
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Sent by Dr. Delany to Dr. S—t, in
order to be admitted to ſpeak to
him.
D
Written about the YEAR 1724.
EAR Sir, I think 'tis doubly hard
Your Ears and Doors fhou'd both be barr'd
Can any thing be more unkind?
Muft I not fee, 'cauſe you are blind?
Methinks, a Friend at Night fhou'd cheer you;
A Friend that loves to fee and hear
Why am I robb'd of that Delight?
When you can be ho Lofer by't.
you:
Nay, when 'tis plain, for what is plainer?
That, if you heard you'd be no Gainer,
For fure you are not yet to learn,
That Hearing is not your Concern.
Then be your Doors no longer barr'd,
Your Bufinefs, Sir, is to be heard,
The
Poems on feveral Occafions.
303
The ANSWER.
TH
HE Wife pretend to make it clear,
'Tis no great Lofs to loſe an Ear
Why are we then fo fond of two?
When by Experience one will do.
"Tis true, fay they, cut off the Head,
And there's an End; the Man is dead;
Becauſe, among all human Race,
None e'er was known to have a Brace.
But confidently they maintain,
That, where we find the Members twain,
The Lofs of one is no fuch Trouble,
Since t'other will in Strength be double;
The Limb furviving, you may ſwear,
Becomes his Brother's lawful Heir:
Thus, for a Tryal, let me beg of
Your Rev'rence, but to cut one Leg off,
And you fhall find by this Device,
The t'other will be ſtronger twice;
For,
304
Poems on ſeveral Occaſions.
For, ev'ry Day you ſhall be gaining
New Vigour to the Leg remaining.
C
So, when an Eye hath loft it's Brother;
You fee the better with the other:
Cut off your Hand, and you may do
With t'other Hand the Work of two:
Becauſe, the Soul her Power contracts;
And on the Brother Limb re-acts.
BUT, yet the Point is not fo clear in
Another Cafe; the Senſe of Hearing :
For tho' the Place of either Ear,
Be diftant as one Head can bear ;
Yet Galen moft acutely fhews you,
(Confult his Book de Partium ufu)
That from each Ear, as he obſerves;
There creeps two Auditory Nerves,
(Not to be ſeen without a Glaſs)
Which near the Os Petrofum pafs;
Thence to the Neck; and moving thorow there;
One goes to this, and one to t'other Ear.
Which made my Grand-Dame always ftuff-her-
Ears,
Both Right and Left, as Fellow-fufferers.
You
Poems on feveral Occafions.
305
You fee my Learning; but to ſhorten it,
When my Left Ear was deaf a Fortnight,
To t'other Ear I felt it coming on,
And thus I folve this hard Phænomenon.
'Tis true, á Glaſs will bring ſupplies
To weak, or old, or clouded Eyes.
Your Arms, tho' both your Eyes were loft,
Would guard your Noſe againſt a Poſt.
Without your Legs, two Legs of Wood
Are ſtronger, and almoſt as good.
And, as for Hands, there have been thofe,
Who, wanting both, have us'd their Toes.
But no Contrivance yet appears,
To furnish artificial Ears.
THE
LADY'S Dreffing-Room.
Written in the Year 1730.
IVE Hours, (and who can do it lefs in?)
FLY
By haughty Calia ſpent in Dreffing;
The Goddefs from her Chamber iffues,
Array'd in Lace, Brocade and Tiffues
VOL. II.
X
Stre-
3·00
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Strephon, who found the Room was void,
And Betty otherwife employ'd,
Stole in, and took a ftrict Survey
Of all the Litter, as it lay:
Whereof, to make the Matter clear,
An Inventory follows here.
AND firſt, a dirty Smock appear'd,
;
Beneath the Armpits well befmear'd
Strephon, the Rogue, difplay'd it wide,
And turn'd it round on ev'ry Side:
In fuch a Cafe, few Words are beſt,
And Strephon bids us gueſs the reſt;
But fwears how damnably the Men lye,
In calling Calia fweet and cleanly.
Now liften, while he next produces
The various Combs for various Ufes 4.
Fill'd
up with Dirt ſo cloſely fixt,
No Bruſh cou'd force a Way betwixt ;
A Paſte of Compofition rare,
Sweat, Dandriff, Powder, Lead and Hair.
A Forehead-Cloath with Oyl upon't,
To ſmooth the Wrinkles on her Front:
Here,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
307
Here, Alum Flower to ftop the Steams,
Exhal'd from four unfavoury Streams;
There, Night-Gloves made of Tripfey's Hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripſey when ſhe dy'd;
With Puppy-Water, Beauty's Help,
Diſtill'd from Tripfey's darling Whelp.
Here Gally-pots and Vials plac't,
Some fill'd with Waſhes, fome with Pafte;
Some with Pomatums, Paints, and Slops,
And Ointments good for ſcabby Chops.
Hard by, a filthy Bafon ftands,
Foul'd with the ſcow'ring of her Hands;
The Bafon takes whatever comes,
The Scrapings from her Teeth and Gums,
A nafty Compound of all Hues,
For here fhe fpits, and here fhe fpues.
BUT O! it turn'd poor Strephon's Bowels,
When he beheld and ſmelt the Towels;
Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beflim'd;
With Dirt, and Sweat, and Ear-wax grim'd.
No Obje& Strephon's Eye efcapes ;
Here, Pettycoats in frowzy Heaps;
X 2
Not
308
Poems on feveral Occafions..
Nor be the Handkerchiefs forgot,
All varniſh'd o'er with Snuff and Snot.
The Stockings why fhould I expofe,
Stain'd with the Moiſture of her Toes;
Or greafy Coifs, and Pinners reeking,
Which Celia flept at leaſt a Week in.
A Pair of Tweezers next he found,
To pluck her Brows in Arches round,
Or Hairs that fink the Forehead low,
Or on her Chin like Briftles grow.
THE Virtues we must not let pafs
Of Calia's magnifying Glaſs;
When frighted Strephon caft his Eye on't,
It ſhew'd the Viſage of a Gyant :
A Glaſs that can to Sight difclofe
The ſmalleſt Worm in Celia's Nofe,
And faithfully direct her Nail,
To ſqueeze it out from Head to Tail;
For, catch it nicely by the Head,
It must come out, alive or dead.
WHY Strephon, will you tell the reſt?
And muſt you needs deſcribe the Cheft?
That
Poems on feveral Occafions.
309
That careleſs Wench! No Creature warn lice,
To move it out from yonder Corner,
But leave it ſtanding full in Sight,
For you to exercife your Spite!
In vain the Workman fhew'd his Wit,
With Rings and Hinges counterfeit,
To make it feem in this Diſguiſe,
A Cabinet to vulgar Eyes;
Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
thro' thick and thin,
Refolv'd to go
He lifts the Lid: There need no more,
He ſmelt it all the Time before.
As, from within Pandora's Box,
When Epimetheus op'd the Locks,
A fudden univerfal Crew
Of human Evils, upward flew ;
He ſtill was comforted to find,
That Hope at laft remain'd behind.
So, Strephon, lifting up the Lid,
To view what in the Cheft was hid,
The Vapours flew from out the Vent;
But, Strephon, cautious, never meant
1
The
*
31ά
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Bottom of the Pan to grope,
And foul his Hands in fearch of Hope.
O! NE'ER may fuch a vile Machine
Be once in Celia's Chamber feen!
O! may the better learn to keep
Thofe Secrets of the boary Desp! *
As Mutton-Cutlets, † prime of Meat,
Which, tho' with Art you falt and beat
As Laws of Cookery require,
And roaft them at the cleareſt Fire;
If from 9 a-down the hopeful Chops,
The Fat upon a Cinder drops,
To ſtinking Smoke it turns the Flame,
Pois'ning the Flesh from whence it came
And up exhales a greazy Stench,
which you
For which
ne,
curfe the carelefs Wench :
So, Things which must not be expreft,
When plumpt into the reeking Cheft,
Send up an excremental Smell,
To taint the Parts from whence they fell;
The Pettycoats and Gown perfume,
And waft a Stink round ev'ry Room,
* Milton. † Prima Virorum. 9 Vid. D--n D---s
Works and N. Py's.
THUS
Poems on feveral Occafions.
3ï།
THUS finiſhing his grand Survey,
The Swain difgufted flunk away.
BUT Vengeance, Goddefs, never fleeping,
Soon puniſh'd Strephon for his peeping.
His foul Imagination links
Each Dame he fees with all her Stinks
And, if unfavoury Odours fly,
Conceives a Lady ſtanding by.
All Women his Defcription fits,
And both Ideas jump like Wits,
By vicious Fancy coupled faſt,
And ſtill appearing in Contraſt,
s;
14
I PITY wretched Strephon, blind
To all the Charms of Woman-Kind,
Should I the Queen of Love refufe,
Becauſe ſhe roſe from ſtinking Ooze ?
To him that looks behind the Scene,
Statira's but fome packy Quean.
(
WHEN Celia all her Glory fhows,
If Strephon would but ftop his Nofe,
r
Who
313
Poems on Several Occafions.
Who now fo impioufly blafphemes
Her Ointments, Daubs, and Paints, and Creams
Her Waſhes, Slops, and ev'ry Clout,
With which he makes fo foul a Rout;
He foon would learn to think like me,
And blefs his raviſh'd Eyes to fee
Such Order from Confufion fprung,
Such gaudy Tulips rais'd from Dung.
*
A beautiful young Nymph going to
Bed.
Written for the Honour of the Fair Sex, in 1731,
ORINNA, Pride of Drury-Lane,
COR
For whom no Shepherd fighs in vain;
Never did Covent Garden boaſt
So bright a batter'd, ftolling Toaft;
No drunken Rake to pick her up,
No Cellar where on Tick to fup;
Returning at the Midnight Hour;
Four Stories climbing to her Bow'r;
}
1
Then,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
313
Then, feated on a three-leg'd Chair,
Takes off her artificial Hair:
Now, picking out a Chryſtal Eye,
She wipes it clean, and lays it by.
Her Eye-brows from a Moufe's Hyde,
Stuck on with Art on either Side,
Pulls off with Care, and firft difplays 'em,
Then in a Play-book fmoothly lays 'em.
Now, dext'rouſly her Plumpers draws,
That ferve to fill her hallow Jaws.
Untwiſts a Wire; and from her Gums
A Set of Teeth compleatly comes.
Pulls out the Rags contriv'd to prop
Her flabby Dugs, and down they drop,
Proceeding on, the lovely Goddeſs
Unlaces next her Steel-rib'd Bodice;
Which, by the Operator's Skill,
Prefs down the Lumps, the Hollows fill,
Up goes her Hand, and off the flips
The Bolſters that fupply her Hips.
With gentleſt Touch, the next explores
Her Shankers, Iffues, running Sores;
Effects of many a ſad Diſaſter,
And then to each applies a Plaifter.
1
+
But
314
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
But muft, before fhe goes to Bed,
Rub off the Dawbs of White and Red;
And ſmooth the Furrows in her Front,
With greafy Paper ſtuck upon't.
She takes a Bolus e'er the fleeps;
And then between two Blankets creeps,
With Pains of Love tormented lies;
Or, if the chance to cloſe her Eyes,
Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams,
And feels the Laſh, and faintly ſcreams,
Or, by a faithlefs Bully drawn,
At fome Hedge-Tavern lies in Pawn,
Or, to Jamaica' feems tranfported,
* Alone, and by no Planter courted.
Or, near Fleet-Ditch's oozy Brinks,
Surrounded with a Hundred Stinks,
Belated, feems on watch to lye,
And ſnap fome Cully paffing by.
Or, ftruck with Fear, her Fancy runs
On Watchmen, Conftables, and Duns,
From whom ſhe meets with frequent Rubs;
But, never from religious Clubs ;
* Et longam incomisata videtur
Are viam-
Whofe
{
**
Poems on feveral Occafions,
Whofe Favour ſhe is fure to find,
Becauſe ſhe pays them all in Kind.
CORINNA wakes. A dreadful Sight!
Behold the Ruins of the Night!
A wicked Rat her Plaifter ftole,
Half eat, and dragg'd it to his Hole.
The Chryſtal Eye, alas, was mifs't;
And Pufs had on her Plumpers p
A Pidgeon pick't her Iffue-Peas;
And Shock her Treffes fill'd with Fleas.
ft.
THE Nymph, though in this mangled Plight,
Muſt ev'ry Morn her Limbs unite.
But, how fhall I defcribe her Arts
To recollect the fcatter'd Parts?
Or fhew the Anguiſh, Toyl, and Pain,
Of gath'ring up her ſelf again.
The baſhful Mufe will never bear
In fuch a Scene to interfere.
Corinna in the Morning dizen'd,
Who fees will fpew; who fmells, be poifon'd.
STRE
330
Poems on feveral Occafions.
STREPHON and CHLOE.
Written in the Year 173 1.
F Chloe all the Town has rung;
OF
By ev'ry Size of Poet's fung:
So beautiful a Nymph appears
But once in Twenty Thousand Years:
By Nature form'd with niceft Care,
And, faultlefs to a fingle Hair.
Her graceful Mein, her Shape, and Face,
Confefs't her of no mortal Race:
And then, fo nice, and fo genteel;
Such Cleanliness from Head to Heel:
No Humours grofs, or frowzy Steams,
No noiſom Whiffs, or fweaty Streams,
Before, behind, aboye, below,
Could from her taintleſs Body flow.
Would fo difcreetly Things difpofe,
None ever faw her pluck a Rofe.
Her
Poems on Several Occafions:
317
Her dearest Comrades never caught her
Squat on her Hams, to make Maids Water.
You'd fwear, that fo divine a Creature
Felt no Neceffities of Nature.
In Summer, had the walk't the Town,
Her Arm-pits would not ftain her Gown:
At Country-Dances, not a Noſe
Could in the Dog-Days fmell her Toes.
Her Milk-white Hands, both Palms and Backs,
Like Iv'ry dry, and ſoft as Wax.
Her Hands, the ſofteft ever felt,
*
Though cold would burn, though dry would melt.
DEAR Venus, hide this wond'rous Maid,
Nor let her looſe to ſpoil your Trade.
While the engroffeth ev'ry Swain,
You but o'er half the World can reign.
Think what a Cafe all Men are now in,
What ogling, fighing, toafting, vowing!
What powder'd Wigs! What Flames and Darts!
What Hampers full of bleeding Hearts!
What Sword-knots! What poetick Strains!
What Billet-doux, and clouded Canes!
* Though deep, yet clear, &c.
BUT,
Derham.
1
318
Poems on feveral Occafions.
BUT, Strephon figh'd ſo loud and ſtrong;
He blew a Settlement along:
And, bravely drove his Rivals down
With Coach and Six, and Houfe in Town.
The baſhful Nymph no more withſtands,
Becauſe her dear Papa commands.
The charming Couple now unites:
Proceed we to the Marriage Rites;
IMPRIMIS, at the Temple Porch
Stood Hymen with a flaming Torch :
The ſmiling Cyprian Goddeſs brings
Her infant Loves with purple Wings:
And Pidgeons billing, Sparrows treading,
Fair Emblems of a fruitful Wedding.
The Muſes next in Order follow,
Conducted by their Squire, Apollo :
Then Mercury with Silver Tongue,
And Hebe, Goddeſs ever young.
Behold the Bridegroom and his Bride,
Walk Hand in Hand, and Side by Side
She by the tender Graces dreft,
But, he by Mars, in Scarlet Veſt,
}
The
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
319
The Nymph was cover'd with her * Flammeum,
And Phebus fung th' 5 Epithalamium.
And, laft, to make the Matter fure,
Dame Juno brought a Prieſt demure.
↑ Luna was abfent, on Pretence
Her Time was not till Nine Months hence.
THE Rites perform'd, the Parfon paid,
In State return'd the grand Parade ;
With loud Huzza's from all the Boys,
That, now the Pair muft crown their Foys.
But, ftill the hardeſt Part remains.
Strephon had long perplex'd his Brains,
How with fo high a Nymph he might
Demean himſelf the Wedding-Night:
For, as he view'd his Perfon round,
Meer mortal Fleſh was all he found :
His Hand, his Neck, his Mouth, and Feet
Were duly waſht, to keep them ſweet ;
* A Veil which the Roman Brides covered themfelves with,
when they were going to be married.
A Marriage Song at Weddings.
Diana, Goddess of Midwives,
820
Poems on feveral Occafions.
(With other Parts that fhall be nameleſs,
The Ladies elfe might think me ſhameleſs.)
The Weather and his Love were hot;
And ſhould he ſtruggle; I know what --------
Why let it go, if I muſt tell it
He'll fweat, and then the Nymph may fmell it.
While the a Goddefs dy'd in Grain
Was unfufceptible of Stain:
And, Venus-like, her fragrant Skin
Exhal'd Ambrofia from within :
Can ſuch a Deity endure
A mortal human touch impure?
How did the humbled Swain deteft
His prickled Beard, and hairy Breaſt!
His Night-cap border'd round with Lace
Could give no Softnefs to his Face.
YET, if the Goddefs could be kind,
What endleſs Raptures muft he find!
And, Goddeffes have now and then
Come down to vifit mortal Men:
To vifit, and to court them too:
certain Goddeſs, God knows who,
(As
Poems on feveral Occafions.
(As in a Book he heard it read)
Took Col'nel Peleus to her Bed.
But, what if he ſhould lofe his Life
By vent'ring on his heav'nly Wife?
For, Strephon could remember well,
That, once he heard a School-boy tell;
How Semele of mortal Race,
By Thunder dy'd in Jove's Embrace :
And, what if daring Strephon dyes
By Lightning ſhot from Chloe's Eyes?
+
WHILE theſe Reflections fill'd his Head;
The Bride was put in Form to Bed :
He follow'd, ftripp't, and in he crept,
But, awfully his Diſtance kept.
Now, Ponder well ye Parents dear 3
Forbid your Daughters guzzling Beer:
And, make them ev'ry Afternoon
Forbear their Tea, or drink it foon;
That, e'er to Bed they venture up,
They may discharge it ev'ry Sup:
If not; they muſt in evil Plight
Be often forc'd to rife at Night,
VOL. II.
Y
44
1
f
3
Keep
322
Poems on feveral Occafions:
Keep them to wholfome Food confin'd,
Nor let them tafte what Caufes Wind;
*
('Tis this the Sage of Samos means,
Forbidding his Diſciples Beans)
O, think what Evils muft enfue;
Mifs Moll the Jade will burn it blue :
And, when the once hath got the Art,
She cannot help it for her Heart;
But, out it flies, even when she meets
Her Bridegroom in the Wedding-Sheets,
† Carminutive and 9 Diuretick,
Will damp all Paffion Sympathetick:
And, Love fuch Nicety requires,
One Blast will put out all his Fires.
Since Husbands get behind the Scene,
The Wife ſhould ſtudy to be clean ;
Nor give the ſmalleſt Room to gueſs
The Time when Wants of Nature preſs;
BUT, after Marriage, practice more
Decorum than fhe did before;
* A well known Precept of Pythagoras, not to eat Beans.
Medicines to break Vind.
Medicines to provoke Urine.
To
Poems on feveral Occafions.
323
To
To keep her Spouſe deluded ftill,
And make him fancy what the will.
IN Bed we left the married Pair :
"Tis Time to fhew how Things went there,
Strephon, who had been often told,
That Fortune ftill affifts the bold,
Refoly'd to make his firft Attack:
But, Chloe drove him fiercely back.
How could a Nymph fo chafte as Chloe;
With Conſtitution cold and ſnowy,
Permit a brutiſh Man to touch her;
Ev'n Lambs by Inftinct fly the Butcher.
