NEW EPIGRAMS.
Epigr. 1. To a Friend that ask'd me, Why translating so many Epigrams, I made none.
AMong th' inspired Quire I never sung,
Metre, the love of Martial, from me wrung;
And imitation has so cramp'd my strain,
To seek t'infranchiz't now, were labour vain.
I may complain, but cannot mend my State,
When I wou'd write, I find I still translate.
Harsh is my Style, rough Verse I only know,
Nought that is num'rous from my Pen will flow,
Which these succeeding Epigrams will show.
Ep. 2. To the same.
Well, what I write, to print I may be slack,
Were I so vain to think, I nought did lack
To make a Poet, this wou'd me restrain,
A Work and Author new ne'er Praise did gain:
He must be One, long to the Town that's known,
And much in Vogue, before his Wit they'll own.
Candor and Judgment high in them excel,
Who, of a Novel Piece dare say, 'Tis Well.
Ep. 3. On a Counterfeit Stoick.
An awful Wight, with's Beard unto his Waste,
Who Wisdom in a sordid Mantle plac'd,
Elf-locks, soure Aspect, and a knotty Staff,
And at the Sober World did Snarl, or Laugh,
Made to Herodes Atticus Address,
Boasting his Worth, not hiding his Distress;
And to Command seem'd rather, than implore,
As both to give he ought, and to adore.
Sage Atticus, the Glory of his days,
Whose Vertue, Learning, bore from all the Bays,
Ask'd, What he was? He, in a wrathful Tone,
Said, A Wise Man, and wonder'd he'd not own
What his Eyes saw! I see, says he, your Guise
And Beard, but nothing hear that's learn'd or wise.
'Tis easier far, to rail at and condemn
Things that are Vain, than truly to contemn;
Leudness and Avarice, Gluttony and Pride,
The Philosophick Garb too oft do hide.
Must I, when e'er a bearded Goat I see,
Conclude the Brute a Socrates to be?
Ep. 4. On Philosarcus.
When ought thy Body ails, thou art so wise,
Not with thy self, but Doctors to advise:
But when thy Soul is Sick, thou'rt here secure,
Thou'rt Casuist enough to work its Cure.
That is, thy Body's Health to thee is dear,
Thy Soul less lov'd, thou less for it do'st fear:
Potions are easier too, than sharp Advice;
Thy Flegm and Choller purged, than thy Vice.
Ep. 5. On the like.
Thy Appetite, in all that it does crave,
Thou gratifi'st; thy Carcase then to save
Doctors Consults't; tho' thou do'st better know
What does thee hurt, than all their Skill can show.
But to his Palat who is so unkind,
In his delicious Fare a Fault to find?
If the Rare Dish, a Surfeit does procure,
It matters not, let the Physician cure.
The Laws of Temp'rance are too hard to bear,
And Fees, than Riot, Men more eas'ly spare.
Ep. 6. On the present State of the Nation.
The Pious Jews in times of War did Fast,
Even when no Foe did lay their Country waste;
If, as they spoke, The Sword of Peace pass'd by
Their Coast, their Neighbours were at Enmity;
On such account great Sorrow they express'd,
And not endanger'd, held themselves distress'd.
What are the Duties then, this Land commands
From us? What Self-affliction from our Hands?
Who Turk and Treason, Hell and France withstands.
Ep. 7. On Prodigus.
While thou by Sloth, and Riot, art grown Poor,
Thy Servants flourish all upon thy Score.
Reduc'd to Roots, too late thou now dost find
Fabricius words, suit not thy lavish Mind.
Who said, The Rich he'd rather subject hold,
Than be himself Possessor of their Gold.
Contempt of Wealth, made him appear a God,
Thee as a Slave, under the Lictors Rod.
Ep. 8.—His Disciples came by night, and stole him away, while he slept.
O Rancorous and Unbelieving Jew!
Whose deprav'd Heart, what words have pow'r to shew?
