“Call in Alcides,” said a crafty priest;
“Give him one half, and he’ll secure the rest.”
No! said the shepherd, if the Fates decree,
By ravaging my flock, to ruin me,
To their commands I willingly resign,
Power is their character, and patience mine;
Though, troth! to me there seems but little odds,
Who prove the greatest robbers, wolves or gods! 10
TO A FRIEND ON HIS NUPTIALS.
WHEN Jove lay blest in his Alcmæna’s
Three nights, in one, he prest her in his arms;
The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove
To shade her god, and to prolong his love.
From that auspicious night Alcides came,
What less could rise from Jove, and such a dame?
May this auspicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less the rising heir;
He strong as Jove, she like Alcmæna fair!
THE WANDERING PILGRIM.
HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS FRANKLAND,
BART. POST-MASTER, AND PAYMASTERGENERAL TO QUEEN ANNE.
WILL PIGGOT must to Coxwould go,
To live, alas! in want,
Unless Sir Thomas say, No, no;
Th’ allowance is too scant.
The gracious knight full well does weet,
Ten farthings ne’er will do
To keep a man each day in meat,
Some bread to meat is due.
A Rechabite poor Will must live,
And drink of Adam’s ale, 10
Pure element no life can give,
Or mortel soul regale.
Spare diet, and spring-water clear,
Physicians hold are good;
Who diets thus, need never fear
A fever in the blood.
Gra’mercy, Sirs, y’are in the right,
Prescriptions all can sell,
But he that does not eat can’t sh —
Or piss if good drinks fail.
But pass — the Æsculapian crew,
Who eat and quaff the best,
They seldom miss to bake and brew,
Or lin to break their fast. 20
Could Yorkshire-tyke but do the same,
Then he like them might thrive;
But Fortune, Fortune, cruel dame!
To starve thou dost him drive.
In Will’s old Master’s plenteous days,
His memory e’er be blest!
What need of speaking in his praise?
His goodness stands confest.
At his fam’d gate stood Charity,
In lovely sweet array;
Ceres and Hospitality
Dwelt there both night and day.
But, to conclude, and be concise,
Truth must Will’s voucher be,
Truth never yet went in disguise,
For naked still is she.
There is but one, but one alone,
Can set the pilgrim free,
And make him cease to pine and moan;
O Frankland! it is thee. 40
Oh! save him from a dreary way,
To Coxwould he must hie,
Bereft of thee, he wends astray,
At Coxwould he must die.
Oh! let him in thy hall but stand,
And wear a porter’s gown,
Duteous to what thou mayst command,
Thus William’s wishes crown.
VENUS’S ADVICE TO THE MUSES.
THUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian
“Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My son shall else assume his potent darts,
Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your hearts!”
The Muses answer’d, “Venus, we deride
The vagrant’s malice, and his mother’s pride;
Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida’s shade,
To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade;
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look,
On the instructive verse, and moral book; 10
On female idleness his power relies;
But, when he finds us studying hard, he flies.”
CUPID TURNED PLOUGHMAN.
FRΟΜ MOSCHUS.
HIS lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid aside,
A rustic wallet o’er his shoulders tied:
Cupid, always on new mischief bent,
To the rich field and furrow’d tillage went;
Like any ploughman toil’d the little god,
His time he whistled, and his wheat he Bow’d;
Then sat and laugh’d, and to the skies above
Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove:
Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And, as I bid you, let it shine or rain, 10
Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the servile plough;
What once Europa was, Nannette is now.
PONTIUS AND PONTIA.
PONTIUS (who loves, you know, a joke,
Much better than he loves his life)
hanc’d t’other morning to provoke
The patience of a well bred wife.
Talking of you, said he, my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town,
One ask’d, if that high fuzz of hair
Was, bona fide, all your own.
Her own! most certain, t’other said;
For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye, 10
The hair was bought, the money paid,
And the receipt was sign’d Ducailly.
Pontia, (that civil prudent she,
Who values wit much less than sense,
And never darts a repartee,
But purely in her own defence)
Replied, these friends of yours, my dear,
Are given extremely much to satire!
But prithee, husband, let one hear
Sometimes less wit, and more good-nature. 20
Now I have one unlucky thought,
That would have spoil’d your friend’s conceit;
Some hair I have, I’m sure, unbought:
Pray bring your brother wits to see’t.
CUPID TURNED STROLLER.
FROM ANACREON.
AT dead of night, when stars appear,
And strong Bootes turns the Bear;
When mortals sleep their cares away,
Fatigu’d with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;
Who’s there! says I, who knocks so late,
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest?
O fear not me, a harmless guest,
He said, but open, open, pray;
A foolish child, I’ve lost my way, 10
And wander here this moon-light night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepar’d,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow;
In haste I ran, unlock’d my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate;
I set the child an easy chair
Against the fire, and dried his hair; 20
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warm’d his little hands with mine.
All this I did with kind intent;
But he, on wanton mischief bent,
Said, Dearest friend, this bow you see,
This pretty bow belongs to me:
Observe, I pray, if all be right;
I fear the rain has spoil’d it quite.
He drew it then, and straight I found
Within my breast a secret wound. 30
This done, the rogue no longer staid,
But leapt away, and laughing said,
“Kind host, adieu! we now must part;
Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart.”
TO A POET
OF QUALITY.
PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE.
OF thy judicious muse’s sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.
Yet she to one must still submit,
To dear mamma must pay her duty,
She wonders, praising Wilmot’s wit,
Thou shouldst forget his daughter’s beauty.
THE PEDANT.
LYSANDER talks extremely well;
On any subject let him dwell,
His tropes and figures will content ye;
He should possess to all degrees
The art of talk; he practises
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
CAUTIOUS ALICE.