Refiſtance on the Wedding-night
Is what our Maidens claim by Right:
And, Chloe, 'tis by all agreed,
Was Maid in Thought, and Word, and Deed:
Yet, fome affign a diff'rent Reafon;
That Strephon chofe no proper Seafon.
SAY, fair ones, muft I make a Pauſe ?
Or freely tell the fecret Caufe.
Y 2
{
TWELVE
f
324
Poems on feveral Occafions.
TWELVE Cups of Tea, (with Grief I fpeak
Had now conſtrain'd the Nymph to leak.
This Point muſt needs be fettled firft:
The Bride muſt either void or burft.
Then, fee the dire Effect of Peaſe,
Think what can give the Cholick eaſe.
The Nymph oppreft before, behind,
As Ships are tofs't by Waves and Wind,
Steals out her Hand, by Nature led,
And brings a Veffel into Bed:
Fair Utenfil, as fmooth and white
As Chloe's Skin, almoſt as bright.
STREPHON who heard the fuming Rill
As from a moffy Cliff diſtill;
Cry'd out, ye Gods, what Sound is this?
Can Chloe, heav'nly Chloe
?
But, when he ſmelt a noyfom Steam
Which oft attends that luke-warm Stream;
* (Salerno both together joins
As fov'rain Med'cines for the Loyns)
* Vide Schol. Salern. Rules of Health, written by the
School of Salernura.
Mingere cum bumibis res eft faluberrima lumbis.
And,
Poems on foveral Occafions.
325
And, though contriv'd, we may ſuppoſe
To flip his Ears, yet ftruck his Noſe:
He found her, while the Scent increaſt,
As mortal as himſelf at leaſt.
But, foon with like Occafions preſt,
He boldly fent his Hand in queft,
(Infpir'd with Courage from his Bride.)
To reach the Pot on t'other Side.
And as he fill'd the reeking Vafe,
Let fly a Rouzer in her Face.
THE little Cupids hov'ring round,
(As Pictures prove) with Garlands crown'd
Abafh't at what they faw and heard,
Flew off, nor ever more appear'd.
ADIEU to ravishing Delights,
High Raptures, and romantick Flights;
To Goddeffes fo heav'nly fweet,
Expiring Shepherds at their Feet;
To filver Meads, and fhady Bow'rs,
Dreft up with Amaranthin Flow'rs. -
How
325
Poems on feveral Occafions.
How great a Change! how quickly made!
They learn to call a Spade, a Spade.
They foon from all Conſtraint are freed;
Can fee each other do their Need.
On Box of Cedar fits the Wife,
And makes it warm for Dearest Life.
And, by the beaſtly Way of Thinking,
Find great Society in Stinking.
Now, Strephon daily entertains
His Chloe in the homeli'ft Strains:
And, Chloe more experienc'd grown,
With Int'reft pays him back his own.
No Maid at Court is lefs afham'd,
Howe'er for felling Bargains fam'd,
Than fhe, to name her Parts behind,
Or, when a-bed, to let our Wind.
1
FAIR Decency, celeftial Maid,
Defcend from Heav'n to Beauty's Aid;
Though Beauty may beget Defire,
'Tis thou muft fan the Lover's Fire:
For, Beauty, like fupreme Dominion,
Is beft fupported by Opinion:
If
f
Poems on feveral Occafions.
327
L
If Decency bring no Supplies,
Opinion falls, and Beauty dies.
To fee fome radiant Nymph appear
In all her glitt'ring Birth-day Gear,
You think fome Goddeſs from the Sky
Defcended, ready cut and dry :
But, e'er you fell your ſelf to Laughter,
Confider well what may come after;
For, fine Ideas vaniſh faft,
While all the grofs and filthy laft.
O Strephon, e'er that fatal Day
When Chloe ftole your Heart away,
Had you but through a Cranny ſpy'd
On Houſe of Eafe your future Bride,
In all the Poftures of her Face,
Which Nature gives in fuch a Cafe;
Diſtortions, Groanings Strainings, Heavings;
"Twere better you had lickt her Leavings,
Than from Experience find too late
Your Goddeſs grown a filthy Mate.
Your Fancy then had always dwelt
On what you faw, and what you fmelt;
Would
328
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Would ſtill the fame Ideas give ye,
As when you ſpy'd her on the Privy.
And, fpight of Chloe's Charms divine,
Your Heart had been as whole as mine.
AUTHORITIES both old and recent
Direct that Women muſt be decent;
And, from the Spouſe each Blemiſh hide
More than from all the World befide.
UNJUSTLY all our Nymphs complain,
Their Empire holds fo fhort a Reign ;
Is after Marriage loft fo foon,
It hardly holds the Honey-moon :
For, if they keep not what they caught,
It is entirely their own Fault.
They take Poffeffion of the Crown,
And then throw all their Weapons down;
Though by the Politicians Scheme
Whoe'er arrives at Pow'r fupream,
Thoſe Arts by which at firft they gain it,
They still muft practice to maintain it.
J.
WHAT
1
Poems on feveral Occafions.
329
WHAT Various Ways our Females take,
To paſs for Wits before a Rake!!
And, in the fruitless Search, purſue
All other Methods but the true.
SOME try to learn polite Behaviour,
By reading Books against their Saviour.
Some call it wirty, to reflect
On ev'ry natural Defect;
Some fhew, they never want explaining,
To comprehend a double Meaning.
But, fure a Tell-tale out of School
Is, of all Wits, the greateſt Fool:
Whofe rank Imagination fills
Her Heart, and from her Lips diſtills;
You'd think the utter'd from behind,
Or at her Mouth were breaking Wind.
WHY is a handfome Wife ador'd
By every Coxcomb, but her Lord?
From yonder Puppet-man inquire,
Who wifely hides his Wood and Wire:
Shews Sheba's Queen compleatly dreſs't,
And Solomon in Royal Veft:
A
+
But,
330
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But, view them litter'd on the Floor,
Or, ftrung on Pegs behind the Door;
Punch is exactly of a Piece
With Lorraine's Duke, and Prince of Greece.
A PRUDENT Builder fhould forecaft
How long the Stuff is like to laft;
And, carefully obferve the Ground,
To build on fome Foundation found:
What Houſe, when its Materials crumble,
Muſt not inevitably tumble?
What Edifice can long endure,
Rais'd on a Bafis unfecure?
Raſh Mortals, e'er you take a Wife,
Contrive your Pile to laft for Life:
Since Beauty ſcarce endures a Day,
And Youth fo fwiftly glides away;
Why will you make your felf a Bubble
To build on Sand, with Hay and Stubble?
ON Senfe and Wit your Paffion found,
By Decency cemented round;
Let Prudence with good Nature ſtrive,
To keep Efteem and Love alive.
Then,
د
Poems on feveral Occafions
33 F
Then, come old Age whene'er it will,
Your Friendſhip ſhall continue ftill:
And, thus a mutual gentle Fire,
Shall never but with Life expire.
A quibbling ELEGY on the Wor-
ſhipful Judge BO AT.
Written in the Year 1723.
O mournful Ditties, Clio, change thy Note,
To Justice
Since cruel Fate hath ſunk our Juſtice Boat ;
Why ſhould he ſink where nothing feem'd to preſs?
His Lading little, and his Ballaſt leſs.
Toft in the Waves of this tempestuous World,
At length, his Anchor fixt, and Canvas furl'd,
To * Lazy-Hill retiring from his Court,
At his * Ring's-End he founders in the Port.
With Water fill'd he could no longer float,
The common Death of many a ftronger Boat.
A POST fo fill'd, on Nature's Laws entrenches;
Benches on Boats are plac't, not Boats on Benches.
* Two Villages near the Sea, where Boatmen and Seamen live:
It was faid he dy'd if a Dreply.
And
3
33*
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And yet our Boat, how fhall I reconcile it?
Was both a Boat, and in one Senſe a Pilat.
With ev'ry Wind he fail'd, and well cou'd tack?
Had many Pendents, but abhor'd a * Jack.
He's
gone, although his Friends began to hope
That he might yet be lifted by a Rope.
BEHOLD the awful Bench on which he fat,
He was as hard, and pond'rous Wood as that:
Yet, when his Sand was out, we find at laſt,
That, Death has overfet him with a Blaſt.
Our Boat is now fail'd to the Stygian Ferry,
There to fupply old Charon's leaky Wherry :
Charon in him will ferry Souls to Hell;
A Trade, our 5 Boat had practic'd here fo well.
And, Cerberus hath ready in his Paws,
Both Pitch and Brimstone to fill up his Flaws;
Yet, fpight of Death and Fate, I here maintain
We may place Boat in his old Poft again.
The Way is thus; and well deferves your Thanks:
Take the three ſtrongeſt of his broken Planks,
Fix them on high, confpicuous to be ſeen,
Form'd like the Triple-Tree near † Stephen's-Green;
And,
* A Cant Word for a Jacobite. ¶ In banging People as
* Judge. † Where the Dublin Gallows ftands.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
333
And, when we view it thus, with Thief at End
on't,
We'll cry; look, here's our Boat, and there's the
Pendent.
The EPITAPH.
ERE lies Judge Boat within a Coffin.
HE
Pray gentle-Folks forbear your Scoffing.
A Boat a Fudge! yes, where's the Blunder?
A wooden Fudge is no fuch Wonder.
And in his Robes, you must agree,
No Boat was better deckt than He.
'Tis needless to defcribe him fuller.
In short, he was an able * Sculler.
Query, Whether the Author meant Scholar, and wilfully
mistook?
The
334
Poems on feveral Occafions.
1
The Power of TIME. *
Written in the Year 1730.
F neither Braſs, nor Marble, can withſtand
The mortal Force of Time's deftructive Hand
If Mountains fink to Vales, if Cities die,
And lefs'ning Rivers mourn their Fountains dry:
When my old Caffock, faid a Welch Divine,
Is out at Elbows; why fhould I repine?
APOLLO:
OR,
A PROBLEM folved.
A
Written in the Year 1731.
POLLO, God of Light and Wit,
Could Verfe infpire, but feldom writ:
Refin'd all Mettals with his Looks,
As well as Chymifts by their Books :
* Scarron hath a larger Poem on the fame Subject.
As
Poems on feveral Occaſions.
333
As handſome as my Lady's Page;
Sweet Five and Twenty was his Age.
His Wig was made of funny Rays,
He crown'd his youthful Head with Bays:
Not all the Court of Heav'n could fhew
So nice and fo compleat a Beau.
No Heir, upon his firft Appearance,
With Twenty Thouſand Pounds a Year Rents,
E'er drove, before he fold his Land,
So fine a Coach along the Strand;
The Spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were Silver, and the Axel Gold.
(I own, 'twas but a Coach and Four,
For Jupiter allows no more)
YET, with his Beauty, Wealth, and Parts,
Enough to win ten Thouſand Hearts;
No vulgar Deity above
Was fo unfortunate in Love.
THREE weighty Caufes were affign'd,
That mov'd the Nymphs to be unkind.
Nine Mufes always waiting round him,
He left them Virgins as he found 'em,
His
336
Poems on feveral Occafions,
His Singing was another Fault;
For he could reach to B. in alt:
And, by the Sentiments of Pliny,
Such Singers are like Nicolini.
At last, the Point was fully clear'd;
In fhort; Apollo had no Beard.
On burning a dull POEM.
Written in the Year 1729.
A
N Afs's Hoof alone can hold
That pois'nous Juice which kills by Cold.
Methought, when I this Poem read,
No Veffel but an Afs's Head,
Such frigid Fuftian could contain;
I mean the Head without the Brain.
The cold Conceits, the chilling Thoughts,
Went down like ftupifying Draughts:
I found my Head began to fwim,
A Numbness crept through ev'ry Limb:
In Hafte, with Imprecations dire,
I threw the Volume in the Fire:
When's
Poems on feveral Occafions.
337
When, who could think, tho' cold as Ice,
It burnt to Aſhes in a Trice.
How could I more enhaunce it's Fame ?
Though born in Snow, it dy'd in Flame.
CASSINUS and PETER.
A
Tragical E LE G Y.
Written in the Year 173 1.
WO College Sophs of Cambridge Growth,
Tw
Both ſpecial Wits, and Lovers both,
Conferring, as they us'd to meet,
On Love and Books, in Rapture fweet;
(Mufe, find me Names to fit my Metre,
Caffinus this, and t'other Peter)
Friend Peter to Caffinus goes,
To chat a while, and warm his Noſe:
But, ſuch a Sight was never ſeen,
The Lad lay fwallow'd up in Spleen;
VOL. II.
Z
He
338
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
33
He ſeem'd as juft crept out of Bed:
One greafy Stocking round his Head,
The t'other he fat down to darn
With Threads of diff'rent colour'd Yarn.
His Breeches torn, expofing wide
A ragged Shirt, and tawny Hyde.
Scorch❜t were his Shins, his Legs were bare,
But, well embrown'd with Dirt and Hair.
A Rug was o'er his Shoulders thrown;
A Rug; for Night-gown he had none.
His Jordan ftood in Manner fitting
Between his Legs, to fpew or ſpit in.
His antient Pipe in Sable dy'd,
And half unſmoak't, lay by his Side.
HIM, thus accoutr'd, Peter found,
With Eyes in Smoak and Weeping drown'd:
The Leavings of his laſt Night's Pot
On Embers plac't, to drink it hot.
WHY Caffy, thou wilt doze thy Pate:
What makes thee lie a-bed fo late?
The Finch, the Linnet, and the Thruſh,
Their Mattins chant in ev'ry Buſh:
A
And
Poems on ſeveral Occafions:
339
And, I have heard thee oft falute
Aurora with thy early Flute.
Heaven fend thou haft not got the Hypps:
How? Not a Word come from thy Lips?
THEN, gave him fome familiar Thumps;
A College Joke, to cure the Dumps.
THE Swain at laft, with Grief opprefs't;
Cry'd Celia thrice, and figh'd the reſt.
DEAR Caffy, though to ask I dread,
Yet, ask I muſt. Is Celia dead?
How happy I, were that the worst:
But I was fated to be curft.
COME, tell us, has fhe play'd the Whore?
Oн Peter, wou'd it were no more!
WHY, Plague confound her fandy Locks:
Say, has the ſmall or greater Pox,
Sunk down her Nofe, or feam'd her Face?
Be eaſy, 'tis a common Cafe.
Z z
2
O PE-
340
ال
-
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
#
O PETER! Beauty's but a Varniſh,
Which Time and Accidents will tarnish:
But, Calia has contriv'd to blaſt
Thofe Beauties that might ever laft.
Nor can Imagination gueſs,
Nor Eloquence Divine exprefs,
How that ungrateful charming Maid,
My pureft Paffion has betray'd.
Conceive the moſt invenom'd Dart,
To pierce an injur'd Lover's Heart.
WHY, hang her; though fhe feem'd fo coy,
I know she loves the Barber's Boy.
FRIEND Peter, this I could excufe;
For, ev'ry Nymph has Leave to chuſe;
Nor, have I Reafon to complain :
She loves a more deferving Swain.
But, oh! how ill haft thou divin'd
A Crime that fhocks all human Kind
A Deed unknown to Female Race,
At which the Sun fhould hide his Face.
Advice in vain you would apply
Then, leave me to defpair and dye.
"
Yet,
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
341
Yet, kind Arcadians, on my Urn
Thefe Elegies and Sonnets burn,
And on the Marble grave theſe Rhimes,
A Monument to after-Times:
"Here Caffy lies, by Celia flain,
"And dying, never told his Pain,
VAIN empty World farewell. But, hark,
The loud Cerberian triple Bark.
And there
behold Alecto ſtand,
A Whip of Scorpions in her Hand.
Lo, Charon from his leaky Wherry,
Beck'ning to waft me o'er the Ferry.
I come, I come,
Medufa, fee,
Her Serpents hifs direct at me.
Begone; unhand me, hellish Fry:
† Avauntye cannot fay 'twas I.
DEAR Caffy, thou must purge and bleed;
I fear thou wilt be mad indeed.
But now, by Friendſhip's facred Laws,
I here conjure thee, tell the Cauſe ;
† See Macbeth,
And
342
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And Celia's horrid Fact relate:
Thy Friend would gladly fhare thy Fate.
To force it out, my Heart muft rend:
Yet, when conjur'd by ſuch a Friend
Think Peter, how my Soul is rack't.
Theſe Eyes, theſe Eyes beheld the Fa&.
Now, bend thine Ear; fince out it muft;
But, when thou feeſt me laid in Duſt,
The Secret thou fhal't ne'er impart;
Not to the Nymph that keeps thy Heart;
(How would her Virgin Soul bemoan,
A Crime to all her Sex unknown!)
Nor whiſper to the tattling Reeds,
The blackeſt of all Female Deeds.
Nor blab it on the lonely Rocks,
Where Echo fits, and lift'ning, mocks.
Nor let the Zephyr's treach'rous Gale,
Through Cambridge waft the direful Tale.
Nor to the chatt'ring feather'd Race,
Diſcover Celia's foul Difgrace.
But, if you fail; my Spectre dread
Attending nightly round your Bed:
บ
And
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
343
And yet, I dare confide in you;
So, take my Secret, and adieu.
NOR, wonder how I loft my Wits:
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia fh.
THE
AUTHOR upon Himſelf.
Written in the Year 1713.
A few of the first Lines were wanting in the Copy
fent us by a Friend of the Author's from London.
Y an
purfu'd,
A crazy Prelate, and a † Royal Prude.
By dull Divines, who look with envious Eyes,
On ev'ry Genius that attempts to riſe ;
And pauſing o'er a Pipe, with doubtful Nod,
Give Hints, that Poets ne'er believe in God.
* Z
* Dr. Sharpe, Archbishop of York.
M-
↑ Her late May.
So,
344
Poems on feveral Occafions.
So, Clowns on Scholars as on Wizards look,
And take a Folio for a conj'ring Book.
Shad the Sin of Wit no venial Crime;
Nay, 'twas affirm'd, he fometimes dealt in Rhime:
Humour, and Mirth, had Place in all he writ:
He reconcil'd Divinity and Wit.
He moy'd, and bow'd, and talk't with too much
Grace;
Nor fhew'd the Parfon in his Gait or Face;
Defpis'd luxurious Wines, and coſtly Meat;
Yet, ftill was at the Tables of the Great.
Frequented Lords; faw thofe that faw the Queen;
At † Child's or Truby's never once had been;
Where Town and Country Vicars flock in Tribes,
Secur'd by Numbers from the Lay-men's Gibes;
And deal in Vices of the graver Sort,
Tobacco, Cenfure, Coffee, Pride, and Port.
Bur, after fage Monitions from his Friends,
His Talents to employ for nobler Ends;
To better Judgments willing to fubmit,
He turns to Policks his dang'rous Wir,
AND
A Coffee-boufe and Tavern near St. Paul's, much frequented
by the Clergy.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
345
AND now, the publick Int'reft to fupport,
By Harley S
invited comes to Court.
In Favour grows with Miniſters of State
Admitted private, when Superiors wait:
And, Harley, not aſham'd his Choice to own,
Takes him to Windſor in his Coach, alone.
At Windfor S
no fooner can appear,
But, * St. John comes and whiſpers in his Ear;
The Waiters ſtand in Ranks; the Yeomen cry,
Make Room; as if a Duke were paffing by.