Faithless, yet more Perverse; more False, than Blind;
Blaspheming boldest, when Truth brightest shin'd;
Who Miracles forbore not to traduce,
To treat Heavens highest Favours with abuse;
Who God's own Law, to disanul, essay'd,
Whom holy Truths only more wicked made;
Whose Fathers did their impious Hands imbrew
I'th' Prophets Blood, you Prince Messiah slew;
Convinc'd, his Resurrection durst deny,
And bribe the Soldiers to abet the Lye.
The drowsie Guard did not your Trust betray,
But while your selves in sinful slumber lay,
The faithful Gentiles stole your Christ away.
Ep. 9. On Aristides.
The People Aristides did intend,
Thro' Envy, into Banishment to send.
Unknown, one pray'd him (so it him befell)
He'd Aristides write upon his * Shell.
You has he wrong'd, says he, in any Due?
Or shew'd himself in Publick Trust untrue?
No: That's his Crime, he never was to blame,
His Justice all his Country-men does shame:
The Good Man said no more, but wrote his Name.
Ep. 10. On the KING.
While thine own Sword, brave Prince, maintains thy Right,
Lewis does only by his Captains fight;
He all his Conquests unto them does owe,
Himself ne'er saw the Face of any Foe.
What's needful for the Field's, thy Royal Care,
Plain are thy Garments, plainer yet thy Fare.
Lewis, with all the Luxury of his Court,
Marches not forth to fight, but for disport;
With Strumpets takes his Post, from Danger far,
The Gen'ral? No: The Baggage of the War.
Ep. 11. On Diogenes, and a Fop.
A spruc'd-up Youth, gay clad, nice and perfum'd,
The soure Philosopher to Scorn presum'd;
His outward Garb so ill with his did suit,
He look'd no better on him than a Brute.
What must I quarrel Nature? Said the wise
Cynick, my self, because a Man, despise?
Cancel my Nobler Frame, her Work undo,
Only to make me seem a Girl like you?
Ep. 12. On an Olympick Victor.
As an Olympick Victor stalk'd along,
Minstrels before, round him th'applauding Throng,
His Crown, o'er-weening and insulting, wore;
And in his Hand a branch of Laurel bore:
Mov'd with the Pomp, Diogenes enquir'd,
What more than Man in him was so admir'd?
'Twas said, who e'er his Prowess durst withstand,
Or dead, or maim'd, he laid upon the Sand!
Were they Superiors, Equals, or below
Himself, says he, whom he did overthrow?
Th' Event declares, the first they cou'd not be,
For o'er them both, we him Triumphant see:
And if they only were the last I nam'd,
He boasts of what he ought to be asham'd.
For where's the Glory, Wonder, or the Riddle?
I can Inferiors quell without a Fiddle.
Ep. 13. On Ralf and Ciss.
Foul Ralf, and fouler Ciss, this day are wed,
The Sloven and the Slut stink in one Bed.
Tho' Cupid here did neither Wrong nor Hurt,
The Boy was whipp'd, for playing in the Dirt.
Ep. 14. On Alexander and Diogenes.
Philip's Great Son, a Royal Mind to show,
Whole Provinces and Cities did bestow:
And to Diogenes with like Purpose came,
Whose Wisdom finding answer to his Fame;
That he his Greatness too, might understand,
Ask'd him, If ought he would of him demand?
Yes, says the Cynick (sitting in his Tun,)
Stand not, I pray, between me and the Sun.
Ep. 15. On the KING.
Had Lewis Heart with Valour been endu'd,
His Forces might have many Lands subdu'd:
But God, who wisely all things does accord,
Put in his Hand a Whip, in thine a Sword.
By Bribes, Assassins, he does act his Part,
By impious Leagues, and such-like treach'rous Art,
Scourges the World; makes Millions to deplore.
But Thou seem'st born, the Nations to restore.
Ep. 16. On Caius.
No Learned Language thou at all dost know,
Or in thy Native, Pains didst e'er bestow;
Its Force and Eloquence to understand,
What Prose or Verse ennobles, ever scand;
Scarce Patience hast to read. Why dost thou write?
Abortions, for form'd Births, produce to light?
Cause thou thy self, to what is Good, art Blind.
Hopest thou the World, without all Eyes to find?