SO good a wife doth Lissy make,
That from all company she flieth;
Such virtuous courses doth she take,
That she all evil tongues defieth;
And, for her dearest spouse’s sake,
She with his brethren only lieth.
THE INCURABLE.
PHILLIS, you boast of perfect health in
And laugh at those who of their ills complain:
That with a frequent fever Chloe burns,
And Stella’s plumpness into dropsy turns!
O Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas! are their distempers seen.
But thou, for all thy seeming health, art ill,
Beyond thy lover’s hopes, or Blackmore’s skill;
No lenitives can thy disease assuage,
I tell thee, ’tis incurable— ’tis age. 10
TO FORTUNE.
WHILST I in prison on a court look
Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy
In vain, malicious fortune, hast thou tried,
By taking from my state, to quell my pride:
Insulting girl! thy present rage abate;
And, wouldst thou have me humble, make me great.
NONPAREIL.
LET others from the town retire,
And in the fields seek new delight;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.
In her alone I find whate’er
Beauties a country landscape grace:
No shades so lovely as her hair,
Nor plain so sweet as is her face.
Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field; 10
Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield.
Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compar’d to them, the sun is dark.
Both light and vital heat they give;
Cherish’d by them, my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit. 20
Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind;
And made transgress our mother Eve:
Poison its core, though fair its rind.
Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain,
But to th’ enchanting pleasure haste,
Though I were sure ’twould end in pain.
CHASTE FLORIMEL.
NO — I’ll endure ten thousand deaths,
Ere any farther I’ll comply;
Oh! sir, no man on earth that breathes
Had ever yet his hand so high!
Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted see me meet the wound,
Oh! will you act a Tarquin’s part?
A second Lucrece you have found.
Thus to the pressing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid! 10
Fearing by love to be undone,
In broken dying accents said.
Delia, who held the conscious door,
Inspir’d by truth and brandy, smil’d,
Knowing that, sixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her second child.
And, hark ye! madam, cried the bawd,
None of your flights, your high-rope dodging;
Be civil here, or march abroad;
Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging. 20
Oh! have I — Florimel went on —
Have I then lost my Delia’s aid?
Where shall forsaken virtue run,
If by her friends she is betray’d?
Oh! curse on empty friendship’s name!
Lord, what is all our future view!
Then, dear destroyer of my fame,
Let my last succour be to you!
From Delia’s rage, and fortune’s frown,
A wretched love-sick maid deliver! 30
Oh! tip me but another crown,
Dear sir, and make me yours for ever.
DOCTORS DIFFER.
WHEN Willis of Ephraim heard Rochester preach, —
Thus Bentley said to him, I prithee, dear brother,
How lik’st thou this sermon? ’tis out of my reach.
His is one way, said Willis, and ours is another:
I care not for carping; but this I can tell,
We preach very sadly, if he preaches well.
EPIGRAM ON BISHOP ATTERBURY.
MEEK Francis lies here, friend: without stop or stay, —
As you value your peace, make the best of your way.
Though at present arrested by death’s caitiff paw,
If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law.
And in the King’s Bench should a verdict be found,
That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,
He will claim to himself what is strictly his due,
And an action of trespass will straightway ensue,
That you without right on his premises tread,
On a simple surmise that the owner is dead. 10
ON BISHOP ATTERBURY’S BURYING THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, MDCCXX.
“I HAVE no hopes,” the duke he says,
“In sure and certain hopes,” the prelate cries:
Of these two learned peers, I prithee, say, man,
Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman?
The duke he stands an infidel confest,
“He’s our dear brother,” quoth the lordly priest.
The duke, tho’ knave, still “brother dear,” he cries;
And who can say, the reverend prelate lies?
UPON HONOUR. A FRAGMENT.
HONOUR, I say, or honest fame,
I mean the substance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of tawdry wares,
Of ermine, coronets, and stars,
Which often is by merit sought,
By gold and flattery oftener bought;
The shade, for which ambition looks
In Selden’s or in Ashmole’s books:)
But the true glory, which proceeds,
Reflected bright, from honest deeds, 10
Which we in our own breast perceive,
And kings can neither take nor give
ENIGMA.
BY birth I’m a slave, yet can give you a crown,
I dispose of all honours, myself having none.
I’m obliged by just maxims to govern my life,
Yet I hang my own master, and lie with his wife.
When men are a-gaming, I cunningly sneak,
And their cudgels and shovels away from them take.
Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get,
And pick off their diamonds, tho’ ne’er so well set.
For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands,
Then presently take off your lands from your hands.
But, this fury once over, I’ve such winning arts, 11
That you love me much more than you do
your own hearts.
ANOTHER.
FORMED half beneath, and half above the
We sisters owe to art our second birth:
The smith’s and carpenter’s adopted daughters,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.
Swifter they move, as they are straiter bound,
Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground:
They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes swim.
THE OLD GENTRY.
THAT all from Adam first began,
None but ungodly Woolston doubts;
And that his son, and his son’s son,
Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.
Each, when his rustic pains began,
To merit pleaded equal right;
’Twas only who left off at noon,
Or who went on to work till night.
But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court’s affection; 10
By nature we are Adam’s sons,
And sons of Anstis by election
Kingsale! eight hundred years have roll’d,
Since thy forefathers held the plough;
When this shall be in story told,
Add, that my kindred do so now.
The man who by his labour gets
His bread, in independent state,
Who never begs, and seldom eats,
Himself can fix or change his fate. 20
THE INSATIABLE PRIEST.
LUKE PREACHILL admires what we laymen can mean;
That thus by our profit and pleasure are sway’d,
He has but three livings, and would be a dean;
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