Now † Finch alarms the Lords; he hears for
certain,
This dang'rous Prieft is got behind the Curtain:
Finch, fam'd for tedious Elocution, proves
That Soils many a Spring which Harley moves,
and Ayſlaby, to clear the Doubt,
SW
Inform the Commons, that the Secret's out:
"A certain Doctor is obferv'd of late,
"To haunt a certain Minifter of State:
"From
* Then Secretary of State, now Lord Bolingbroke, the moſt
univerfal Genius in Europe.
+ Late Earl of Nottingham, who made a Speech in the Houſe
of Lords against the Author.
Those two made Speeches in the House of Commons again.ft
the Author, although the latter profeffed much Frienabip for him.
346
Poems on feveral Occafions.
"From whence, with half an Eye we may difcover,
"The Peace is made, and Perkin must come over.
York is from Lambeth fent, to fhew the Queen
A dang'rous Treatife writ againſt the Spleen;
Which by the Style, the Matter, and the Drife,
'Tis thought could be the Work of none but S
Poor York! the harmleſs Tool of others Hate;
* He fues for Pardon, and repents too late,
Now,
VOWS
her Vengeance
1
On S's Reproaches for her -
From her red Locks her Mouth with Venom fills;
And thence into the Royal Ear inſtills.
The Qu― incens'd, his Services forgot,
+ Leaves him a Victim to the vengeful Scot;
Now, through the Realm a Proclamation ſpread,
To fix a Price on his devoted Head.
While
* It is known that his Grace fent a Meſſage to the Author, 20
defire his Pardon, and that he was very forry for what he bad faid
and done.
+ The Proclamation was against the Author of a Pamphlet,
called, The publick Spirit of the Whigs, against which the
Scoth Lords complained.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
347
While innocent, he fcorns ignoble Flight;
His watchful Friends preferve him by a Sleight.
Br Harley's Favour once again he fhines;
Is now carefs't by Candidate Divines;
Who change Opinions with the changing Scene:
Lord! how were they miſtaken in the Dean!
Now, * Delawere again familiar
grows;
And, in S----t's Ear thrufts half his powder'd Nofe.
† The Scottish Nation, whom he durft offend,
Again apply that S
would be their Friend.
By Faction tir'd, with Grief he waits a while,
His great contending Friends to reconcile.
Performs what Friendſhip, Juftice, Truth require:
5 What could he more, but decently retire?
* Lord Delawere, then Treasurer of the Houfbold, always
careſſing the Author at Court. But during the Tryal of the Prin-
ters before the House of Lords, and while the Proclamation bung
over the Author, his Lordſhip would not ſeem to know him, till the
Danger was past. †The Scotch Lords treated and vifited the
Author more after the Proclamation than before, except the D. of
Ar
who would never be reconciled. • The Author
retired to a Friend in Berkſhire, ten Weeks before the Qu-
'died; and never faw the Miniftry after.
TO
348
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
ΤΟ
The Earl of OXFORD, late Lord
Treaſurer. Sent to him when he
was in the Tower, before his Tryal.
Out of HORACE.
Written in the Year 1716.
How
;;
W bleft is he, who for his Country dies
Since Death purſues the Coward as he flies,
The Youth, in vain, would fly from Fate's Attack,
With trembling Knees, and Terror at his Back;
Though Fear fhould lend him Pinions like the
Wind,
Yet fwifter Fate will feize him from behind.
VIRTUE repuls't, yet knows not to repine;
But ſhall with unattainted Honour ſhine;
Nor ſtoops to take the Staff, nor lays it down,
Juſt as the Rabble pleaſe to ſmile or frown.
VIR
}
Poems on feveral Occafions.
349
VIRTUE, to crown her Fav'rites, loves to try
Some new unbeaten Paffage to the Sky;
Where Jove a Seat among the Gods will give
To thoſe who die, for meriting to live.
NEXT, faithful Silence hath a fure Reward:
Within our Breaſt be ev'ry Secret barr'd:
He who betrays his Friend, fhall never be
Under one Roof, or in one Ship with me.
For, who with Traytors would his Safety truft,
Left with the Wicked, Heaven involve the Juft?
And, though the Villain 'ſcape a while, he feels
Slow Vengeance, like a Blood-hound at his Heels.
a good Name.
A quiet Life, and a good
To a Friend, who married a Shrew.
Written about the YEAR 1724.
ELL fcolded in fo loud a Din,
NE
That Will durft hardly venture in:
He mark't the Conjugal Diſpute
Nell roar'd inceffant, Dick fat mute:
But
350
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But, when he faw his Friend appear,
Cry'd bravely, Patience, good my Dear.
At Sight of Will the bawl'd no more,
But hurry'd out, and clap't the Door.
WHY Dick! the Devil's in thy Nell,
Quoth Will; thy Houfe is worſe than Hell:
Why, what a Peal the Jade has rung!
Damn her, why don't you flit her Tongue?
For nothing elſe will make it ceafe:
Dear Will, I fuffer this for Peace;
I never quarrel with my Wife:
I bear it for a quiet Life.
Scripture you know exhorts us to it;
Bids us to feek Peace and enfue it:
WILL went again to vifit Dick;
And ent'ring in the very Nick,
He faw Virago Nell belabor,
With Dick's own Staff, his peaceful Neighbour.
Poor Will who needs muſt interpofe,
Receiv'd a Brace or two of Blows,
BUT
Poems on feveral Occafions.
35i
BUT now, to make my Story fhort;
Will drew out Dick to take a Quart.
Why Dick, thy Wife has dev'liſh Whims;
Od's-buds, why don't you break her Limbs?
If ſhe were mine, and had ſuch Tricks,
I'd teach her how to handle Sticks:
Z
ds, I would ſhip her to Jamaica,
And truck the Carrion for Tobacco;
I'd fend her far enough away
Dear Will; but, what would People ſay?
get fo ill a Name,
Lord! I fhould
The Neighbours round would cry out Shame.
DICK fuffer'd for his Peace and Credit;
But, who believ'd him when he ſaid it?
Can he who makes himſelf a Slave,
Confult his Peace, or Credit fave?
Dick found it by his ill Succefs,
His Quiet fmall, his Credit lefs.
She ferv'd him at the ufu'l Rate;
She ſtun'd, and then the broke his Pate.
And, what he thought the hardeſt Caſe,
The Pariſh jear'd him tọ his Face;
Thoſe
352
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Thofe Men who wore the Breeches leaft,
Call'd him a Cuckold, Fool, and Beaſt.
At home, he was purfu'd with Noiſe;
Abroad, was pefter'd by the Boys.
Within, his Wife would break his Bones,
Without, they pelted him with Stones:
The Prentices procur'd a Riding,
To act his Patience and her Chiding.
FALSE Patience, and miſtaken Pride!
There are ten Thouſand Dicks befide;
Slaves to their Quiet and good Name,
Are us'd like Dick, and bear the Blame.
To the Earl of P-b-w.
**
Written in the Year 1726.
ORDANTO fills the Trump of Fame,
Mor
The Chriftian World his Deeds proclaim,
And Prints are crowded with his Name.
IN
Poems on feveral Occafions.
353
IN Journeys he out-rides the Poft,
Sits up till Midnight with his Hoſt,
Talks Politicks, and gives the Toaft.
KNOWS ev'ry Prince in Europe's Face,
Flies like a Squib from Place to Place,
And travels not, but runs a Race.
FROM Paris Gazette A-la-main,
This Day arriv'd without his Train,
Mordanto in a Week from Spain.
A MESSENGER comes all a-reek,
Mordanto at Madrid to feek:
He left the Town above a Week.
NEXT Day the Poft-boy winds his Horny
And rides through Dover in the Morn:
Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.
MORDANTO gallops on alone,
The Roads are with his Foll'wers ftrown,
This breaks a Girth, and that a Bone.
His Body active as his Mind,
Returning found in Limb and Wind;
Except fome Leather loft behind.
VOL. II.
A a
À SKE
354
Poems on feveral Occafions:
A SKELETON in outward Figure,
His meagre Corps, though full of Vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.
So wonderful his Expedition,
When you have not the leaſt Suſpicion,
He's with you like an Apparition.
SHINES in all Climates like a Star;
In Senates bold, and fierce in War,
A Land-Commander, and a Tarr.
HEROICK Actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match't in modern Reading,
But by his Name-fake Charles of Sweden.
PREBITUR ORIG
PER
CINERES
J V.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
355
t
B
JU DA S.
Written in the Year 173 1.
Y the juſt Vengeance of incenſed Skies,
Poor Bishop Judas, late repenting, dies;
The Jews engag'd him with a paultry Bribė,
Amounting hardly to a Crown a Tribe;
Which, though his Confcience forc'd him to re-
ftore,
(And, Parſons tell us, no Man can do more)
Yet, through Deſpair, of God and Man accurſt,
He loft his Biſhoprick, and hang'd, or burſt.
Thoſe former Ages differ'd much from this:
Judas betray'd his Maſter with a Kiſs :
But, fome have kifs't the Goſpel Fifty Times,
Whoſe Perjury's the leaft of all their Crimes:
Some who can perjure thro' a two-Inch Board;
Yet keep their Bishopricks, and 'fcape the Cord.
A a 2
Like
356
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Like Hemp, which by a skilful Spinfter drawn
To flender Threads, may fometimes paſs for Lawn.
As antient Judas by Tranfgreffion fell,
And burst asunder e'er he went to Hell;
So, could we fee a Set of new Ifcariots,
Come headlong tumbling from their mitred Chariots
Each modern Judas periſh like the firſt;
Drop from the Tree with all his Bowels burft;
Who could forbear, that view'd each guilty Face,
To cry; Lo, Judas, gone to his own Place:
His Habitation let all Men forfake,
And let his Bishoprick another take.
IN SICKNESS.
Written foon after the Author's coming to live in Ire-
land, upon the Queen's Death, October 1714.
•T
IS true,—then why ſhould I repine,
To fee my Life fo faft decline?
But, why obfcurely here alone?
Where I am neither lov'd nor known.
My
Poems on feveral Occafions!
357
My State of Health none care to learn;
My Life is here no Soul's Concern.
And, thoſe with whom I now converſe,
Without a Tear will tend my Herſe.
Remov'd from kind Arbuthnot's Aid,
Who knows his Art but not his Trade;
Preferring his Regard for me
Before his Credit or his Fee.
Some formal Vifits, Looks, and Words,
What meer Humanity affords,
I meet perhaps from three or four,
From whom I once expected more;
Which thoſe who tend the Sick for
Can act as decently as they.
But, no obliging, tender Friend
To help at my approaching End,
My Life is now a Burthen
grown
To others, e'er it be my own.
YE formal Weepers for the Sick,
pay
In your laſt Offices be quick:
And ſpare my abſent Friends the Grief
To hear, yet give me no Relief;
Expir'd To-day, entomb'd To-morrow,
When known, will fave a double Sorrow,
* A a
The
358
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Author having wrote a Treatise, advising the
People of Ireland to wear their own Manufac-
tures, a Profecution was fet on foot against Wa-
ters the Printer thereof, which was carried on
with ſo much Violence, that one Whitſhed, then
Chief Fuftice, thought proper, in a Manner the
moft extraordinary, to keep the Grand-Jury above
twelve Hours, and to fend them eleven times out
of Court, until he had wearied them into a fpe-
cial Verdict.
A N
Excellent new SONG on a fedi-
tious Pamphlet.
B
To the Tune of Packington's Pound.
Written in the Year 1720.
ROCADO's, and Damasks, and Tabbies, and
Gawfes,
Are by Robert Ballentine lately brought over;
With Forty Things more: Now. hear what the
Law ſays,
Whoe'er will not were them, is not the King's
Lover.
Tho
Poems on feveral Occafions.
359
Tho' a Printer and Dean
Seditiouſly mean
Our true Irish Hearts from old England to wean;
We'll buy English Silks for our Wives and our
Daughters,
In Spight of his Deanfhip and Journeyman Waters.
II.
In England the Dead in Woollen are clad,
The Dean and his Printer then let us cry Fye on;
To be cloath'd like a Carcafs would make a Teague
mad,
Since a living Dog better is than a dead Lyon,
Our Wives they grow fullen
At wearing of Woollen,
And all we poor Shopkeepers muſt our Horns
pull in.
Then we'll buy English Silks, &c.
III.
Whoever our Trading with England would hinder,
To inflame both the Nations do plainly confpire;
Becauſe Irish Linen will foon turn to Tinder;
And Wool it is greaſy, and quickly takes Fire.
A
There
360
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Therefore I affure ye,
Our noble Grand Jury,
When they faw the Dean's Book they were in a
great Fury:
They would buy English Silks for their Wives, &c.
IV.
This wicked Rogue Waters, who always is finning,
And before Corum Nobus fo oft has been call'd,
Henceforward fhall print neither Pamphlets nor
Linnen,
And, if Swearing can do't, ſhall be ſwingingly
mawl'd:
And as for the Dean,
You know whom I mean,
If the Printer will peach him, he'll ſcarce come
off clean.
Then we'll buy English Silks for our Wives and
T
our Daughters,
- Snight of his Deanfhip and Journeyman Waters.
A SI
Poems on feveral Occafions,
365
A
SIMILE,
ON
Our Want of Silver, and the only
Way to remedy it.
A
Written in the Year 1725.
S when of old, fome Sorc'refs threw
O'er the Moon's Face a fable Hue,
To drive unſeen her magick Chair,
At Midnight, through the dark'ned Air;
Wife People, who believ'd with Reaſon
That this Eclipfe was out of Seaſon,
Affirm'd the Moon was fick, and fell
To cure her by a Counter-ſpell:
Ten Thouſand Cymbals now begin
To rend the Skies with brazen Din;
The Cymbals rattling Sounds diſpell
The Cloud, and drive the Hag to Hell:
The
1
36 2
Poems on feveral Occafions,
The Moon, deliver'd from her Pain,
Difplays her Silver Face again.
(Note here, that in the Chymick Style,
The Moon is Silver all this while.)
So, (if my Simile you minded,
N. 1
Which, I confefs, is too long winded)
When late a Feminine Magician,
Join'd with a brazen Politician,
Expos'd, to blind the Nation's Eyes,
A* Parchment of prodigious Size;
Conceal'd behind that ample Screen,
There was no Silver to be feen.
But, to this Parchment let the Draper
Oppofe his Counter-Charm of Paper,
And ring Wood's Copper in our Ears
So loud, till all the Nation hears;
That Sound will make the Parchment fhrivel,
And drive the Conj'rers to the Devil:
And when the Sky is grown ferene,
Our Silver will appear again.
* A Patent to W. Wood, for coining Half pence.
ON
Poems on feveral Occafions,
363
ON
WOOD the Iron-monger.
Written in the Year 1725.
ALMONEUS, as the Grecian Tale is,
SA
Was a mad Copper-Smith of Elis:
Up at his Forge by Morning-peep,
No Creature in the Lane could fleep.
Among a Crew of royft'ring Fellows
Would fit whole Ev'nings at the Ale-houſe:
His Wife and Children wanted Bread,
While he went always drunk to Bed.
This vap'ring Scab muſt needs deviſe
!
To ape the Thunder of the Skies;
With Braſs two fiery Steeds he ſhod,
To make a Clatt'ring as they trod.
Of poliſh't Brass, his flaming Car,
Like Light'ning dazzled from a-far:
And up he mounts into the Box,
And He must thunder, with a Pox.
7
Then,
364
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Then, furious he begins his March;
Drives rattling o'er a brazen Arch:
With Squibs and Crackers arm'd, to throw
Among the trembling Croud below.
All ran to Pray'rs, both Priefts and Laity,
To pacify this angry Deity;
When Jove, in Pity to the Town,
With real Thunder knock't him down,
Then what a huge Delight were all in,
To fee the wicked Varlet fprawling;
They fearch't his Pockets on the Place,
'And found his Copper all was bafe;
They laught at ſuch an Iriſh Blunder,
To take the Noiſe of Braſs for Thunder!
THE Moral of this Tale is proper,
Apply'd to Wood's adult'rate Copper;
Which, as he ſcatter'd, we like Dolts,
Miftook at firſt for Thunder-Bolts ;
Before the Drapier fhot a Letter,
(Nor Jove himſelf could do it better)
Which lighting on th' Impoftor's Crown,
Like real Thunder knock't him down.
WOOD
Poems on feveral Occafions.
365
WOOD, an Infect.
Written in the Year 1725.
Y long Obfervation I have underſtood,
BY
That three little Vermin are kin to Will.
Wood:
The first is an Infect they call a Wood-Loufe,
That folds up itſelf in itſelf for a Houſe :
As round as a Ball, without Head without Tail,
Inclos'd Cap-a-pee in a ſtrong Coat of Mail.
And thus William Wood to my Fancy appears
In Fillets of Braſs roll'd up to his Ears:
And, over thefe Fillets he wifely has thrown,
To keep out of Danger, * a Doublet of Stone.
THE Loufe of the Wood for a Med'cine it us'd,
Or fwallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis'd.
And, let but our Mother Hibernia contrive
To fwallow Will, Wood either bruis'd or alive.
* He was in Jayi for Debt,
She
366
Poems on feveral Occafions.
She need be no more with the Jaundice poffefs't,
Or fick of Obstructions, and Pains in her Cheft.
THE Third is an Infect we call a Wood-Worm,
That lies in old Wood like a Hare in her Form ;
With Teeth or with Claws it will bite or will
ſcratch,
And Chambermaids chriften this Worm a Death-
Watch:
1
Becauſe like a Watch it always cries Click:
Then Woe be to thofe in the Houſe who are fick:
For, as fure as a Gun they will give up the Ghoſt
If the Maggot cries Click when it ſcratches the
Poſt.
But a Kettle of fcalding hot Water injected,
Infallibly cures the Timber affected;
The Omen is broke, the Danger is over
The Maggot will dye, and the Sick will recover.
Such a Worm was Will. Wood when he ſcratcht at
>
the Door
Of a governing Stateſman, or favorite Whore:
The Death of our Nation it feem'd to foretell,
And the Sound of his Brafs we took for our Knell.
But
Poems on feveral Occafions.
357
But now, fince the Drapier hath heartilly maul'd
him,
I think the beſt Thing we can do is to ſcald him.'
For which Operation there's nothing more proper
Than the Liquor he deals in, his own melted Cop-
per;
Unleſs, like the Dutch, you rather would boyl
This Coyner of * Raps in a Cauldron of Oyl.
Then chufe which you pleaſe, and let each bring a
Faggot,
For our Fear's at an End with the Death of the
Maggot.
ADVICE to the Grub-ftreet
Verfe-Writers.
Written in the Year 1726.
E Poets ragged and forlorn,
YE
Down from your Garrets haſte,
Ye Rhimers, dead as foon as born,
Not yet confign'd to Paſte ;
* A cant Word in Ireland for a counterfeit Half-penny.
I KNOW
368
Poems on feveral Occafions.
I KNOW a Trick to make you thrive;
O, 'tis à quaint Device :
Your ftill-born Poems ſhall revive,
And ſcorn to wrap up Spice.
GET all your Verfes printed fair,
Then, let them well be dry'd ;
And, Curl muſt have a ſpecial Care
To leave the Margin wide.
LEND thefe to Paper-fparing Pope;
And, when he fits to write,
No Letter with an Envelope
Could give him more Delight.
WHEN Pope has fill'd the Margins round,
Why, then recal your Loan;
Sell them to Curl for Fifty Pound,
And fwear they are your own.
Defire,
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
369
BIRADORE
Defire and Poffeffion.
"T"
Written in the Year 1727.
IS ftrange, what diff'rent Thoughts infpire
In Man, Poffeffion, and Defire ;
Think what they wish fo great a Bleffing,
So diſappointed when poffeffing.