But such there are, their Excrements do please,
Thou seem'st to labour of the like Disease:
'Tis hard to tell, so putid is thy Strain,
The Ordure, from the Fancies of thy Brain.
Ep. 17. The Virgin Martyr'd.
The Holy Virgin 'fore the Judgment stood,
Bright in her Beauty, brighter in her Blood.
When scourg'd and rack'd, branded and scorch'd with Fire,
With Pincers torn, and ready to expire,
Her heav'nly Graces all did yet admire.
Cruel, she said, as born of Rock and Stone,
Such Pains can you inflict, resenting none?
Think you, because Faith does our Courage steel,
Our Flesh, like Iron too, does nothing feel?
You urge our Tortures to that high degree,
Your Executioners even suff'rers be.
But we're Christians! Ah, knew you what you say!
It would your Rage, tho' greater, yet allay.
Christians are those, do the true God adore,
Mercy for them, that shew them none, implore;
Love all that's Good, Hatred they do not know;
Friends to Mankind, to Vice alone are Foe:
Caesar they worship not, but for him pray,
Obey him, even when Death is in their way.
Those who do think, Incense is also due,
The fabulous Giants War 'gainst Heaven make true.
Her Strength here fail'd. Angels, says she, do call,
To joyn them, gladly here on Earth I fall.
A general Groan through all the Earth did sound,
And Converts 'mong the faithless Throng were found;
Many, with Hands stretch'd out, aloud did cry,
I am a Christian too, and I, and I.
Ep. 18. The States-Man.
Rejecting Subtile Machivilian Arts,
These few things constitute a States-mans Parts.
In Ages past, to be well vers'd and read,
I'th' Knowledge of his own train'd up and bred;
To be, for Vigilance and Justice, known,
To set the Publick Good before his own:
All crooked Ways, tho' gainful, to despise,
The Honest deeming only to be Wise:
This Christian Point rightly to understand,
Counsel's in his, the Issue's in God's Hand.
Who all his Plots resolveth to insure,
Shall play the Knave, and nothing yet secure.
Ep. 19. On Jesuits.
O Jesuits! Subtil in the Arts and Schools,
Knaves in the World, and in Religion Fools:
Christ's profess'd Servants, but the Slaves of Popes;
And both defie, when they oppose your Hopes:
Missioners ye are to the Earths utmost ends,
Feign'd Lovers of the Faith, Riches true Friends;
Preferring more a Pow'r in Courts to hold,
Than even in Heaven to have your Names enroll'd:
And further have prevail'd, Truth to expel
The Church of God, than even the Gates of Hell.
Ep. 20. On a groundless Confident Wooer.
To wed a Wife, not handsom, thou dost Scorn,
Wealthy thou'lt have, right Vertuous, and well-born.
By Juno well resolv'd! So on thy Part
With such, in ev'ry Point, thou equal art:
But if on Self-conceit thou dost depend,
Hast nought, but Wig and Vest, to recommend
Thy Suit, after much Dressing, Cost and Strife,
Rich Coats I've known return without a Wife.
Ep. 21. To Julius.
When Men to Honour rais'd, I oft did hear,
(As then first being) they created were,
It sounded strange: But since I Julius knew
Ingenious, Innocent, Obliging, True,
And saw that Honour render'd him uncivil,
Vicious, False, Proud, all that is counted Evil,
The Man's new made, I cry'd, he's now a Devil.
Ep. 22. On Procula, old and amorous.
Foul Winter, cease to think thy Age a Spring,
Which nought but Cold and Dirt does with it bring:
If it be possible thou canst any please,
The same may also dote on a Disease.
Thou say'st, thou'st Charms; So Witches have theirs too,
But such as Toads and Devils only woo.
Ep. 23. On an affected Person.
Because what's Exc'lent is not common seen,
Thou affects as Excellent, an Uncouth Mien,
Fantastick Speech, distorts and screw'st thy Face,
T'extract what is not there, Beauty and Grace.
And yet, to do thee right, thy Parts might pass,
Didst thou not strive and strain to be an Ass;
T'appear a Wonder unto ev'ry Eye,
O'th' meer account of Singularity.