A MORALIST profoundly fage;
I know not in what Book or Page,
Or, whether o'er a Pot of Ale,
Related thus the following Tale.
Poffeffion, and Defire, his Brother,
But, ftill at Variance with each other,
Were feen contending in a Race;
And, kept at firft an equal Pace:
'Tis faid, their Courfe continu'd long ;
For, This was active, That was ſtrong :
VOL. II.
B b
Till
370´
Poems on feveral Occafions.
L
Till Envy, Slander, Sloth, and Doubt,
Miſled them many a League about..
Seduc'd by fome deceiving Light,
They take the wrong Way for the right.
Through flipp'ry By-roads dark and deep,
They often climb, and oftner creep.
Defire, the ſwifter of the two,
Along the plain like Lightning flew :
Till entring on a broad High-way,
Where Power and Titles ſcatter'd lay,
He ftrove to pick up all he found,
And by Excurfions loſt his Ground :
No fooner got, than with Diſdain
He threw them on the Ground again;
And hafted forward to purſue
Fresh Objects fairer to his View;
In hope to fpring fome nobler Game :
But, all he took was juſt the fame :
Too fcornful now to ftop his Pace,
He ſpurn'd them in his Rival's Face.
Poffeffion kept the beaten Road;
And, gather'd all his Brother ftrow'd ;
But
Poems on feveral Occafions
37*
But overcharg'd, and out of Wind,
Though ftrong in Limbs, he lagg'd behind.
Defire had now the Goal in Sight:
It was a Tow'r of monftrous Height,
Where, on the Summit Fortune ftands:
A Crown and Scepter in her Hands;
Beneath, a Chaſm as deep as Hell,
Where many a bold Advent'rer fell.
Defire, in Rapture gaz'd a while,
And faw the treach'rous Goddeſs ſmile;
But, as he climb'd to grafp the Crown,
She knock't him with the Scepter down:
He tumbled in the Gulph profound;
There doom'd to whirl an endleſs Round.
Poffeffion's Load was grown ſo great,
He funk beneath the cumbrbus Weight:
And, as he now expiring lay,
Flocks ev'ry ominous Bird of Prey;
The Raven, Vulture, Owl, and Kite,
At once upon his Carcafe light;
And ftrip his Hyde, and pick his Bones,
Regardleſs of his dying Groans.
* Bb a
A PAS-
372
Poems on feveral Occafions
A
Paftoral DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
Richmond - Lodge and Marble - Hill.
Written June 1727, just after the News of the
King's Death.
R
ICHMOND-Lodge is a Houfe with a Small
Park belonging to the Crown: It was ufual-
ly granted by the Crown for a Leafe of Years; the
Duke of Ormonde was the last who had it After
his Exile, it was given to the Prince of Wales, by
the King. The Prince aud Princefs ufually paffed
their Summer there. It is within a Mile of Rich-
mond.
Marble-Hill is a Houfe built by Mrs. Howard,
then of the Bed-chamber, now Countess of Suffolk,
and Groom of the Stole to the Queen. It is on the
Middlefex Side, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope
lives, and about two Miles from Richmond-Lodge.
Mr. Pope was the Contriver of the Gardens, Lord
Herbert the Architect, and the Dean of St. Pa-
trick's chief Butler, and Keeper of the Ice Houſe.
Upon King George's Death, these two Houfes met,
and had the following Dialogue.
IN
Poems on feveral Occafions.
373
*
IN Spight of Pope, in Spight of Gay,
And all that He or They can fay;
Sing on I muft, and fing I will
Of Richmond Lodge, and Marble Hill,
LAST Friday Night, as Neighbours uſe,
This Couple met to talk of News.
For by old Proverbs it appears,
That Walls have Tongues, and Hedges, Ears,
MARBLE-HILL.
Quoth Marble-Hill, right well I ween,
Your Miſtreſs now is grown a Queen;
You'll find it foon by woful Proof,
She'll come no more beneath your Roof.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
The kingly Prophet well evinces,
That we ſhould put no Truft in Princes;
My Royal Mafter promis'd me
To raiſe me to a high Degree:
But now He's grown a King, God wot,
I fear I fhall be foon forgot,
You fee, when Folks have
got their Ends,
How quickly they neglect their Friends;
Yet
* NOTE, This Poem was carried to Court, and read to ibe
K. and 2.
374
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Yet I may fay 'twixt me and you,
Pray God they now may find as true.
Marble-H My Houſe was built but for a Show,
My Lady's empty Pockets know :
And now the will not have a Shilling
To raiſe the Stairs, or build the Cieling ;
For, all the Courtly Madams round,
Now pay four Shillings in the Pound.
'Tis come to what I always thought;
My Dame is hardly worth a Groat.
Had You and I been Courtiers born,
We ſhould not thus have layn forlorn
For, thofe we dext'rous Courtiers call,
Can rife upon their Maſter's Fall.
But, we unlucky and unwifę,
Muft fall, becauſe our Matters rife.
Richmond-L. My Maſter ſcarce a Fortnight fince,
Was grown as wealthy as a Prince;
But now it will be no fuch thing,
For he'll be poor as any King:
And, by his Crown will nothing get;
But, like a King, to run in Debt.
grave
Marble H. No more the Dean, that
Shall keep the Key of my (no) Wine;
Divine,
My
Poems on feveral Occafions.
375
My Ice-houſe rob as heretofore,
And ſteal my Artichokes no more;
Poor Patty Blount no more be ſeen
Bedraggled in my Walks ſo green :
Plump Johnny Gay will now elope;
And here no more will dangle Pope.
Richmond-L. Here wont the Dean when he's
to ſeek.
To fpunge a Breakfaſt once a Week;
To the Bread was ftale, and mutter
cry
Complaints againſt the Royal Butter.
But, now I fear it will be faid,
No Butter ſticks upon his Bread.
We ſoon ſhall find him full of Spleen,
For want of tattling to the Queen;
Stunning her Royal Ears with talking;
His Rev'rence and her Highness walking :
Whilſt * Lady Charlotte, like a Stroller,
Sits mounted on the Garden Roller.
A goodly Sight to fee her ride,
With antient † Mirmont at her Side.
*Lady Charlotte de Rouffy, a French Lady.
t Marquis de Mirmont, a French Map of Quality.
In
376
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
In Velvet Cap his Head lies warm;
His Hat for Show, beneath his Arm.
Marble-H. Some South Sea Broker from the
City,
Will purchaſe me, the more's the Pity,
Lay all my fine Plantations wafte,
To fit them to his vulgar Tafte;
Chang'd for the worſe in ev'ry Part,
My Maſter Pope will break his Heart.
Richmond-L. In my own Thames may I be
drownded,
If e'er I ftoop beneath a crown'd Head :
Except her Majefty prevails
To place me with the Prince of Wales.
And then I fhall be free from Fears,
For, he'll be Prince thefe fifty Years.
I then will turn a Courtier too,
And ferve the Times as others do.
Plain Loyalty not built on Hope,
I leave to your Contriver, Pope:
None loves his King and Country better,
Yet none was ever leſs their Debtor.
Marble-H. Then, let him come and take a Nap,
In Summer, on my verdant Lap;
Prefer
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
377
Prefer our Villaes where the Thames is,
To Kenſington, or hot St. James's;
Nor fhall I dull in Silence fit;
For, 'tis to me he owes his Wit;
My Groves, my Ecchoes, and my Birds,
Have taught him his poetick Words.
We Gardens, and you Wilderneſſes,
Affift all Poets in Diftreffes.
Him twice a Week I here expect,
*
To rattle Moody for Neglect;
An idle Rogue, who spends his Quartridge
In tipling at the Dog and Partridge;
And I can hardly get him down
Three times a Week to bruſh my Gown.
Richmond-Lodge. I pity you, dear Marble-Hill;
But, hope to ſee you flourish ftill.
All Happineſs and ſo adieu.
Marble-Hill. Kind Richmond-Lodge; the fame
to you.
* The Gardener.
ON
378
Poems on feveral Occafions.
On the five Ladies at Sots-Hole, with
the Doctor at their Head.
The Ladies treated the Doctor.
Sent as from an Officer in the Army.
Written in the Year 1728.
AIR Ladies, Number five,
FAI
Who in your merry Freakš,
With little Tom contrive
To feaft on Ale and Steaks.
While he fits by a grinning,
To fee you ſafe in * Sots-Hole,
up with greaſy Linnen,
Set up
And neither Muggs nor Pots whole.
Alas! I never thought
A Prieft would pleaſe your Palate;
Befides, I'll hold a Groat,
He'll put you in a Ballad :
Where I fhall fee your Faces
On Paper daub'd ſo foul,
They'll be no more like Graces,
Than Venus like an Owl.
And we ſhall take you rather
To be a Midnight Pack
Of Witches met together,
With Belzebub in Black.
* A famous Ale-boufe in Dublin for Beef-fakes
It
Poems on feveral Occafions.
375
It fills my Heart with Woe,
To think fuch Ladies fine,
Should be reduc'd fo low,
To treat a dull Divine:
Be by a Parfon cheated!
Had you been cunning Stagers,
You might yourſelves be treated
By Captains and by Majors.
See how Corruption grows,
While Mothers, Daughters, Aunts,'
Inſtead of powder'd Beaus,
From Pulpits chuſe Gallants.
If we who wear our Wigs
f
With Fan-Tail and with Snake,
Are bubbled thus by Prigs;
Z-ds who wou'd be a Rake?
Had I a Heart to fight,
I'd knock the Doctor down;
Ör could I read and write,
I'gad I'd wear a Gown.
Then leave him to his Birch;
And at the Rofe on Sunday,
The Parſon ſafe at Church,
I'll treat you with Burgundy.
Bb
About
386
Poems on feveral Occafions.
About Nine or Ten Years ago, fome ingenious Gen-
tlemen, Friends to the Author, used to entertain
themſelves with writing Riddles, and fend them
to him and their other Acquaintance, Copies of
which ran about, and fome of them were prin-
ted both here and in England. The Author, at
bis leifure Hours, fell into the fame Amuſement;
although it be faid that he thought them of no
great Merit, Entertainment, or Use. However,
by the Advice of fome Perfous, for whom the
Author bath a great Efteem, and who were
pleafed to fend us the Copies, we have ventured
to print the few following, as we have done two
or three before, and which are allowed to be
genuine; becauſe, we are informed that ſeveral
good Fudges have a Taste for fuch Kind of Com-
pofitions.
A
RIDDLE.
Written in the Year 1724.
'N Youth exalted high in Air,
IN
Or bathing in the Waters fair;
Nature to form me took Delight,
And clad my Body all in White :
My
Poems on feveral Occafions.
381
My Perſon tall, and flender Waſte,
On either Side with Fringes grac'd;
Till me that Tyrant Man efpy'd,
And drag'd me from my Mother's Side:
No Wonder now I look fo thin;
The Tyrant ftrip't me to the Skin :
My Skin he flay'd, my Hair he cropt;
At Head and Foot my Body lopt:
And then, with Heart more hard than Stone,
He pick't my Marrow from the Bone.
To vex me more, he took a Freak,
To flit my Tongue, and made me ſpeak :
But, that which wonderful appears,
I ſpeak to Eyes and not to Ears.
He oft employs me in Diſguiſe,
And makes me tell a Thouſand Lyes:
To me he chiefly gives in Truft
To pleaſe his Malice, or his Luft.
From me no Secret he can hide ;
I fee his Vanity and Pride:
And my Delight is to expofe
His Follies to his greateſt Foes.
ALL Languages I can command,
Yet not a Word I underſtand.
With-
382
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Without my Aid, the beſt Divine
In Learning would not know a Line:
The Lawyer muſt forget his Pleading,
The Scholar could not fhew his Reading.
Ї
Nay; Man, my Mafter, is my Slave:
I give Command to kill or fave.
Can grant ten Thouſand Pounds a Year,
And make a Beggar's Brat a Peer.
BUT, while I thus my Life relate,
I only haften on my Fate.
My Tongue is black, my Mouth is furr'd,
I hardly now can force a Word.
I dye unpity'd and forgot;
And on fome Dunghill left to rot.
²
ANOTHER.
A To vile
LL-ruling Tyrant of the Earth,
To vileft Slaves I owe my Birth.
How is the greateſt Monarch bleft,
When in my gaudy Liv'ry dreft!
No
}
Poems on feveral Occafions.
383
No haughty Nymph has Pow'r to run
From me; or my Embraces fhun.
Stabb'd to the Heart, condemn'd to Flame,
My Conftancy is ftill the fame.
The fav'rite Meſſenger of Jove,
*
And Lemnian God confulting ftrove,
To make me glorious to the Sight
Of Mortals, and the Gods Delight.
Soon would their Altars Flame expire,
If I refus'd to lend them Fire.
ANOTHER.
Y Fate exalted high in Place;
BY
Lo, here I ftand with double Face;
Superior none on Earth I find;
But fee below me all Mankind.
Yet, as it oft attends the Great,
I almoſt fink with my own Weight;
At every Motion undertook,
The Vulgar all confult my Look.
I fometimes give Advice in Writing,
But never of my own inditing.
Vulcan.
I AM
384
Porms on feveral Occafions.
I AM a Courtier in my Way;
For thoſe who rais'd me, I betray;
And ſome give out, that I entice
To Luft and Luxury, and Dice:
Who Puniſhments on me inflict,
Becauſe they find their Pockets pick't.
By riding Poſt I loſe my Health ;
And only to get others Wealth.
B
ANOTHER.
ECAUSE I am by Nature blind,
I wifely chufe to walk behind;
However, to avoid Diſgrace,
I let no Creature fee my Face.
My Words are few, but fpoke with Senfe:
And yet my ſpeaking gives Offence :
Or, if to whiſper I prefume,
The Company will fly the Room.
By all the World I am opprefs't,
And my Oppreffion gives them Reft.
THROUGH me, though fore against my Will,
Inftructors ev'ry Art inftill.
By
Poems on feveral Occafions.
385
By Thouſands I am fold and bought,
Who neither get, nor lofe a Groat ;
For none, alas, by me can gain,
But thoſe who give me greatest Pain.
Shall Man prefume to be my Mafter,
Who's but my Caterer and Tafter?
Yet, though I always have my Will
I'm but a meer Depender ftill:
An humble Hanger-on at beſt;
Of whom all People make a Jeft.
IN me, Detractors feek to find
Two Vices of a diff'rent Kind:
I'm too profufe fome Cenf'rers cry,
And all I get, I let it fly:
While others give me many a Curſe,
Becauſe too cloſe I hold my Purſe.
But this I know, in either Cafe
They dare not charge me to my Face.
'Tis true, indeed, fometimes I fave,
Sometimes run out of all I have;
But when the Year is at an End,
Computing what I get and ſpend,
My Goings out, and Comings in,
I cannot find I lofe or win,
VOL. II.
C G
And
38
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And therefore, all that know me, fay
I justly keep the middle Way.
I'm always by my Betters led;
I laft get up, am first a-bed;
Though, if I rife before my Time,
The Learn'd in Sciences fublime,
Confult the Stars, and thence foretell
Good Luck to thofe with whom I dwell.
TH
ANOTHER.
HE Joy of Man, the Pride of Brutes,
Domeſtick Subject for Diſputes,
Of Plenty thou the Emblem fair,
Adorn'd by Nymphs with all their Care:
I ſaw thee rais'd to high Renown,
Supporting half the British Crown;
And often have I feen thee
grace
The chafte Diana's infant Face;
And whenfoe're you pleaſe to ſhine,
Leſs uſeful is her Light than thine;
Thy num'rous Fingers know their Way,
'And oft in Celia's Treffes play.
Το
Poems on feveral Occafions.
387
To place thee in another View,
I'll fhew the World ftrange Things and true;
What Lords and Dames of high Degree,
May juſtly claim their Birth from thee;
The Soul of Man with Spleen you vex;
Of Spleen you cure the Female Sex:
Thee, for a Gift, the Courtier fends
With Pleaſure to his fpecial Friends:
He gives; and with a gen'rous Pride,
Contrives all Means the Gift to hide :
Nor oft can the Receiver know
Whether he has the Gift or no.
On Airy Wings you take your Flight,
And fly unfeen both Day and Night;
Conceal your Form with various Tricks;
And few know how and where you fix.
Yet, fome who ne'er beſtow'd thee, boaſt
That they to others give thee moft:
Mean Time, the Wife a Queſtion ſtart,
If thou a real Being art;
Or, but a Creature of the Brain,
That gives imaginary Pain:
But the fly Giver better knows thee;
Who feels true Joys when he beſtows thee.
€¢
€ c 2
ANO™
388
Poems on feveral Occafions.
ANOTHER.
HOUGH I, alas! a Prif'ner be,
THO
My Trade is, Prif'ners to fet free.
No Slave his Lord's Commands obeys,
With fuch infinuating Ways.
My Genius piercing, ſharp, and bright,
Wherein the Men of Wit delight.
The Clergy keep me for their Eaſe,
And turn and wind me as they pleaſe.
A new and wond'rous Art I ſhow
Of raiſing Spirits from below;
In Scarlet fome, and fome in White;
They rife, walk round, yet never fright.
In at each Mouth the Spirits pafs,
Diſtinctly ſeen as through a Glafs :
O'er Head and Body make a Rout,
And drive at laft all Secrets out:
And ftill, the more I fhow my Art,
The more they open every Heart.
A GREATER Chymift none, than I,
Who from Materials hard and dry,
Have
Poems on feveral Occafions.
389
Have taught Men to extract with Skill,
More precious Juice than from a Still.
ALTHOUGH I'm often out of Cafe,
I'm not aſham'd to fhow my Face.
Though at the Tables of the Great,
I near the Side-board take my Seat ;
Yet, the plain Squire, when Dinner's done,
Is never pleas'd till I make one:
He kindly bids me near him ftand;
And often takes me by the Hand.
I TWICE a Day a hunting go;
Nor ever fail to feize my Foe;
And, when I have him by the Pole,
I drag him upwards from his Hole.
Though fome are of fo ftubborn Kind,
I'm forc'd to leave a Limb behind.
I HOURLY Wait fome fatal End;
For, I can break, but ſcorn to bend.
THE
392
Poems on feveral Occafions.
ANOTHER.
The Gulph of all human Poffeffions.
Written in the Year 1724.
Ome hither and behold the Fruits,
COF
Vain Man, of all thy vain Purfuits.
Take wife Advice, and look behind,
Bring all paſt Actions to thy Mind.
Here you may fee, as in a Glaſs,
How foon all human Pleaſures paſs.
How will it mortify thy Pride,
To turn the true impartial Side!
How will your Eyes contain their Tears,
When all the fad Reverſe appears!
THIS Cave within its Womb confines
The laft Refult of all Deſigns:
Here lye depofited the Spoils
Of bufy Mortals endleſs Toils:
Here,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
391
Here, with an eafy Search we find
The foul Corruptions of Mankind.
The wretched Purchaſe here behold
Of Traytors who their Country fold.
THIS Gulph inſatiable imbibes
The Lawyer's Fees, the Stateſman's Bribes.
Here, in their proper Shape and Mein,
Fraud, Perjury, and Guilt are feen.
NECESSITY, the Tyrant's Law,
All human Race must hither draw :
All prompted by the fame Defire,
The vig'rous Youth, and aged Sire:
Behold, the Coward, and the Brave,
The haughty Prince, the humble Slave,
Phyfician, Lawyer, and Divine,
All make Oblations at this Shrine.
Some enter boldly, fome by Stealth,
And leave behind their fruitleſs Wealth.
For, while the baſhful Sylvan Maid,
As half aſham'd, and half afraid,
Approaching, finds it hard to part
With that which dwelt fo near her Heart;
The
392
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The courtly Dame, unmov'd by Fear,
Profufely pours her Off'rings here.
A TREASURE here of Learning lurks,
Huge Heaps of never-dying Works;
Labours of many an ancient Sage,
And Millions of the prefent Age.
IN at this Gulph all Off'rings país,
And lye an undiſtinguiſh'd Maſs.
Deucalion, to reftore Mankind
Was bid to throw the Stones behind;
So, thoſe who here their Gifts convey,
Are forc't to lock another Way;
For, few, a chofen few, muft know,
The Mysteries that lye below.
SAD Charnel-houſe! a difmal Dome,
For which all Mortals leave their Home
The Young, the Beautiful, and Brave,
Here bury'd in one common Grave;
Where each Supply of Dead, renews
Unwholfome Damps, offenfive Dews:
And lo! the Writing on the Walls
Points out where each new Victim falls;
R
The
Poems on feveral Occafions.
393
L
The Food of Worms, and Beaſts obſcene,
Who round the Vault luxuriant reign.
SEE where thoſe mangled Corpfes lye,
Condemn'd by Female Hands to dye ;
A comely Dame once clad in white,
Lyes there confign'd to endleſs Night;
By cruel Hands her Blood was fpilt,
yet her Wealth was all her Guilt.
And
AND here fix Virgins in a Tomb,
All beauteous Offspring of one Womb,
Oft in the Train of Venus feen,
As fair and lovely as their Queen :
In Royal Garments each was dreſt,
Each with a Gold and Purple Veft;
I faw them of their Garments ftript,
Their Throats were cut, their Bellies ript,
Twice were they bury'd, twice were born,
Twice from their Sepulchres were torn;
But, now diſmember'd here are caſt,
And find a refting Place at laſt.
HERE, oft the Curious Trav'lls finds;
The Combat of oppofing Winds:
And
394
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And feeks to learn the fecret Caufe,
Which alien feems from Nature's Laws:
Why at this Cave's tremendous Mouth,
He feels at once both North and South :
Whether the Winds in Caverns pent
Through Clefts oppugnant force a Vent;
Or, whether, op'ning all his Stores,
Fierce Eolus in Tempefts roars.
YET from this mingled Mafs of Things.
In Time a new Creation fprings.
Theſe crude Materials once fhall riſe,
To fill the Earth, and Air, and Skies:
In various Forms appear agen
Of Vegetables, Brutes, and Men.
So Jove pronounc'd among the Gods,
Olympus trembling as he nods.
Ç
ANOTHER
Poems on feveral Occafions.
395
A
ANOTHER.
Louifa to Strephon.
Written in the Year 1730.
H, Strephon, how can you deſpiſe
Her, who, without thy Pity, dies?
To Stephon i have ſtill been true,
And of as noble Blood as you ;
Fair Iffue of the genial Bed,
A Virgin in thy Bofom bred
Embrac'd thee cloſer than a Wife ;
When thee I leave, I leave my Life.'
Why should my Shepherd take amifs
That oft I wake thee with a Kifs?
Yet you of ev'ry Kifs complain;
Ah, is not Love a pleafing Pain?
A Pain which ev'ry happy Night
You cure with Eafe and with Delight;
With Pleaſure, as the Poet fings,
Too great for Mortals leſs than Kings.
CHLOE
395
'Poems on feveral Occafions
CHLOE, when on thy Breaſt I lye,
Obferve me with revengeful Eye :
If Chloe o'er thy Heart prevails,
She'll tear me with her defp'rate Nails;
And with relentleſs Hands deſtroy
The tender Pledges of our Joy.
Nor have I bred a fpurious Race;
They all were born from thy Embrace.
CONSIDER, Strephon, what you
For, fhould I dye for Love of you,
do;
I'll haunt thy Dreams, a bloodleſs Ghoſt;
And all my Kin, a num'rous Hoft,
Who down direct our Lineage bring
From Victors o'er the Memphian King;
Renown'd in Sieges and Campaigns,
Who never fled the bloody Plains,
Who in tempestuous Seas can ſport,
And fcorn the Pleaſures of a Court ;
From whom great Sylla found his Doom;
Who fcourg'd to Death that Scourge of Rome,
Shall on thee take a Vengeance dire
Thou, like Alcides, fhalt expire,
When his envenom'd Shirt he wore,
And Skin and Fleſh in Pieces tore.
Nor
Poems on feveral Occafions.
397
Nor lefs that Shirt, my Rival's Gift,
Cut from the Piece that made her Shift,
Shall in thy deareſt Blood be dy'd,
And make thee tear thy tainted Hyde.
D
ANOTHER.
Written in the Year 1725
Epriv'd of Root, and Branch, and Rind,
Yet Flow'rs I bear of ev'ry Kind;
And fuch is my prolific Pow'r,
They bloom in leſs than half an Hour:
Yet Standers-by may plainly fee
They get no Nouriſhment from me
My Head, with Giddineſs,
goes
round;
And yet I firmly ftand my Ground:
All over naked I am feen,
And painted like an Indian Queen.
No Couple-Beggar in the Land
E'er join'd fuch Numbers Hand in Hand;
And
308
Poems on feveral Occafions:
I join them fairly with a Ring;
Nor can our Parfon blame the Thing:
And tho' no Marriage Words are ſpoke,
They part not till the Ring is broke.
Yet hypocrite Fanaticks cry,
I'm but an Idol rais'd on high;
And once a Weaver in our Town,
A damn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down:
I lay a Priſoner twenty Years;
And then the Jovial Cavaliers
To their old Poſts reftor'd all Three,
I mean the Church, the King, and Me.
On Cenfure.
Written in the Year 1727.
E Wife, inſtruct me to endure
YE
An Evil, which admits no Cure :
Or, how this Evil can be born,
Which breeds at once both Hate and Scorn,
Bare
Poems on feveral Occafions.
399
Bare Innocence is no Support,
When you are try'd in Scandal's Court.
Stand high in Honour, Wealth, or Wit;
All others who inferior fit,
Conceive themſelves in Confcience bound
To join, and drag you to the Ground,
Your Altitude offends the Eyes,
Of thoſe who want the Pow'r to rife,
The World, a willing Stander-by,
Inclines to aid a fpecious Lye:
Alas; they would not do you wrong;
But, all Appearances are ftrong.
YET, whence proceeds this Weight we lay
On what detracting People ſay?
For, let Mankind diſcharge their Tongues
In Venom, till they burft their Lungs,
Their utmoſt Malice cannot make
Your Head, or Tooth, or Finger ake:
Nor fpoil your Shape, diftort your Face,
Or put one Feature out of Place;
Nor, will you find your Fortune fink,
By what they ſpeak, or what they think.
Nor can ten Hundred Thouſand Lyes,
Make you lefs virtuous, learn'd, or wife.
THE
400
Poems on feveral Occafions.
THE most effectual Way to baulk
Their Malice, isto let them talk.
TO
BETTY the Grizette.
Q
Written in the Year 1730.
UEEN of Wit and Beauty, Betty,
Never may the Mufe forget ye:
How thy Face charms ev'ry Shepherd,
Spotted over like a Le'pard!
And, thy freckled Neck difplay'd,
Envy breeds in ev'ry Maid.
Like a fly blown Cake of Tallow,
Or, on Parchment, Ink turn'd yellow :
Or, a tawny ſpeckled Pippin,
Shrivel'd with a Winter's keeping.
AND, thy Beauty thus difparcht;
Let me praiſe thy Wit unmatcht.
SETS of Phrafes, cut and dry,
Evermore thy Tongue fupply.
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
401
And, thy Memory is loaded
With old Scraps from Plays exploded.
Stock't with Repartees and Jokes,
Suited to all Chriftian Fokes:
Shreds of Wit, and fenfeleſs Rhimes,
Blunder'd out a Thouſand Times.
Nor, wilt thou of Gifts be fparing,
Which can ne'er be worfe for wearing.
Picking Wit among Collegions,
In the Play-Houſe upper Regions;
Where, in Eighteen-penny Gall'ry,
Iriſh Nymphs learn Iriſh Raillery :
But, thy Merit is thy Failing,
And, thy Raillery is Railing.
THUS, with Talents well endu'd
To be fcurrilous, and rude;
When you pertly raife your Snout,
Fleer, and gibe, and laugh, and flour;
This, among Hibernian Affes,
For theer Wit, and Humour paffes!
Thus, indulgent Chloe bit,
Swears you have a World of Wit.
VOL. II.
D &
་
DEATH
402
Poems on feveral Occafions.
KEYCH NAMES
DEATH and Daphne.
To an agreeable young Lady, but extremely lean,
D
Written in the Year 1730.
EATH Went upon a folemn Day,
At Pluto's Hall, his Court to pay :
The Phantom, having humbly kifs't
His griefly Monarch's footy Fiſt,
Preſented him the weekly Bills
Of Doctors, Fevers, Plagues, and Pills.
Pluto obferving, fince the Peace,
The Burial Article decreaſe;
And, vext to ſee Affairs mifcarry,
Declar'd in Council, Death muſt marry:
Vow'd, he no longer could fupport
Old Batchelors about his Court:
The Int'reft of his Realm had need
That Death fhould get a num'rous Breed;
Young Deathlings, who, by Practice made
Proficient in their Father's Trade,
With
Poems on feveral Occafions.
403
With Colonies might ſtock around
His large Dominions under Ground.
A CONSULT of Coquets below
Was call'd, to rig him out a Beau :
From her own Head, Megara takes
A Perriwig of twiſted Snakes;
Which in the niceſt Faſhion curl'd,
Like * Toupets of this upper World;
(With Flow'r of Sulphur powder'd well,
That graceful on his Shoulders fell)
An Adder of the fable Kind,
In Line direct, hung down behind.
The Owl, the Raven, and the Bat
Club'd for a Feather to his Hat;
His Coat, an Uf'rer's Velvet Pall,
Bequeath'd to Pluto, Corps and all.
But, loth his Perſon to expoſe
Bare, like a Carcaſe pick't by Crows;
A Lawyer o'er his Hands and Face,
Stuck artfully a Parchment Cafe.
No new-flux't Rake fhew'd fairer Skin
Not Phyllis after lying-in.
With Snuff was fill'd his Ebon Box,
Of Shin-Bones rotted by the Pox.
*The Perriwigs now in Fashion are fo called.
Dda
Nine
40+
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Nine Spirits of blafpheming Fops,
With Aconite anoint his Chops:
And give him Words of dreadful Sounds,
G--- d---n his Blood, and Bl--- and W----ds.
THUS furniſh't out, he fent his Train
To take a Houfe in Warwick-Lane:
The Faculty, his humble Friends,
A complimental Meffage fends:
Their Prefident, in Scarlet Gown,
Harangu'd, and welcom'd him to Town.
BUT, Death had Buf'neſs to diſpatch:
His Mind was running on his Match.
And, hearing much of Daphne's Fame,
His Majefty of Terrors came,
Fine as a Col'nel of the Guards,
To vifit where fhe fat at Cards:
She, as he came into the Room,
Thought him Adonis in his Bloom.
And now her Heart with Pleaſure jumps,
She ſcarce remembers what is Trumps.
For, fuch a Shape of Skin and Bone
Was never feen, except her own :
Charm'd with his Eyes and Chin and Snout,
Her Pocket-Glafs drew flily out;
And,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
495
And, grew enamour'd with her Phiz,
As juft the Counterpart of his.
She darted many a private Glance,
And freely made the firſt Advance :
Was of her Beauty grown fo vain,
She doubted not to win the Swain.
Nothing the thought could fooner gain him,
Than with her Wit to entertain him.
She ask't about her Friends below;
This meagre Fop, that batter'd Beau :
Whether fome late departed Toafts
Had
got Gallants
among the Ghofts?
If Chloe were a Sharper ftill,
As great as ever, at Quadrille?
(The Ladies there muſt needs be Rooks,
For, Cards we know, are Pluto's Books)
If Florimel had found her Love
For whom the hang'd herſelf above
How oft a Week was kept a Ball
By Proferpine, at Pluto's Hall?
She fancy'd, thofe Elyfian Shades
The ſweeteſt Place for Maſquerades:
How pleaſant on the Banks of Styx,
To troll it in a Coach and Six!
What
206
Poems on feveral Occafions.
WHAT Pride a Female Heart enflames!
How endleſs are Ambition's Aims!
Ceafe haughty Nymph; the Fates decree
Death must not be a Spouſe for thee:
For, when by chance the
meagre Shade
Upon thy Hand his Finger laid;
Thy Hand as dry and cold as Lead,
His matrimonial Spirit fled;
He felt about his Heart a Damp,
That quite extinguifh't Cupid's Lamp:
Away the frighted Spectre fcuds,
And leaves my Lady in the Suds.
Mr. P
ON
y being put out of the
Council.
Written in the Year 1731.
IR R-weary'd by Will. P-y's Teazings,
SIR
Who interrupted him in all his Leafings;
Refolv'd that Will. and he fhould meet no more;
Full in his Face Bob ſhuts the Council Door:
Nor
Poems on feveral Occafions.
407
Nor lets him fit as Juſtice on the Bench,
To puniſh Thieves, or lafh a Suburb Wench.
Yet ftill St. Stephen's Chappel open lies
For Will. to enter. What fhall I advife?
E'en quit the House, for thou too long haft fat in't
Produce at laſt thy dormant Ducal Patent :
There, near thy Mafter's Throne in Shelter plac't,
Let Will. unheard by thee, his Thunder wafte.
Yet ſtill I fear your Work is done but Half;
For while he keeps his Pen, you are not ſafe.
HEAR an old Fable, and a dull one too;
Yet bears a Moral when apply'd to you.
A HARE, who long had 'fcap't purſuing Hounds,
By often ſhifting into diftant Grounds;
But, finding all his Artifices vain ;
To fave his Life he leapt into the Main.
But there, alas! he could no Safety find;
A Pack of Dog-fish had him in the Wind:
He fcours away; and to avoid the Foe,
Defcends for Shelter to the Shades below.
There Cerberus lay watching in his Den,
(He had not feen a Hare the Lord knows when)
Que
408
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Out bounc't the Maftiff of the triple Head;
Away the Hare with double Swiftneſs fled.
Hunted from Earth, and Sea, and Hell, he flies
(Fear lent him Wings) for Safety to the Skies.
How was the fearful Animal diftrefs't!
Behold a Foe more fierce than all the reft:
Syrius, the fwifteft of the heav'nly Pack,
Fail'd but an Inch to feize him by the Back.
He fled to Earth, but firft it coft him dear;
He left his Scut behind, and Half an Ear.
THUS was the Hare purfu'd, tho' free from Guilt,
Thus B -ſhal't thou be mawl'd, fly where thou
wil't:
Then, honeſt R-, of thy Corps beware:
Thou art not half fo nimble as a Hare:
Too pond'rous is thy Bulk to mount the Sky;
Nor can you go to Hell before you dye.
So keen thy Hunters, and thy Scent fo ftrong;
Thy Turns and Doublings cannot fave thee long.
Upon
Poems on feveral Occafions.
409
Upon the horrid Plot difcovered by
Harlequin the B---- of R▬▬ʼs
R—
French Dog.
In a Dialogue between a Whig and a Tory.
Written in the Year 1722.
I
ASK'D a Whig the other Night;
How came this wicked Plot to Light:
He anſwer'd, that a Dog of late
Inform'd a Miniſter of State.
Said I, from thence I nothing know
For, are not all Informers fo?
A Villain, who his Friend betrays,
We ſtyle him by no other Phraſe ;
And fo a perjur'd Dog denotes
Porter, and Prendergast, and Oates.
And forty others I could name
Whig. But you muſt know this Dog was lame.
A
410
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Tory. A weighty Argument indeed;
Your Evidence was lame.
Proceed:
Come, help your lame Dog o'er the Style.
Whig. Sir, you miſtake me all this while :
I mean a Dog, without a Joke,
Can howl, and bark, but never ſpoke.
Tory. I'm ſtill to feek which Dog you mean;
Whether Curr Plunket, or Whelp Skean,
An English or an Iriſh Hound;
Or t'other Puppy that was drown'd,
Or Maſon that abandon'd Bitch :
Then pray be free, and tell me which:
For, ev'ry Stander-by was marking
That all the Noiſe they made was barking :
You pay them well; the Dogs have got
Their Dogs-beads in a Porridge-pot:
And 'twas but juft; for, wife Men ſay,
That, every Dog must have his Day.
Dog W
laid a Quart of Nog on't,
He'd either make a Hog or Dog on't,
And look't fince he has got his Wiſh,
As if he had thrown down a Difh.
Yet, this I dare foretel you from it,
He'll foon return to his own Vomit.
Whie
Poems on føveral Occafions.
411
Whig. Befides, this horrid Plot was found
By Neno after he was drown'd.
Tory. Why then the Proverb is not right,
Since you can teach dead Dogs to bite,
Whig. 1 prov'd my Propofition full •
But, Jacobites are ſtrangely dull.
Now, let me tell you plainly, Sir,
Our Witneſs is a real Curr,
A Dog of Spirit for his Years,
Has twice two Legs, two hanging Ears;
His Name is Harlequin, I wot,
And that's a Name in ev'ry Plot:
Refolv'd to fave the British Nation,
Though French by Birth and Education i
His Correſpondence plainly dated,
Was all decypher'd, and tranflated,
His Anfwers were exceeding pretty
Before the fecret wife Committee;
Confefs't as plain as he could bark;
Then with his Fore-foot fet his Mark.
Tory. Then all this while have I been bubbled;
I thought it was a Dog in Doublet:
The Matter now no longer ſticks;
For Statefmen never want Dog-tricks.
But
412
Poems on feveral Occafions.
But, fince it was a real Curr,
And not a Dog in Metaphor,
I give you Joy of the Report,
That he's to have a Place at C-
Whig. Yes, and a Place he will
A Tuin-fpit in the R-1 Kitchen.
Sir, to be plain, I tell you
what;
We had Occafion for a Plot;
grow rich in ;
And, when we found the Dog begin it,
We guess't the B's Foot was in it.
Tory. I own it was a dang'rous Project;
And you have prov'd it by Dog Logick.
Sure fuch Intelligence between
A Dog and B
ne'er was feen,
Till you began to change the Breed;
Your Bs all are D---gs indeed.
THE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
413
THE
Furniture of a Woman's MIND.
A
Written in the Year 1727.
SET of Phrafes learn't by Rote;
A Paffion for a Scarlet-Coat;
When at a Play to laugh, or cry,
Yet cannot tell the Reaſon why:
Never to hold her Tongue a Minute;
While all fhe prates has nothing in it.
Whole Hours can with a Coxcomb fit,
And take his Nonfenfe all for Wit:
Her Learning mounts to read a Song,
But, half the Words pronouncing wrong;
Has ev'ry Repartee in Store,
She ſpoke ten Thouſand Times before.
Can ready Compliments fupply
On all Occafions, cut and dry.
Such Hatred to a Parfon's Gown,
The Sight will put her in a Swown.
For
414
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
For Converfation well endu'd;
She calls it witty to be rude;
And, placing Raillery in Railing,
Will tell aloud your greateſt Failing;
Nor makes a Scruple to expoſe
Your bandy Leg, or crooked Nofe.
Can, at her Morning Tea, run o'er
The Scandal of the Day before.
Improving hourly in her Skill,
To cheat and wrangle at Quadrille.