When thou hast reach'd to that thou dost aspire,
Men laugh at Folly, while they it admire.
Ep. 24. On Balbus.
Balbus, whose little Wit his Tongue betrays,
Forward to talk, but knows not what he says:
I ask'd, if his Friend Titus were alive?
Yes, Faith, says he, he does as yet survive,
And is the same Diogenes you knew,
A Don Quixot, like him, the World can't shew.
Ep. 25. On Cotta.
Business thou'st none at Court, nor Place dost hold,
Yet none there's seen so busie and so bold;
At Entertainments of the King and Queen,
Where all forbidden are, thou still art seen:
Others discourse with one, at most with two,
But with th'intire Assembly thou'st to do;
Swiftly thou mak'st thy way through all the Press,
Like some important new-arriv'd Express;
And whisper'st one, another dost embrace,
Kissest a third, all in a Moments space.
Secrets of all Cabals thou canst relate,
As if thou wert o'th' Cabinet of State:
The King does favour thee, the Great ones call
Thee Intimate and Friend: But that's not all,
Such Places shall be thine, when first they fall.
After full thirty Years thus spent, and more,
We see thee still Impertinent and Poor,
Single-soul'd Cotta, as thou wert before.
Ep. 26. To Fabius.
Far wide thy Arrow roveth from the Spot,
Who think'st poor Idiot Lob, the greatest Sot:
'Tis airy Tim, that's full of Tongue and Spright;
Who, cause himself, thinks all he does Delight;
Who travell'd has, acquired also Arts;
A Precious Fool must be a Man of Parts;
Have something Good to spoil, some taste o'th'School,
An Empty Dolt, ne'er made an Exc'lent Fool.
Ep. 27. On Naevia.
Naevia ill-bred, ill-fashion'd, and ill-fac'd,
Not more by Plutus, than by Venus grac'd.
Her Mother not more Wise, than she was Fair,
Having a Friend in Court, wou'd place her there;
And thus be-spoke him. 'T has been often seen,
Great Fortunes they have reach'd, to serve the Queen.
To make her Maid of Honour, shall we try?
The Courtier, but no Flatt'rer, did reply,
Yes; if 'twou'd do her Business, to make Sport,
For the Deform'd and Poor are Jests at Court.
Ep. 28. On Demetrius.
Demetrius fam'd for ev'ry Martial Feat,
And in the Wars of Venus no less Great,
Engag'd in amorous Conflicts sev'ral Days,
The Myrtle Wreath to win, as well as Bays,
The Stratagem of Sickness did devise,
His absence from his Father to disguise;
Who when to see him came upon the place,
Phryne shot forth with more than Star-like Grace.
How is't Demetrius? said his Father then,
Your Health's, I hope, return'd to you again.
Dem.] The Feaver's gone, held me some time before.
The King repli'd, I met It at the Door.
Ep. 29. On a Blockhead Serving-man.
One thus did speak, by his Experience taught,
To a Young Gallant, that but little thought.
You take a Servant, now to France you go,
Who of the Tongue, and Country, nought does know;
You had as good even a Dumb Beast to take,
A Valet of our Horse, or Spaniel, make.
The Servant, whom these words at home did stay,
Repli'd, (his Foe as sharply to repay,)
Your self is a Dumb Beast, for what you say.
Ep. 30. On Phryne, accus'd before the Athenian Senate.
None hated Phryne, Phryne ever saw,
However wrong'd, endanger'd her by Law;
Strangers they were, such Crimes of hers did urge,
No Pow'r of Rhetorick cou'd the Guilty purge.
Her non-plust Patron yet had this reserve,
When's Art did fail, his Client to preserve.
Tropes he renounc'd, and Arguments did wave,
And made the Fair One her fair self to save.
My Lords, he cry'd, 'tis fit that you should know
Whom you condemn, e'er you to Judgment go.
And from her charming Face the Veil then drew,
From whence such flashing Beams of Beauty flew,
Such Fulgor, Sweetness, from her radiant Eyes,
As all with Love and Wonder did surprise!
The Charge she scatter'd like a metling Cloud,
That vainly seeks the mid-day's Sun to shroud.