IN chufing Lace a Critick nice,
Knows to a Groat the lowest Price;
Can in her Female Clubs difpute
What Lining beft the Silk will fuit;
What Colours each Complexion match :
And where with Art to place a Patch.
İF chance a Moufe creeps in her Sight,
Can finely counterfeit a Fright;
So, fweetly ſcreams if it comes near her,
She raviſhes all Hearts to hear her.
Can dext'rouſly her Husband teize,
By taking Fits whene'er fhe pleaſe:
By frequent Practice learns the Trick
At proper Seaſons to be fick;
Thinks
Poems on feveral Occafions.
418
Thinks nothing gives one Airs fo pretty;
At once creating Love and Pity.
If Molly happens to be careleſs,
And but neglects to warm her Hair-Lace,
a Cold as fure as Death;
She
gets a
And vows the ſcarce can fetch her Breath.
Admires how modeſt Women can
Be fo robuftious like a Man.
In Party, furious to her Power;
A bitter Whig, or Tory fow'r;
Her Arguments directly tend
Againſt the Side ſhe would defend :
Will prove herſelf a Tory plain,
From Principles the Whigs maintain;
And, to defend the Whiggiſh Cauſe,
Her Topicks from the Tories draws
O YES! If any Man can find
More virtues in a Woman's Mind,
Let them be fent to Mrs. * Harding;
She'll pay the Charges to a Farthing :
Tako
* A Printe
416
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Take Notice, ſhe has my Commiffion
To add them in the next Edition;
They may out-fell a better Thing;
So, Holla Boys; God fave the King.
On Stephen Duck, the Threſher, and
favourite Poet,
A QUIBBLING EPIGRAM.
THE
Written in the Year 1730.
HE Thresher Duck, could o'er the Q--
prevail.
The Proverb fays; No Fence against a Flayl.
From threshing Corn, he turns to thresh his Brains;
For which Her My allows him Grains.
Though 'tis confeſs't that thoſe who ever faw
His Poems, think them all not worth a Straw:
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threſhing Stubble!
Thy Toil is leffen'd, and thy Profits double.
The
Poems 3
417
on feveral Occafions.
THE
Hardſhip put upon LADIES.
POOR
Written in the Year 1733.
OOR Ladies! though their Bus'nefs be to
play,
'Tis hard they muſt be bufy Night and Day:
Why should they want the Privilege of Men,
And take fome fmall Diverfions now and then?
Had Women been the Makers of our Laws;
(And why they were not, I can ſee no Cauſe;)
The Men ſhould ſlave at Cards from Morn to Night;
And Female Pleaſures be to read and write.
The Author having been told by an intimate Friend,
that the Duke of Queensberry had employed Mr.
Gay to inspect the Accounts and Management of
his Grace's Receivers and Stewards which,
however, proved afterwards to be a Miftake)
writ to Mr. Gay the following Poem.
Written in the Year 1731.
How
OW could you, Gay, difgrace the Mufes
Train,
To ferve a taftlefs Ct twelve Years in vain?
VOL. II.
E e
Fairt
418
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Fain would I think, our * Female Friend fincere,
Till B, the Poet's Foe, poffefs't her Ear.
Did Female Virtue e'er fo high aſcend,
To loſe an Inch of Favour for a Friend?
SAY, had the Court no better Place to chufe
For thee, than make a dry Nurſe of thy Mufe?
How cheaply had thy Liberty been fold,
To fquire a Royal Girl of two Years old!
In Leading ſtrings her Infant Steps to guide;
Or, with her Go-Cart amble Side by Side.
BUT † princely Douglas, and his glorious Dame,
Advanc'd thy Fortune, and preferv'd thy Fame.
Nor, will your nobler Gifts be miſapply'd,
When o'er your Patron's Treaſure you prefide,
The World ſhall own, his Choice was wife and
juſt,
For, Sons of Phabus never break their Truſt.
Nor Love of Beauty lefs the Heart inflames
Of Guardian Eunuchs to the Sultan Dames.
Their Paffions not more impotent and cold,
Than thoſe of Poets to the Luft of Gold.
With
* Mrs. H―d, now Cfs of Sk,
+ The Duke of Queensberry.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
419
With Paan's pureft Fire his Favourites glow;
The Dregs will ferve to ripen Ore below;
His meanest Work: For, had he thought it fit,
That, Wealth ſhould be the Appenage of Wit,
The God of Light could ne'er have been fo blind,
To deal it to the worst of Human-kind.
But let me now, for I can do it well,
Your Conduct in this new Employ foretell.
AND firft: To make my Obfervation right,
I place a ST***** A N full before my Sight.
A bloated Mr in all his Geer,
With ſhameleſs Viſage, and perfidious Leer,
Two Rows of Teeth arm each devouring Jaw;
And, Oſtrich-like, his all-digeſting Maw.
My Fancy drags this Monster to my View,
To ſhow the World his chief Reverſe in you,
Of loud un-meaning Sounds, a rapid Flood
Rolls from his Mouth in plenteous Streams of Mud;
With theſe, the Court and Senate-houſe he plies,
Made up
of Noiſe, and Impudence, and Lies.
Now, let me ſhow how B
and you agree.
The
You ferve a potent Prince, as well as He.
¶ A Title given to every Duke by the Heralds.
4:0
Poems on feveral Occafions.
The Ducal Coffers, trufted to your Charge,
Your honeſt Care may fill; perhaps enlarge.
His Vaffals eafy, and the Owner bleft;
They pay a Trifle, and enjoy the reſt.
Not ſo a Nation's Revenues are paid:
The Servants Faults are on the Mafter laid.
The People with a Sigh their Taxes bring;
And curfing B, forget to blefs
NEXT, hearken GAY, to what thy Charge re-
quires,
With Servants, Tenants, and the neighb'ring
Squires.
Let all Domeſticks feel your gentle Sway;
Nor bribe, infult, nor flatter, nor betray.
Let due Reward to Merit be allow'd;
Nor, with your KINDRED half the Palace
crowd.
Nor, think your felf fecure in doing wrong,
By telling Nofes with a Party ftrong.
BE rich; but of your Wealth make no Parade
At leaſt, before your Maſter's Debts are paid.
Nor, in a Palace, built with Charge immenfe,
Prefume to treat him at his own Expence.
Each
Poems on feveral Occafions:
421
Each Farmer in the Neighbourhood can count
To what your lawful Perquifites amount.
The Tenants poor, the Hardneſs of the Times,
Are ill Excufes for a Servant's Crimes:
With Int'reft, and a Premium paid befide,
The Maſter's preffing Wants muſt be ſupply'd;
With hafty Zeal, behold, the Steward come,
By his own Credit to advance the Sum;
Who, while th' unrighteous Mammon is his Friend,
May well conclude his Pow'r will never end.
A faithful Treaf'rer! What could he do more?
He lends my Lord, what was my Lord's before.
THE Law fo ftrictly guards the Monarch's Health,
That no Phyfician dares preſcribe by Stealth:
The Council fit; approve the Doctor's Skill;
And give Advice before he gives the Pill.
But, the State-Emp'ric a&s a ſafer Part ;
And while he poifons, wins the Royal Heart.
BUT, how can I defcribe the rav'nous Breed?
Then, let me now by Negatives proceed.
SUPPOSE your Lord a truſty Servant ſend,
On weighty Bus'neſs, to ſome neighb'ring Friends
Prefume not, Gay, unleſs you ferve a Drone;
To countermand his Orders by your own.
SHOULD
422
Poems on feveral Occafions.
SHOULD fome imperious Neighbour fink the
Boats,
And drain the Fish-ponds; while your Mafter doats;
Shall he upon the Ducal Rights intrench,
Becauſe he brib'd you with a Brace of Tench?
NOR, from your Lord his bad Condition hide;
To feed his Luxury, or footh his Pride,
Nor, at an under Rate his Timber fell;
And, with an Oath, affure him; all is well.
Or * ſwear it rotten; and with humble Airs,
Request it of him to compleat your Stairs.
Nor, when a Mortgage lies on half his Lands,
Come with a Purfe of Guineas in your Hands.
HAVE † Peter Waters always in your Mind;
That Rogue of genuine minifterial Kind:
Can half the Peerage by his Arts bewitch;
Starve twenty Lords to make one Scoundrel rich:
And,
* Theſe Lines are thought to allude to fome Story concerning 4
great Quantity of Mahoganny, declared rotten, and then applied
by fome Body to Wainscots, Stairs, Door Cafes, &c.
He hath practiced this Trade for many Years, and ftill con-
tinues it with Succeſs; and after he hath ruined one Lord, is ear-
neftly follicited to take another,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
423
And, when he gravely has undone a Score,
Is humbly pray'd to ruin Twenty more.
A DEXT'ROUS Steward, when his Tricks are
found,
* Huſb-money fends to all the Neighbours round:
His Mafter, unfufpicious of his Pranks,
Pays all the Coft, and gives the Villain Thanks.
And, ſhould a Friend attempt to fet him right,
His Lordſhip would impute it all to Spight:
Would love his Fav'rite better than before;
And truft his Honeſty juſt ſo much more.
Thus Families, like R-ms, with equal Fate,
May fink by premier Minifters of State.
SOME, when an Heir fucceeds; go boldly on,
And, as they robb'd the Father, rob the Son.
A Knave, who deep embroils his Lord's Affairs,
Will foon grow neceffary to his Heirs.
His Policy confifts in fetting Traps.
In finding Ways and Means, and stopping Gaps:
He knows a Thouſand Tricks, whene'er he pleafe.
Though not to cure, yet palliate each Diſeaſe.
In
* A Cant-Word.
424
Poems on feveral Occafions.
In either Cafe, an equal Chance is run:
For, keep, or turn him out, my Lord's undone.
You want a Hand to clear a filthy Sink;
No cleanly Workman can endure the Stink:
A ſtrong Dilemma in a defp'rate Cafe!
To act with Infamy, or quit the Place.
A BUNGLER thus, who fcarce the Nail can hit,
With driving wrong, will make the Pannel fplit:
Nor, dares an abler Workman undertake
To drive a fecond, left the whole fhould break.
In ev'ry Court the Parallel will hold;
And Kings, like private Folks, are bought and foldi
The ruling Rogue, who dreads to be caſhier'd;
Contrives, as he is hated, to be fear'd:
Confounds Accounts, perplexes all Affairs;
For, Vengeance more embroils, than Skill repairs.
So, Robbers (and their Ends are juſt the ſame)
To 'fcape Enquiries, leave the House in Flame.
}
I KNEW a brazen Minifter of State,
Who bore for twice ten Years the publick Hate.
In every Mouth the Queſtion moſt in Vogue
Was; When will THEY turn out this odious Rogue?
A Junc-
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
425
A Juncture happen'd in his higheſt Pride?
While HE went robbing on; old Maſter dy'd,
We thought, there now remain'd no room to doubt
His Work is done, the Minifter muft out.
The Court invited more than One, or Two;
Will you, Sir Sp-r? or, will you, or you?
But, not a Soul his Office durft accept :
The fubtle Knave had all the Plunder ſwept.
And, fuch was then the Temper of the Times,
He ow'd his Prefervation to his Crimes.
The Candidates obferv'd his dirty Paws,
Nor found it difficult to guefs the Cauſe:
But when they ſmelt fuch foul Corruptions round
him;
Away they fled, and left him as they found him.
THUS, when a greedy Sloven once has thrown
His Snot into the Mefs; 'tis all his own.
We
425
Poems on feveral Occafions.
We found the following Poem printed in Fog's Four-
ual of the 17th of Sept. 1733. It was written
in the laft Seffion, and many Copies were taken,
but never printed here. The Subject of it is now
over; but our Author's known Zeal against that
Project made him generally fuppofed to be the Au-
thor. We reprint it just as it lyes in Fog's Jour
nal.
The following Poem is the Product of Ireland; it was oc-
eafioned by the Bs of that Kingdom endeavouring to get an
Alt to divide the Church Livings, which Bill was rejected by the
Irish House of Commons. It is faid to be written by an honest
Curate; the Reader of Tafte perhaps, may guess who the Curate
could be, that was capable of writing it.
Written in the Year 1731.
LD Latimer preaching did fairly defcribe
OLD
A B
Tribe;
who rul'd all the rest of his
And who is this B? And where does he
dwell?
Why truly 'tis Satan, Arch-b-
of Hell :
And HE was a Primate, and HE wore a Mitre,
Surrounded with Jewels of Sulphur and Nitre.
How
1
Poems on feveral Occafions.
427
How nearly this B
our B
reſembles!
But his has the Odds, who believes and who trem-
bles.
Cou'd you fee his grim Grace, for a Pound to a
Penny,
You'd fwear it muſt be the Baboon of K
・y:
Poor Satan will think the Compariſon odious;
I wiſh I could find him out one more commodious.
But this I am fure, the Moft Rev'rend old Dragon,
the Bench many B s fuffragan:
Has got on the Bench
And all Men believe he prefides there incog.
To give them by Turns an invifible Jog.
OUR BS puft up with Wealth and with
B-
Pride.
To Hell on the Backs of the Clergy wou'd ride;
They mounted, and labour'd with Whip and with
In vain
Spur,
for the Devil a Parfon wou'd ftir.
So the Commons unhors'd them, and this was their
Doom,
On their Crofiers to ride, like a Witch on a
Broom.
Tho'
428
Poems on feveral Occafions
1
Tho' they gallop fo faft; on the Road you may
find 'em,
And have left us but Three out of Twenty behind
'em.
C-
Lord B's good Grace, Lord C—; and
Lord H-,
In ſpight of the Devil would ftill be untoward.
They came of good Kindred, and cou'd not endure,
Their former Companions ſhould beg at their Door
WHEN CHRIST was betray'd to Pilate, the
Prætor,
In a Dozen Apoſtles but one prov'd a Traytor!
One Traytor alone, and faithful Eleven;
But we can afford you Six Traytors in Seven,
WHAT a Clutter with Clippings, Dividings, and
Cleavings!
And the Clergy, forfooth, muſt take up with their
Leavings.
If making Divifions was all their Intent,
They've done it, we thank 'em, but not as they
meant;
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
429
And fo may fuch Bs for ever divide,
That no honeft Heathen would be on their Side.
How fhou'd we rejoice, if, like Judas the firſt,
Thofe Splitters of Parfons in funder fhou'd burft?
Now hear an Allufion!
A Mitre, you know,
Is divided above, but united below.
If this you confider, our Emblem is right;
The B -s divide, but the Clergy unite.
Should the Bottom be fplit, our B―s wou'd
dread
That the Mitre wou'd never ſtick faft on their Head,
And yet they have learnt the chief Art of a Sov'reign,
As Machiavel taught 'em; divide and ye govern.
But, Courage, my L-ds, tho' it cannot be faid.
That one cloven Tongue, ever fat on your Head;
I'll hold you a Groat, and I wiſh I cou'd ſee't,
If your Stockings were off, you cou'd ſhow cloven
Feet.
Bur hold, cry the Bs; and give us fair Play :
Before you condemn us, hear what we can fay.
What truer Affection cou'd ever be ſhown,
Than faving your Souls, by damning our own?
And
430
Poems on Several Occafions.
And have we not practis'd all Methods to gain you
With the Tyth of the Tyth of the Tyth to main
tain you;
Provided a Fund för building you Spittles:
You are only to live four Years without Vittles!
Content, my good L-ds; but let us change Hands
Firſt take you our Tyths, and give us your Lands
So God bless the Church, and three of our
Mitres;
And God bleſs the Commons for Biting the Biters.
A LOVE
SONG.
In the MODERN Taſte.
Written in the Year 1733.
F
I
Lutt'ring ſpread thy purple Pinions,
Gentle Cupid o'er my Heart
I a Slave in thy Dominions.
Nature muſt give Way to Art.
;
Mila
Poems on feveral Occafions.
431
II.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your Flocks,
See my weary Days confuming,
All beneath yon flow'ry Rocks,
III.
Thus the Cyprian Goddeſs weeping,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling Youth:
Him the Boar in Silence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting Tooth.
IV.
Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers;
Fair Diſcretion ftring the Lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking Slumbers:
Bright Apollo lend thy Choir.
V.
Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine Chains,
Lead me to the Chryſtal Mirrors,
Wat'ring foft Elysian Plains.
Mournful
432
Poems on feveral Occafions.
VI.
Mournful Cyprefs, verdant Willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's Brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my Pillow,
Hear me pay my dying Vows.
VII.
Melancholly ſmooth Meander,
Swiftly purling in a Round,
On thy Margin Lovers wander,
With thy flow'ry Chaplets crown'd.
C
1
VIII.
Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly feeks her filent Mate;
See the Bird of Juno ſtooping.
Melody refigns to Fate.
ON
Poems on feveral Occafions.
433
The following Poem was published in London, and
Dublin, and having been much admired, we
thought proper to infert it in this Collection: And
although the Author be not known, yet we hope
it will be acceptable to our Readers.
Ο Ν
POETRY,
A
RAPSODY
LL Human Race wou'd fain be Wits,
And Millions mifs, for one that hits.
Young's Univerfal Paffion, Pride,
Was never known to fpread fo wide.
Say, Britain, cou'd you ever boaft,
Three Poets in an Age at moſt?
VOL. II.
F f
Our
434
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
Our chilling Climate hardly bears
A Sprig of Bays in Fifty Years:
While ev'ry Fool his Claim alledges,
As if it grew in common Hedges.
What Reaſon can there be affign'd
For this Perverſeneſs in the Mind?
Brutes find out where their Talents lie:
A Bear will not attempt to fly :
A founder'd Horſe will oft debate,
Before he tries a five-barr'd Gate:
A Dog by Inſtinct turns afide,
Who fees the Ditch too deep and wide.
But, Man we find the only Creature,
Who, led by Folly, combats Nature:
Who, when ſhe loudly cries, Forbear,
With Obftinacy fixes there ;
And, where his Genius leaft inclines,
Abfurdly bends his whole Defigns.
NOT Empire to the Riſing-Sun,
By Valour, Condu&t, Fortune won;
Not higheſt Wiſdom in Debates
For framing Laws to govern States;
Not Skill in Sciences profound,
So large to grafp the Circle round;
Such
Poems on feveral Occafions.
435
Such Heav'nly Influence require,
As how to ſtrike the Mufes Lyre.
NOT Beggar's Brat, on Bulk begot;
Not Baftard of a Pedlar Scot;
Not Boy brought up to cleaning Shoes,
The Spawn of Bridewell, or the Stews;
Not Infants dropt, the fpurious Pledges
Of Gypfies litt'ring under Hedges,
Are fo difqualify'd by Fate
To rife in Church, or Law, or State,
As he whom Phœbus in his Ire
Hath blafted with Poetick Fire.
WHAT Hope of Cuſtom in the Fair,
While not a Soul demands your Ware?
Where you have nothing to produce
For private Life, or publick Ufe?
Court, City, Country want you not;
You cannot bribe, betray, or plot.
For Poets Law makes no Provifion:
The Wealthy have you in Derifion.
Of State-Affairs you cannot fmatter;
Are awkward when you try to flatter.
F f 2
Your
436
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Your Portion, taking Britain round,
* Was Juſt one annual Hundred Pound.
Now not fo much as in Remainder
Since Cibbor brought in an Attainder ;
For ever fixt by Right Divine
(A Monarch's Right) on Grubftreet Line.
POOR ftarvling Bard, how ſmall thy Gains!
How unproportion'd to thy Pains!
And here a Simile comes pat in:
Though Chickens take a Week to fatten,
The Gueſts in leſs than half an Hour
Will more than half a Score devour.
So, after toiling twenty Days,
To earn a Stock of Pence and Praife,
Thy Labours grown the Critick's Prey,
Are ſwallow'd o'er a Diſh of Tea ;
Gone, to be never heard of more;
Gone, where the Chickens went before.
How fhall a new Attempter learn
Of diffrent Spirits to difcern,
* Paid to the Poet Laureat, which Place was given to one
Cibber, a Player.
And
Poems on feveral Occafions.
437
And how diſtinguiſh, which is which,
The Poet's Vein or fcribbling Itch?
Then hear an old experienc'd Sinner
Inftructing thus a young Beginner.
CONSULT your felf; and if you find
A powerful Impulſe, urge your Mind,
Impartial Judge within your Breaft
What Subject you can manage beft;
Whether your Genius moſt inclines
To Satire, Praiſe, or hum'rous Lines ;
To Elegies in mournful Tone,
Or Prologue fent from Hand unknown.
Then rifing with Aurora's Light,
The Muſe invok'd, fit down to write;
Blot out, correct, inſert, refine,
Enlarge, diminiſh, interline.
Be mindful, when Invention fails,
To ſcratch your Head, and bite your Nails.
YOUR Poem finiſh'd; next your Care
Is needful, to tranſcribe it fair.
In modern Wit all printed Traſh, is
Set off with num'rous Breaks -
and Dabes-
To
438
Poems on feveral Occafions
To Stateſmen would you give a Wipe,
You print it in Italick Type.
When Letters are in vulgar Shapes,
'Tis ten to one the Wit eſcapes;
But when in CAPITALS expreft,
The dulleft Reader fmoaks a Jeſt.
Qr elfe perhaps he may invent
A better than the Poet meant;
As learned Commentators view
In Homer, more than Homer knew.
Your Poem in its modifh Dreſs
Correctly fitted for the Prefs,
Convey by Penny-Poft to* Lintot,
But let no Friend alive look into't.
If Lintot thinks 'twill quit the Coſt,
You need not fear your Labour loft:
And, how agreeably furpriz'd
Are you to fee it advertiz'd!
The Hawker fhews you one in Print,
As freſh as Farthings from the Mint :
The Product of your Toil and Sweating;
A Baſtard of your own begetting.
* A Bookfeller in London.
BE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
439
BE fure at * Will's the following Day,
Lie fnug, to hear what Criticks fay.
And if you find the general Vogue
Pronounces you a ftupid Rogue;
Damns all your Thoughts as low and little ;
Sit ſtill, and ſwallow down your Spittle.
Be filent as a Politician,
For, talking may beget Sufpicion :
Or praiſe the Judgment of the Town,
And help your ſelf to run it down.
Give up your fond paternal Pride,
Nor argue on the weaker Side:
For, Poems read without a Name,
We juſtly praiſe, or juſtly blame :
And Criticks have no partial Views,
Except they know whom they abuſe.
And fince you ne'er provok'd their Spight,
Depend upon't their Judgment's right.
But if you blab you are undone;
Confider what a Risk you run;
You lose your Credit all at once;
The Town will mark you for a Dunce?
The vileft Doggrel Grubſtreet ſends,
Will pafs for yours with Foes and Friends
* The Post's Coffee-Houfe.
And
440
Poems on feveral Occafions.
And you muſt bear the whole Diſgrace,
"Till fome freſh Blockhead takes your
Place.
YOUR Secret kept, your Poem funk,
And fent in Quires to line a Trunk :
If ſtill you be diſpos'd to rhime,
Go try your Hand a fecond Time:
Again you fail; yet ſafe's the Word;
Take Courage, and attempt a Third.
But firſt with Care employ your Thoughts,
Where Criticks mark'd your former Faults:
The trivial Turns, the borrow'd Wit,
The Similies that nothing fit;
The Cant which every
every Fool
repeats,
Town-Jefts, and Coffee-houſe Conceits:
Deſcriptions tedious, flat and dry,
And introduc'd the Lord knows why:
Or where we find your Fury fet
Againſt the harmleſs Alphabet;
On A's and B's your Malice vent,
While Readers wonder whom you meant;
A publick or a private Robber;
A Stateſman, or a South-Sea Jobber.
AP te
Poems on feveral Occafions.
441
A P-te who no God believes ;
A, or Den of Thieves.
A Pick-purfe at the Bar, or Bench;
A Dutchefs, or a Suburb-Wench.
Or oft when Epithers you link,
In gaping Lines to fill a Chink;
Like Stepping-ſtones to fave a Stride,
In Streets where Kennels are too wide:
Or like a Heel-piece to fupport
A Cripple with one Foot too ſhort :
Or like a Bridge that joins a Mariſh
To Moorlands of a diff'rent Pariſh.
So have I feen ill-coupled Hounds,
Drag diff'rent Ways in miry Grounds.
So Geographers in Afric Maps
With Savage Pictures fill their Gaps;
And o'er unhabitable Downs
Place Elephants for want of Towns.
BUT though you miſs your third Eſſay,
You need not throw your Pen away.
Lay now afide all Thoughts of Fame,
To fpring more profitable Game,
From
442
Poems on feveral Occafions,
From Party-Merit feek Support;
The vileft Verfe thrives beft at C.
A Pamphlet in Sir Bob's Defence
Will never fail to bring in Pence;
Nor be concern'd about the Sale,
He pays his Workmen on the Nail.
A P
the Moment he is crown'd,
Inherits ev'ry Virtue round;
As Emblems of the Sov'reign Pow'r,
Like other Bawbles of the Tow'r.
Is gen'rous, valiant, juft and wife,
And fo continues 'till he dies.
His humble Se this profeffes,
In all their Speeches, Votes, Addreffes.
But once you fix him in a Tomb,
His Virtues fade, his Vices bloom;
And each Perfection wrong imputed
Is fully at his Death confuted.
The Loads of Poems in his Praiſe,
Afcending, make one Fun'ral Blaze.
As foon as you can hear his Knell,
This G on Earth turns D- in Hell.
And,
Poems on feveral Occafions.
443
And, lo, his M-s of State,
Transform'd to Imps, his Levee wait :
Where, in the Scenes of endleſs Woe,
They ply their former Arts below:
And as they fail in Charon's Boat,
Contrive to bribe the Judge's Vote,
To Cerberus they give a Sop,
His triple-barking Mouth to ſtop:
* Or in the Iv'ry Gate of Dreams,
Project E *
*e and S*
*
Or hire their Party-Pamphleteers;
To fet Elyfium by the Ears.
* Schemes
THEN, Poet, if you mean to thrive,
Employ your Muſe on Kings alive;
With Prudence gath'ring up a Cluſter
Of all the Virtues you can mufter:
Which form'd into a Garland fweet,
Lay humbly at your M's Feet,
Who, as the Odours reach his Throne,
Will fmile, and think 'em all his own:
For,
* Sunt gemine Somni porte-
Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto,
Virg. 1. 6.
444
Poems on feveral Occafions.
For, Law and Gospel both determine,
All Virtues lodge in Royal Ermine.
(I mean the Oracles of both,
Who fhall depofe it upon Oath.)
Your Garland in the foll'wing Reign,
Change but the Names, will ferve again.
BUT if you think this Trade too bafe,
(Which feldom is the Dunce's Cafe)
Put on the Critick's Brow, and fit
At Will's, the puny Judge of Wit.
A Nod, a Shrug, a fcornful Smile,
With Caution us'd, may ſerve a-while.
Proceed no further in your Part,
Before you learn the Terms of Art:
(For you can never be too far gone,
In all our modern Criticks Jargon.)
Then talk with more authentick Face,
Of Unities, in Time and Place.
Get Scraps of Horace from your Friends,
And have them at your Finger's Ends.
Learn Ariftotle's Rules by Rote,
And at all Hazards boldly quote:
Judi
រ
Poems on feveral Occafions.
445
Judicious Rymer oft review:
Wife Dennis, and profound Boffu.
Read all the Prefaces of Dryden,
For theſe our Criticks much confide in
(Tho' meerly writ at firſt for filling,
To raiſe the Volumes Price, a Shilling.)
A FORWARD Critick often dupes us
With ſham Quotations* Peri Hupefous:
And if we have not read Longinus,
Will magiſterially out-fhine us.
Then, left with Greek he over-run ye,
Procure the Book for Love or Money,
Tranſlated from Boileau's Tranflation †,
And quote Quotation on Quotation.
Ar Will's you hear a Poem read,
Where Battus from the Table-head,
Reclining on his Elbow-chair,
Gives Judgment with decifive Air:
To him the Tribe of circling Wits,
As to an Oracle, fubmits.
He
A famous Treatife of Longinus. ↑ By Mr. Welfted.
446
Poems on feveral Occafions.
He gives Directions to the Town,
To cry it up, or run it down.
(Like Courtiers, when they fend a Note,
Inftructing Members how to vote.)
He fets the Stamp of Bad and Good,
Tho' not a Word be underſtood.
Your Leffon learnt, you'll be fecure
the Name of Connoiſſeur.
To get
And when your Merits once are known,
Procure Diſciples of your own.
FOR Poets (you can never want 'em,
Spread thro† Augufta Trinobantum)
Computing by their Pecks of Coals,
Amount to juft Nine Thouſand Souls.
Theſe o'er their proper Districts govern,
Of Wit and Humour, Judges fov'reign.
In ev'ry Street a City-bard
Rules, like an Alderman his Ward.
His indifputed Rights extend
Thro' all the Lane, from End to End.
The Neighbours round admire his Shrewdness,
For Songs of Loyalty and Lewdness:
The antient Name of London.
Out-
Poems on feveral Occafions.
447
Out-done by none in Rhyming well,
Altho' he never learnt to fpell.
Two bord'ring Wits contend for Glory;
And one is Whig, and one is Tory.
And this, for Epicks claims the Bays,
And that, for Elegiack Lays.
Some fam'd for Numbers foft and fmooth,
By Lovers ſpoke in Punch's Booth.
And fome as juſtly Fame extols
For lofty Lines in Smithfield Drolls.
Bavius in Wapping gains Renown,
And Mævius reigns o'er Kentish-Town:
Tigellius plac'd in Phabus' Car,
From Ludgate fhines to Temple-Bar.
Harmonius Cibber entertains
The Court with annual Birth-day Strains;
Whence Gay was baniſh'd in Diſgrace,
Where Pope will never fhow his Face;
Where r-g muſt torture his Invention,
To flatter Knaves, or loſe his Penfion.
BUT theſe are not a thouſandth Part
Of Jobbers in the Poet's Art,
Attend-
448
Poets on feveral Occafions.
'
Attending each his proper Station,
And all in due Subordination;
Thro' ev'ry Alley to be found,
In Garrets high, or under Ground:
And when they join their Pericranies,
Out skips a Book of Mifcellanies.
HOBBES clearly proves that ev'ry Creature
Lives in a State of War by Nature.
The Greater for the Smaller watch,
But meddle ſeldom with their Match.
A Whale of mod'rate Size will draw
A Shole of Herrings down his Maw;
A Fox with Geefe his Belly crams;
A Wolf deſtroys a Thouſand Lambs.
But, fearch among the rhiming Race,
The Brave are worry'd by the Baſe.
If, on Parnaffus' Top you fit,
You rarely bite, are always bit:
Each Poet of inferior Size
On you ſhall rail and criticize;
And try to tear you Limb from Limb,
While others do as much for him B
鲁
​The
Poems on feveral Occafions
449
The Vermin only teaze and pinch
Their Foes fuperior by an Inch.
So, Nat'ralifts obferve, a Flea
Hath ſmaller Fleas that on him prey,
And theſe have ſmaller yet to bite 'em,
And fo proceed ad infinitum !
Thus ev'ry Poet in his Kind,
Is bit by him that comes behind ;
Who, tho' too little to be ſeen,
Can teaze, and gall, and give the Spleen;
Call Dunces, Fools, and Sons of Whores,
Lay Grub-ſtreet at each others Doors:
Extol the Greek and Roman Maſters,
And curfe our modern Poetafters :
Complain, as many an ancient Bard did,
How Genius is no more rewarded;
How wrong a Tafte prevails among us;
How much our Anceſtors out-fung us;
Can perfonate an aukward Scorn
For thoſe who are not Poets born:
And all their Brother Dunces lafh,
Who crowd the Prefs with hourly Trash.
VOL. II.
Gg
0,
L
450
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
O, Grub-street! how do I bemoan thee,
Whofe graceless Children fcorn to own thee!
Their filial Piety forgot,
Deny their Country like a ScoT:
Tho' by their Idiom and Grimace
They foon betray their native Place:
Yet thou haft greater Caufe to be
Afham'd of them, than they of thee;
Degen'rate from their ancient Brood,
Since first the C-t allow'd them Food.
REMAINS a Difficulty ftill,
To purchaſe Fame by writing ill:
From Flecnoe down to Howard's time,
How few have reach'd the low Sublime?
For when our high-born Howard dy'd,
Blackmore alone his Place fupply'd:
And leaft a Chafm fhould intervene,
When Death had finifh'd Blackmore's Reig..,
The leaden Crown devolv'd to thee,
Great
Poet of the Hollow-Tree.
* Lord Grimston, lately deceafed,
But,
Poems on feveral Occafions
452
But, oh, how unfecure thy Throne!
Ten thouſand Bard thy Rights difown:
They plot to turn in factious Zeal,
Duncenia to a Common-weal;
And with rebellious Arms pretend
An equal Priv❜lege to defcend.
IN Bulk there are not more Degrees,
From Elephants to Mites in Cheeſe.
Than what a curious Eye may trace
In Creatures of the rhyming Race.
From bad to worfe, and worſe they fall,
But, who can reach to worſt of all?
For, tho' in Nature, Depth and Height
Are equally held infinite,
In Poetry the Height we know;
'Tis only infinite below.
For Inftance: When you rafhly † think,
No Rhymer can like Welfted fink:
His Merits balanc'd you fhall find,
The * Laureat leaves him far behind.
† Vide The Treatife on the Profound, and Mr. Pope's
Dunciad.
* In the London Edition, inftead of Laureat, was malici-
onfly inferted Mr. Fielding, for whofe ingenious Writings the
fuppofed Author bath manifefted a great Efteem.
Gg 2
Concanner,
452 Poems on feveral Occafions.
Concannen, more afpiring Bard,
Soars downwards, deeper, by a Yard:
Smart Jemmy Moor with Vigour drops,
The reft purfue as thick as Hops:
With Heads to Points the Gulph they enter,
Linkt perpendic'lar to the Center :
And as their Heels elated rife,
Their Heads attempt the nether Skies.
O, WHAT Indignity and Shame
To proſtitute the Mufe's Name,
By flatt'ring
whom Heav'n defign'd
The Plague and Scourges of Mankind.
Bred up in Ignorance and Sloth,
And ev'ry Vice that nurfes both,
FAIR Britain, in thy Monarch bleft,
Whofe Virtues bear the ftricteft Teft;
Whom never Faction can befpatter,
Nor M-
-nor Poet fatter.
What Juſtice in rewarding Merit?
What Magnanimity of Spirit?
What Lineaments Divine we trace
Thro' all his Figure, Mien and Face;
you
Tho
Poems on feveral Occafions.
453
Tho' Peace with Olive bind his Hands,
Confeſt the Conquʼring Hero ſtands.
*
Hydafpes, Indus, and the Ganges,
Dread from his Arm impending Changes.
From him the Tartar, and Chineſe,
↑ Short by the Knees intreat for Peace.
The Confort of his Throne and Bed,
A perfect Goddeſs born and bred:
Appointed fov'reign Judge to fit
On Learning, Eloquence and Wit.
Our eldeſt Hope, Divine Iulus,
(Late, very late, O, may he rule us.)
What early Manhood has he ſhown,
Before his downy Beard was grown!
Then think what Wonders will be done
By going on as he begun;
An Heir for Britain to ſecure
As long as Sun and Moon endure.
THE Remnant of the Royal Blood,
Comes pouring on me like a Flood.
*
Super & Garamantus, Indos,
Preferet imperium
Fam nunc & Cafpia, regna
Refponfis horrent Divûm
Genibus minor.
Hor.
Bright
454
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Bright Goddeſſes, in Number five;
Duke William, fweeteft Prince alive.
Now fing the Minifter of State,
Who ſhines alone, without a Mate.
Obferve with what Majeſtick Port
This Atlas ftands to prop the Court:
Intent the publick Debts to pay,
Like prudent * Fabius, by Delay.
Thou great Vicegerent of the King,
Thy Praiſes every Muſe ſhall fing :
In all Affairs thou fole Director,
Of Wit and Learning chief Protector;
Tho' ſmall the Time thou haft to spare,
The Church is thy peculiar Care.
Of pious Prelates what a Stock
You chufe to rule the fable Flock!
You raiſe the Honour of the Peerage,
Proud to attend you at the Steerage.
You dignify the Noble Race,
Content your felf with humbler Place.
Now Learning, Valour, Virtue, Senfe.
To Titles give the fole Pretence:
* Unus bomo nobis Cun&tando reftituit rem,
St.
Poems on feveral Occafions.
455
St. George beheld thee with Delight,
Vouchsafe to be an azure Knight,
When on thy Breaft and Sides Herculean,
He fixt the Star and String Cerulean.
SAY, Poet, in what other Nation,
Shone ever ſuch a Conſtellation.
Attend ye Popes and Youngs, and Gays,
And tune your Harps, and ftrow your Bays,
Your Panegyricks here provide,
You cannot err on Flatt'ry's Side.
Above the Stars exalt your Stile,
You ftill are low ten thouſand Mile.
On Lewis all his Bards beſtow'd,
Of Incenſe many a thouſand Load;
But Europe, mortify'd his Pride,
And ſwore the fawning Rafcals ly'd:
Yet what the World refus'd to Lewis,
Apply'd to
**
**
exactly true is:
Exactly true! Invidious Poet!
Tis fifty thouſand Times below it.
TRANSLATE me now fome Lines, if you can,
From Virgil, Martial, Ovid, Lucan;
They
456
Poems on feveral Occafions.
They could all Pow'r in Heav'n divide,
And do no Wrong to either Side :
They teach you how to ſplit a Hair,
* Give —
and Jove an equal Share.
Yet, why fhould we be lac'd fo ſtrait ;
I'll give my
Butter-weight,
And Reafon good; for, many a Year
Jove never intermeddl'd here:
Nor, tho' his Prieſts be duly paid,
Did ever we defire his Aid:
We now can better do without him,
Since Woolfton gave us Arms to rout him,
*
* Cetera defiderantur
Divifum Imperium cum fovi Cæfar habet,
THE
Poems on feveral Occafions.
457
THE
DOG and THIEF
Q
Written in the Year 1726.
UоTH the Thief to the Dog; let me into
your Door,
And I'll give you theſe delicate Bits :
Quoth the Dog, I ſhould then be more Villain than
you're,
And befides muſt be out of my Wits:
Your delicate Bits will not ferve me a Meal,
my Mafter each Day gives me Bread;
But
You'll fly when you get what you come here to
fteal,
And I muſt be hang'd in your Stead.
The Stock-jobber thus, from Change-Alley goes
down,
And tips you the Freeman a Wink;
Let me have but your Vote to ferve for the Town,
And here is a Guinea to drink.
0
Said
458
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Said the Freeman, your Guinea To-night would be
ſpent,
Your Offers of Bribery ceaſe;
I'll vote for my Landlord to whom I pay Rent,
Or elſe I may forfeit my Leafe.