Judges and Plaintiffs unto her did bow,
Her Plea admit, and Innocence allow.
In Words they did not, but in Heart decree,
A Crime, in such Perfection, cou'd not be.
That she escap'd, or was absolv'd, to say,
Wou'd wrong her Fame; ador'd she went away.
Ep. 31. To Silus.
I must confess, thy ways I do despise,
But never branded them, nor thee, with Lies:
Such are the Arts of Cowardize, and Fear,
Tho' thee I Scorn, yet Honour I revere.
Ep. 32. To a Friend.
Thou urgest still the Roughness of my Verse,
Think'st this Defect, thou never canst rehearse
Enough, altho' confess'd: But dost contend,
All's nought I write, unless this Fault I mend:
And to convince me, thou dost say yet more,
The Age slights Martial's self upon the Score;
And twenty Verses flat, but smoothly writ;
Preferr to all his high Pretence to Wit.
It is enough: These words have made me wise;
The Censure fear'd before, I now despise.
In his defence, or mine, I'll nothing say,
But these his well-weigh'd Lines before thee lay.
Ep. 33. Martial, Lib. 2. Ep. 86. Ad Classicum.
Quod nec carmine glorior supino,
Nec retro lego Sotaden cinaedum,
Nusquam Graecula quod recantat Echo,
Nec dictat mihi luculentus Attis
Mollem debilitari Galliambon:
Non sum, Classice, tam malus Poëta.
Quid si graciles vias Petauri
Invitum jubeas subire Ladam?
Turpe est difficiles habere nugas,
Et stultus labor est ineptiarum.
Scribat carmina circulis Palaemon:
Me raris juvat auribus placere.
Ep. 34. Englished.
That I Acrosticks glory not to write;
In Verses backward read take no delight;
Make not the Eccho in my Verses play,
After the Grecian Poetast'ring way:
Nor yet soft melting Numbers so respect,
As more the Chime, than ev'n the Sense t'affect:
So bad a Poet, as these ways to take,
I am not Classicus. What Hire would make
Lada, for Swiftness fam'd, so meanly stoop,
To leave the Race, and tumble thro' a Hoop?
Disgrace it is unto a Poet's Name,
Difficult Toys, to make his highest Aim:
The Labour's foolish, that does rack the Brains,
For things have nothing in them, but much Pains.
Let Gallus Chant, while the Rout make a Ring,
To choicest Ears I only joy to sing.
With these I close, and not with thy Pretence,
Smoothness I'll aim at, but secure good Sense:
For what avails it others Praise to gain,
While my Performance I my self disdain?
Ep. 35. To Plancus.
Thou often, Plancus, proudly dost complain,
While thou the Company wou'dst entertain
With something of Delight, or else of Weight,
Some piece of Learning, Wit, or Point of State;
Demas turns all Discourse to what he wears,
Or eats, how with the Stone and Gout he fares,
His Issue runs, to Stool how oft he goes.
What wou'dst thou have? He speaks of all he knows.
Ep. 36. To Paulus.
As Beauty all in general do love,
Yet Men the want of it in some approve;
On the Deformed set no common Price,
As those who give best Caution against Vice,
Their Vertue can make good with least ado,
Because they've nothing else to trust unto.
Ep. 37. On Lesbia.
Because fair Cloris exc'lent Verses writ,
And, 'bove her Beauty, fam'd was for her Wit;
As if to make a Poet nought did need,
But to resolve to be one, and to speed;
Thou took'st a Pen, and sett'st thy self to write;
That is, unspotted Paper didst besh—
For to express thy sensless sottish Stuff,
Nought can be said, that's barbarous enough.
Wer't thou bewitch'd? I sought, thou saist, for Fame.
And of the greatest Fool thou'st got the Name.
Ep. 38. To the Great.
As thou art Great, aim at as great a Name,
They'd need be Good, whom no one dares to blame.
Ep. 39. On Maevius.
In refin'd Language, and in Mode's thy Pride,
That all thy Verse in flowing Numbers glide,
Thy Wit abounds: But then thou dost not see,
That these ought all subservient to be,
T'improve and grace a well-conceiv'd Design,
'Twas this that made the Ancients Works Divine.
Wit, for it self, these Sages did deride,
Reason they made their Pole-Star, and their Guide;
What nought promoted, idle was, or vain,
What Nature did distort, or over-strain,
They held the Issue of a doating Brain.
'Gainst Laws of Prudence they did ne'er rebel,
To make their Fancies, by such means, excel.
Their Heroes still were Men, however brave;
Perform'd great things, and yet they did not rave.
A huffing Phantom, strain'd to th'highest Note,
Sensless and ranting, nought but Mouth and Throat
Thou fondly fram'st, who does a while amaze,
But Boys do laugh at, while they on him gaze.
In Shakespear read the Reason mixt with Rage,
When Brutus with fierce Cassius does engage
In loud Expostulations in the Tent,
The heights of Passion, Turns, and the Descent
Observe, and what thou'rt likely to despise,
Is that in which th'Excellence chiefly lies.
Th' Ancients, when a Beauty they'd express,
The Graces summon'd the fair Piece to dress.
A Figure, Indian-like, thou dost expose,
With Jewels dangling at her Lips and Nose,
Her Cheeks bor'd-thro' for Pearl and Rings of Gold,
Spoiling what Nature did Divine unfold.
But if she Gorg'ous be, with Riches flaunt,
No Comeliness in her, thou think'st does want.
All Wit misplac'd, the Subject does disgrace,
Like Gold that's carv'd into a lovely Face.
The Poets Art, not all that read, discry
It like a Soul couch'd in each Limb does lye,
Seen by its Pow'r, not subject to the Eye.
A cry'd-up Wit unto old Hobbs did say,
Virgil nor Homer did deserve the Bay;
And gave this Reason. 'Cause he could not meet
One Epigram, in turning twenty Sheet.
Before you judge, said he, go, Sot, to School,
Turn them all o'er, not once they'll play the Fool.
Think'st thou such Droll their matchless Works wou'd crown,
Which joyns in one the Hero and the Clown.
Ep. 40. On the Ungrateful.
Arriv'd to Wealth, old Friends thou wilt not know,
Least what they gave thee Poor, thou Rich should'st owe.
Ep. 41. On a Hanger on upon the Court.
Altho' 'mong those that know thee in the Court,
Thou only art the subject of their Sport.
Yet that to others thou may'st something seem,
Thy old Acquaintance thee advanc'd may deem;
On thy Employs thou greatly dost enlarge,
As if the King's prime Dog were in thy Charge;
Wise and shrewd Looks assum'st, a States-man's Pace▪
A thousand Fools, proclaiming in thy Face.
Ep 42. On the same
While thou didst Prate of those of high Degree,
Would'st seem Familiar with the Best to be,
One passing by with Coals upon his Back,
Fleering and Nodding, said, How dost thou Jack?
Ep. 43. On the Rich and Covetous.
O Wretch! whose Wealth o'erflows, and yet is scant;
Who, all thou hast not, and thou hast dost want;
Whose thirst of Gold, no Mines of Gold can swage,
The more it gets, the more it still does rage.
Would'st thou be rich? Content, than Wealth, is more;
Not who has little, but who wants, is Poor:
The Cynick nothing had, nor ought did need,
Yet him in Riches he did far exceed,
Who unto endless Conquests did aspire,
And having one, more Worlds did yet desire.
Ep. 44. On the habitually Vicious.
Where Vice is lov'd, and in time Nature made,
To tax it, seems even Nature to upbraid,
And not the Man: Whom if you guilty show,
He thinks you do not find, but make him so;
Malice, not Truth, against him does conspire,
That Innocent he is, the Charge a Lyer.
Did Martial then, a thousand Years ago,
Belye thy Follies, and thy Person know?
Yet he with Spleen, this day against thee writ,
Perhaps not half so home thy Follies hit.
But a strong Fort more easie 'tis to storm,
Than Vice, that's rooted deeply, to reform.
Ep. 45. On a Coward Enemy.