From London they come, filly People to choufe,
Their Lands and their Faces unknown;
Who'd vote a Rogue into the Parliament-houſe,
That would turn a Man out of his own?
THE
Revolution at Market-Hill.
Written in the Year 1730.
FROM
ROM diftant Regions, Fortune fends
An odd Triumvirate of Friends;
Where Phabus pays a fcanty Stipend,
Where never yet a Codling ripen'd
Hither
Poems on feveral Occafions.
459
Hither the frantick Goddeſs draws
Three Suff'rers in a ruin'd Caufe.
By Faction baniſh't here unite,
A D-n, a * Spaniard, and a Knight.
Unite; but on Conditions cruel;
The Dn and Spaniard find it too well:
Condemn'd to live in Service hard;
On either Side his Honour's Guard :
The D-n, to guard his Honour's Back,
Muſt build a Caftle at † Drumlack:
The Spaniard, fore againſt his Will,
Muft raiſe a Fort at Market-Hill.
And thus, the Pair of humble Gentry,
At North and South are pofted Centry;
While in his lordly Caſtle fixt,
The Knight triumphant reigns betwixt :
And, what the Wretches moſt reſent,
To be his Slaves must pay him Rent;
Attend him daily as their Chief,
Decant his Wine, and carve his Beef.
O
*Col. Harry Leflie, who ferved and lived long in Spain.
↑ The Irish Name of a Farm the D-n took, and was to
build on, but changed his Mind. He called it Drapier's-Hill:
Vide that Poem.
460
Poems on ſeveral Occafions.
O FORTUNE, 'tis a Scandal for thee
To ſmile on thoſe who are leaft worthy.
Weigh but the Merits of the three,
His Slaves have ten Times more than he.
PROUD Baronet of Nova Scotia,
The Dn and Spaniard muft reproach ye;
Of their two Fames the World enough rings;
Where are thy Services and Suff'rings?
What, if for nothing once you kifs't,
Againſt the Grain, a M
s Fift?
What, if among the courtly Tribe,
You loft a Place, and fav'd a Bribe?
And, then in furly Mode come here.
To Fifteen Hundred Pounds a Year,
And fierce against the Whigs harangu'd?
You never ventur'd to be hang'd.
How dare you treat your Betters thus?
Are you to be compar’d to Us?
COME Spaniard, let us from our Farms
Call forth our Cottagers to Arms;
Our
Poems on feveral Occafions.
461
Our Forces let us both unite,
Attack the Foe at Left and Right;
From * Market-Hill's exalted Head,
Full Northward, let your Troops be led:
While I from Drapier's-Mount deſcend;
And to the South my Squadrons bend:
New-River-walk with friendly Shade,
Shall keep my Hoſt in Ambuſcade ;
While you, from where the Bafin ftands,
Shall fcale the Rampart with your Bands.
Nor need we doubt the Fort to win;
I hold Intelligence within.
True, Lady Anne no Danger fears,
Brave as the Upton Fan fhe wears:
Then, leaft upon our firft Attack
Her valiant Arm fhould force us back,
And we of all our Hopes depriv'd;
I have a Stratagem contriv'd;
By theſe embroider'd high Heel Shoes,
She ſhall be caught as in a Nooſe:
So well contriv'd her Toes to pinch,
She'll not have Pow'r to ftir an Inch:
Thefe
* A Village near Sir A-- A-m's Seat.
462
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Theſe gaudy Shoes muft* Hannah place
Dire& before her Lady's Face.
The Shoes put on; our faithful Portreſs
Admits us in, to ſtorm the Fortreſs;
While tortur'd Madam bound remains,
Like Montezume in golden Chains:
Or, like a Cat with Walnuts fhod,
Stumbling at ev'ry Step the trod.
Sly Hunters thus, in Borneo's Iſle,
To catch a Monkey by a Wile;
The mimick Animal amuſe;
They place before him Gloves and Shoes;
Which when the Brute puts awkward on,
All his Agility is gone;
In vain to frisk or climb he tries;
The Huntſmen ſeize the grinning Prize.
BUT, let us on our firft Affault
Secure the Larder, and the Vault:
The valiant † Dennis you muſt fix on,
And, I'll engage with 9 Peggy Dixon:
Then, if we once can ſeize the Key,
And Cheſt, that keeps my Lady's Tea,
*My Lady's Waiting-Maid.
+ The Butler.
• The Houfe-keeper.
They
Poems on feveral Occafions,
483
They muſt ſurrender at Difcretion
And foon as we have got
Poffeffion,
We'll act as other Conqu❜rors do;
Divide the Realm between us two.
Then, (let me ſee) we'll make the Knight
Our Clerk, for he can read and write;
But, muſt not think, I tell him that,
Like * Lorimer, to wear his Hat.
Yet, when we dine without a Friend,
We'll place him at the lower End.
Madam, whofe Skill does all in Dreſs lye,
May ſerve to wait on Mrs. Leſlie:
But, left it might not be fo proper,
That her own Maid ſhould overtop her;
To mortify the Creature more,
We'll take her Heels five Inches lower.
FOR Hannah; when we have no need of her,
Twill be our Int'reft to get rid of her:
And when we execute our Plot,
'Tis beft to hang her on the Spot;
As all your Politicians wife
Diſpatch the Rogues by whom they riſe.
* The Agent:
TO
464
Poems on feveral Occafions.
то
Janus on New-Year's Day.
Written in the Year 1729.
WO-fac'd Janus, God of Time,
Tw
Be my Phabus while I rhime.
To oblige your Crony St,
Bring our Dame a New Year's Gift :
She has got but half a Face;
Janus, fince thou haft a Brace,
To my Lady once be kind;
Give her half thy Face behind.
GOD of Time, if you be wife,
Look not with your future Eyes:
What imports thy forward Sight?
Well, if you could loſe it quite.
Can you take Delight in viewing
This poor Ille's approaching Ruin?
When
Poems on feveral Occafions.
465
When thy Retroſpection vaſt,
Sees the glorious Ages paſt.
HAPPY Nation were we blind,
Or, had only Eyes behind.
DROWN your Morals, Madam cryes;
I'll have none but forward Eyes:
Prudes decay'd about may tack,
Strain their Necks with looking back :
Give me Time when coming on:
Who regards him when he's gone?
By the Dn though gravely told,
New Years help to make me old;
Yet I find, a New-Years Lace
Burniſhes an old Year's Face.
Give me Velvet and Quadrille,
I'll have Youth and Beauty fill.
VOL, IL
Hh
DRAPIER'S
466
Poems on feveral Occafions.
DRAPIER'S HILL.
WE give the World to underſtand,
Our thriving Dn has purchas'd Land:
A Purchaſe which will bring him clear,
Above his Rent four Pounds a Year;
Provided, to improve the Ground,
He will but add two Hundred Pound,
And from his endlefs hoarded Store,
To build a Houfe five Hundred more.
Sir Arthar* too fhall have his Will,
And call the Manfion Drapier's Hill;
That when a Nation long enflav'd,
Forgets by whom it once was fav'd;
* The Gentleman of whom the Purchaſe was made.
When
Poems on feveral Occafions.
457
When none the DRAPIER's Praife fhall fing;
His Signs aloft no longer fwing;
His Medals and his Prints forgotten,
And all his * Handkerchiefs are rotten;
His famous LETTERS made wafte Paper;
This Hill may keep the Name of DRAPIER:
In Spight of Envy flouriſh ftill,
And DRAPIER's vye with COOPER'S Hill.
* Medals were caft; many Signs hung up; and Handkerchiefs
made with Devices in honour of the Author, under the Name of
M. B. Drapier.
Hh 2
Verfes
468
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Verſes on the upright Judge, who con-
demned the Drapier's Printer.
TH
Written in the Year 1724.
HE Church I hate, and have good Reafon
For, there my Grandfire cut his Weazon:
He cut his Weazon at the Altar;
I keep my Gullet for the Halter.
On the fame.
N Church your Grandfire cut his Throat;
IN
To do the Jobb too long he tarry'd,
He ſhould have had my hearty Vote,
To cut his Throat before he marry'd.
On the fame.
The Judge Speaks.
'M not the Grandfon of that Afs * Quin;
I'M
Nor can you prove it, Mr. Pafquin.
An Alderman.
My
Poems on feveral Occafions.
459
My Grand-dame had Gallants by Twenties,
And bore my Mother by a Prentice.
This, when my Grandfire knew; they tell us he,
In Chrift-Church cut his Throat for Jealouſy.
And, fince the Alderman was mad you fay,
Then, I muſt be ſo too, ex traduce.
On Seeing Verfes written upon Win-
THE
dows in Inns.
Written in the Year 1726.
HE Sage, who faid he ſhould be proud
Of Windows in his Breaft;
Becauſe he ne'er one Thought allow'd
That might not be confeſs't:
His Window fcrawl'd by ev'ry Rake,
His Breaft again would cover;
And fairly bid the D—I take
The Di'mond and the Lover.
Another
470 Poems on feveral Occafions.
Another.
Y Satan taught, all Conj'rers know
BY
Your Miſtreſs in a Glaſs to ſhow,
And, you can do as much:
In this the Dev'l and you agree;
None e'er made Verfes worfe than he,
And thine I fwear are fuch.
Another.
HAT Love is the Devil, I'll prove when
THA
requir'd;
Thefe Rhimers abundantly fhow it :
They fwear that they all by Love are infpir'd,
And, the Devil's a damnable Poet.
Another.
HE Church and Clergy here, no doubt,
TH
Are very near a-kin;
Both, weather-beaten are without
And empty both within.
The
Poems on feveral Occafions.
471
The following Poem having been printed in London,
we have thought proper to infert it here, not
doulting but it will be acceptable to our Readers;
although we cannot say who is the Author.
On the Words-Brother Proteftants,
and Fellow Chriftians, Jo familiar-
ly used by the Advocates for the
Repeal of the Teſt Act in Ireland,
1733.
A
N Inundation, fays the Fable,
O'erflow'd a Farmer's Barn and Stable;
Whole Ricks of Hay and Stacks of Corn,
Were down the fudden Current born;
While Things of heterogeneous Kind,
Together float with Tide and Wind ;
The generous Wheat forgot its Fride,
And fail'd with Litter Side by Side;
Uniting all, to fhew their Amity,
As in a general Calamity.
A Ball of new-dropt Horfe's Dung,
Mingling with Apples in the Throng,
Said
472
Poems on feveral Occafions
Said to the Pippin, plump, and prim,
Sec, Brother, how we Apples fwim.
THUS Lamb, renown'd for cutting Corns,
An offer'd Fee from Radcliff ſcorns ;
Not for the World-we Doctors, Brother,
Must take no Fee of one another.
Thus to a Dean fome Curate Sloven,
Subfcribes, Dear Sir, your Brother loving.
Thus all the Footmen, Shoe-boys, Porters,
About St. James's, cry, We Courtiers.
Thus H-
-ce in the Houfe will prate,
Sir, we the Minifters of State.
Thus at the Bar that ***
'Tho' Half a Crown o'er-pays his Sweat's Worth;
Who knows in Law, nor Text, nor Margent,
Calls Singleton his Brother Serjeant.
And thus Fanatic Saints, tho' neither in
Doctrine, or Difcipline our Brethren,
Are Brother Proteftants and Chriftians,
As much as Hebrews and Philistines:
But in no other Senfe, than Nature
Has made a Rat our Fellow-Creature.
Lice from your Body fuck their Food;
But is a Loufe your Flesh and Blood?
Tho'
Poems on feveral Occafions.
473
Tho' born of human Filth and Sweat, it
May well be faid Man did beget it.
But Maggots in your Noſe and Chin,
As well may claim you for their Kin.
YET Criticks may object, why not?
Since Lice are Brethren to aS-:
Which made our Swarm of Sects determine
Employments for their Brother Vermin.
But be they English, Irish, Scottish,
What Proteftant can be fo fottish,
While o'er the Church thefe Clouds are gathering:
To call a Swarm of Lice his Brethren?
As Mofes, by divine Advice,
In Egypt turn'd the Duft to Lice;
And as our Sects, by all Deſcriptions,
Have Hearts more harden'd than Egyptians;
As from the trodden Duſt they ſpring,
And, turn'd to Lice, infeft the King :
For Pity's Sake it would be juft,
A Rod ſhould turn them back to Duft.
LET Folks in high, or holy Stations,
Be proud of owning fuch Relations;
Let
474
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Let Courtiers hug them in their Boſom,
As if they were afraid to loſe 'em :
While I, with humble Job, had rather,
Say to Corruption Thou'rt my
For he that has fo little Wit,
To nouriſh Vermin, may be bit.
Father.
Ad
Poems on feveral Occafions,
475
Ad AMICUM Eruditum
THOMAM SHERIDAN
D
Scripfit Oct. Ann. Dom. 1717.
ELICIA Sheridan Mufarum, dulcis amice,
Sic tibi propitius Permeffi ad flumen Apollo
Occurrat, feu te mimum convivia rident;
Æquivocofve fales fpargis, feu ludere verfu
Malles; dic, Sheridan, quifnam fuit ille Deorum,
Quæ melior natura orto tibi tradidit artem
Rimandi genium puerorum, atq; ima cerebri
Scrutandi? Tibi nafcenti ad cunabula Pallas
Aftitit; & dixit, mentis præfaga futuræ,
Heu puer infelix! noſtro ſub ſydere natus;
Nam tu pectus eris fine corpore, corporis umbra;
Sed levitate umbram fuperabis, voce cicadam :
Muſca femur, palmas tibi Mus dedit, ardea crura.
Corpore fed tenui tibi quod natura negavit ;
Hoç animi dotes fupplebunt; teq; docente,
Nec
476
Poems on feveral Occafions.
Nec longum Tempus, furget tibi docta juventus,
Artibus egregiis animas inſtructa novellas.
Grex hinc Poonius venit, ecce, falutifer orbi.
Aft, illi caufas orant; his infula viſa eſt
Divinam capiti nodo conftringere mitram.
NATALIS te horæ non fallunt figna; fed ufq;
Confcius, expedias puero feu lætus Apollo
Nafcenti arrifit; five illum frigidus horror
Saturni premit, aut feptem inflavere triones.
QUIN tu altè penitufq; latentia femina cernis,
Quæq; diu obtundendo olim fub luminis auras
Erumpent, promis; quo ritu fæpè puella
Sub cinere heſterno fopitos fufcitat ignes.
TE Dominum agnofcit quocunq; fub aere natus 3
Quos indulgentis nimium cuftodia matris
Peffundat: Nam fæpè vides in ftipite matrem.
AUREUS at ramus venerandæ dona Sibyllæ,
Æneæ fedes tantùm patefecit Avernas :
Sæpè puer, tua quem tetigit femel aurea virga,
Cœlumq; terrafq; videt, noctemq; profundam.
Carberia
Poems on feveral Occafions.
477
Carberia Rupes in Comitatu Corga.
genfi apud Hybernicos.
E
Scripfit Jun. Ann. Dom. 1723.
CCE ingens fragmen fcopuli quod vertice
fummo
Defuper impendet, nullo fundamine nixum
Decidit in flu&us: maria undiq; & undiq; faxa
Horifono Stridore tonant, & ad æthera murmur
Erigitur; trepidatq; fuis Neptunus in undis.
Nam, longâ venti rabie, atq; afpergine crebrâ
Equorei laticis, fpecus imâ rupe cavatus :
Jam fultura ruit, jam fumma cacumina nutant;
Jam cadit in præceps moles, & verberat undas.
Attonitus credas, hinc dejeciffe Tonantem
Montibus impofitos montes, & Pelion altum
In capita anguipedum cœlo jaculaffe gigantun.
SEPE
479
Poems on feveral Occafions.
SÆPE etiam fpelunca immani aperitur hiatu
Exefa è fcopulis, & utrinq; foramina pandit,
Hinc atq; hinc a ponto ad pontum pervia Phœbo:
Cautibus enormè junctis laquearia teâi
Formantur; moles olim ruitura fupernè.
Fornice fublimi nidos pofuere palumbes,
Inq; imo ftagni pofuere cubilia phocæ.
SED, cum fævit hyems, & venti carcere rupto
Immenfos volvunt fluctus ad culmina montis ;
Non obfeffæ arces, non fulmina vindice dextra
Miffa Jovis, quoties inimicas fævit in urbes,
Exæquant fonitum undarum, veniente procella:
Littora littoribus reboant; vicinia latè,
Gens affueta mari, & pedibus percurrere rupes,
Terretur tamen, & longè fugit, arva relinquens.
GRAMINA dum carpunt pendentes rupe capella
Vi falientis aquæ de fummo præcipitantur,
Et dulces animas imo fub gurgite linquunt.
PISCATOR terrâ non audet vellere funem;
Sed latet in portu tremebundus, & aera fudum
Haud fperans, Nereum precibus votifq; fatigat.
}
We
Poems on feveral Occafions.
479
We have added a Tranflation of the preceding Poems
for the Benefit of our English Readers. It is done
by Mr. W. Dunkin, M. A. for whom our fup-
pofed Author bath expreffed a great Regard, on
Account of his ingenious Performances, although
unacquainted with him.
Carbery Rocks in the County of Cork,
Ireland.
L
O! from the Top of yonder Cliff, that fhrouds
Its airy Head amidst the azure Clouds,
Hangs a huge Fragment; deftiture of props
Prone on the Waves the rocky Ruin drops.
With hoarfe Rebuff the fwelling Seas rebound,
From Shore to Shore the Rocks return the Sound a
The dreadful Murmur Heav'n's high Convex cleaves,
And Neptune shrinks beneath his Subject Waves;
For, long the whirling Winds and beating Tides
Had fcoop'd a Vault into its nether Sides.
Now yields the Baſe, the Summits nod, now urge
Their headlong Courſe, and lath the founding Surge,
Not louder Noiſe could ſhake the guilty World,
When Jove heap'dMountains upon Mountains hurl'd
Retorting Pelion from his dread abode,
To crush Earth's rebel Sons beneath the Load.
OFT too with hideous yawn the Cavern wide
Preſents an Orifice on either Side,
VOL. II
I A
A
480
Poems on feveral Occafions.
f
A difinal Orifice from Sea to Sea
Extended, pervious to the God of Day:
Uncouthly joyn'd, the Rocks ftupendous form
An Arch, the Ruin of a future Storm:
High on the Cliff their Nefts the Woodqueſts make,
And Sea-calves ftable in the oozy Lake.
BUT when bleak Winter with her fullen Train
Awakes the Winds, to vex the watry Plain;
When o'er the craggy Sreep without Controul,
Big with the Blaft, the raging Billows rowl;
Not Towns beleaguer'd, not the flaming Brand
Darted from Heav'n by Jove's avenging Hand,
Oft as on impious Men his Wrath he pours,
Humbles their Pride, and blaſts their gilded Tow'rs,
Equal the Tumult of this wild Uproar ..
Waves ruſh o'er Waves, rebellows Shore to Shore.
The neighb'ring Race, tho' wont to brave the Shocks,
Of angry Seas, and run along the Rocks,
Now pale with Terror, while the Ocean foams,
Fly far and wide, nor truft their native Homes.
THE Goats, while pendent from the Mountain
The wither'd Herb improvident they crop,
top
Waſh'd down the Precipice with fudden Sweep,
Leave their fweet Lives beneath th'unfathom'd Deep.
THE frighted Fiſher with deſponding Eyes,
Tho' fafe, yet trembling in the Harbour lies,
Nor hoping to behold the Skies ferene,
Wearies with Vows the Monarch of the Main.'
*
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