A Coward, and withall a prosp'rous Foe,
All Tyrants does in Cruelty out-go;
Politick Fear Tyrants excite to hate,
Their Wrath y'appease, when you secure their State▪
But Coward-Malice nothing can asswage,
When it is safe, the more it then does rage;
Like Fire it burns, while there is any Fuel,
The Nature 'tis of Baseness, to be Cruel.
Ep. 46. On Sin and Sorrow.
Sin first the World with Sorrow did annoy,
But bred a Child, the Parent does destroy.
Ep. 47. To a Friend, to whom he sent the foregoing Epigrams for a New-Years-Gift.
I have no Turky from the Coop to send,
Nor Fatling of the Flock, my dearest Friend;
Nor heap of Coin expect, when I do say,
I for a Present here before you lay,
All that this Christmas I have got by Play.
Ep. 48. On Epulo.
Thou know'st all Sauce, and Pickles, that are good,
How wise thou art in Poison, not in Food.
Ep. 49. On Paula.
Paula, when ever she sits down to eat,
A favorite Lap-Dog on each Hand does seat;
The Children are at greater distance plac'd,
And than the Brutes, in all respect, less grac'd;
Which with choice Bits she faileth not to treat,
While th'others have the coursest of the Meat,
Children so Hopeful, Charming, and so Fair,
No Wealth, no Jewels, can with such compare!
But these as Burdens she beholds and Clogs.
Were these her Issue, or the little Dogs?
Ep. 50. To those that sink under Evils.
Why dost complain, The present Age is Bad?
Unto the Good nothing can fall out Sad.
Why do Intemp'rate Seasons thee deject?
The God that Plagues, his Servants doth Protect.
Why dost thou grieve to see protracted Wars?
To inward Peace of Mind these are no Bars.
Why Sigh to hear, the Bad the Good oppress?
Innocence carries in it self Redress.
Despond the Churches danger to behold?
Trust unto Heaven its own, what's thy Part, hold.
No evil ought disturb a Just Man's Rest,
Who knows what Providence effects, is best.
With Thanks receive all Blessings that succeed,
But when with-held, them likewise do not need.
Ep. 51. On Lelia.
If Wrinckles, rotten Teeth, and purchas'd Hair,
If Paint and Patches make a Woman Fair,
I know not one with Lelia may compare.
If Youth it speaks, where Folly does abound;
In all the World not One's more youthful found.
Ep. 52. On Ignorant Undertakers.
A wretched Dauber durst presume to show
His Work to Zeuxis, withall let him know,
By way of Boasting, rather than excuse,
One day alone did, what he saw, produce.
I should have thought so, had I not been told,
The exc'lent Artist said; But I grow old
Ʋpon a Piece. The Skillful beat their Brains
For what they do; But where t'imploy their Pains
The Ignorant know not: Who cannot Judge,
Can nought improve, however they shall drudge;
What they do first, tho' ne'er so vile, must stand,
They add but Folly by the Second Hand.
Cease then to think, thy mean Productions, Wit,
As well thou may'st applaud what thou dost Spit.
Ep. 53. On the gay Ladies of the Time.
When this fair Crew had canvast ev'ry Dress,
What most becoming was, and what was less:
The next Discourse was, Who did most excel
In Brav'ry, 'mong the Gallants bear the Bell.
One said, My young Lord D's from Travel come,
In whom you may all Grace and Vertue summ!
It was repli'd, I pitty thy dim Sight.
What's he to Hart or Moon? The rest said, Right.
Ep. 54. On a Gentleman-Beggar.
A Bold Unknown said, Probus, you are old,
Yet I'll presume your Duty to unfold.
Nothing, like Bounty, does your Years become,
This Grace alone, all Graces in't does summ.
Be't so, I said, yet I'd be glad to know,
On whom it is my Bounty I bestow.
Is't on your self? This way shall I express
All Grace in one; relieving your Distress?
Vouchsafe me your Certificate, I pray:
Or Vertue is't, you blindly to obey?
Here, hum and ha, was all he had to say.
Ep. 55. On Severus.
When 'tis anothers Grief, in strength w'abound,
But when our own, alas, we weak are found.
Ep. 56. On our Philosophical Atheists.
Great Lords of Sense, who can no way digest,
What in the Sacred Volume is exprest,
That an Eternal God the World did frame;
From Divine Pow'r and Wisdom all things came;
To you 'tis clearer, all from Matter rose,
The Dregs o'th'World, did the whole World compose;
Plants, Angels, Animals, Sun, Moon and Stars,
Nay, what we God do call, to th'Knocks and Jars
Of Atoms, and their blund'ring Motions owe
Their Forms and Beings, these did all bestow.
Th'accurate System of the Heaven and Earth,
Howe'er stupend'ous, from hence took its Birth;
Opificer had here no Hand, but Chance,
All was produc'd by a blind rambling Dance.
(O blessed Trinity! when such things I hear,
How easie does thy Mystery appear.)
But all wise Men Creation do disclaim,
For out of Nothing, Nothing ever came.
Be't so; as far as Nature's Pow'r does reach.
Tho' this o'er-throws, what they before did teach:
For Life, from what it self was dead, they bring;
Make wise Contrivance, from no Thought to spring.
But nothing, as absurd, the Men decry,
But what abets and proves a Deity.
Omniscience they, as Nonsence, do despise,
Omnipotent Pow'r, infinitely Wise,
Prescience, general Providence o'er all,
Flatteries of God, by brainless Heads, they call.
Such Attributes no Mortal can conceive,
But were invented Idiots to deceive.
O wond'rous Reasoning! O convincing Plea!
A narrow Bucket can't contain the Sea;
Therefore there's none. Brutes may as well deny,
What does transcend their dull Capacity.
Retire into your selves, go there to School,
At home you'll find, and not abroad the Fool:
That either Singularity and Pride
Makes you, what others do revere, deride:
Or else the Reason is, no God you own,
Your impious Lives require there shou'd be none.
Ep. 57. On the Cruel to a Dumb Creature.
A poor Dumb Creature, thou i'th' Heart didst find,
Sorely to wound, not doing to thy Mind:
Inhumane 'twas, thus to torment a Brute:
Thou should'st have spar'd, what with thy self did Suit.
Ep. 58. On a tatter'd Gallant.
As I attended in the Temple-walk,
I saw a Thing, which to it self did talk.
A Phantome I, at first, did it suppose;
But Man of Flesh, the Windows in his Clothes
Reveal'd, the dangling Snake-like Wig he wore,
Which seem'd not bought, but rescu'd from the Store
Cast out for Compost, where, 'tis like, he found
Both Gloves and Shooes, for which he did compound
By leaving worse; his whole in this is spoke,
The best of's Wardrobe was a * Plimouth Cloak.
Brave and Garbato yet, in such Attire,
He bore himself, and seem'd himself t'admire.
With a short turn, cocking his waining Hat,
Snipt like the Moon, halo'd with Sweat and Fat;
Much nearer than I wish'd, he by me sat:
And fixing on me firm, and stedfast Eyes,
Said, Sir, Contemn not this my outward Guise.
My days have better been, tho' now alas,
I thus accouter'd am: But let that pass;
I crave your help—T'impart I made no stay,
Him to assist, and mine own Ransom pay.
But searching with what Coin I did abound,
Some Farthings only, and two Crowns I found.
On which I said, your Want I can't relieve,
These are too much, and these too mean to give.
He suffer'd me to search my Pockets o'er,
But when he saw I 'gan put up my Store,
And no Hopes left of getting any more,
King Sir, says he, my Humour you mistake,
Although a Gentleman, I Farthings take.
Soon as his Clout with such Recruit was fraught,
He sail'd away, and straight new Ventures sought.
Ep. 59. On a weak Poet.
That many give thy Verfe a high Applause,
Thy Treats, and not their Exc'lence, is the cause;
Those who eat freely at thy sumptuous Board,
The Praise, thou like'st, not what is due, afford.
This known, thou say'st, the matter to amend,
They're good for thee, no great things does't pretend.
But who, to publish ought, takes up his Pen,
Must that produce, that's Good to other Men.
Ep. 60. To a Friend.
That on thy Themes I'd write thou oft dost pray,
And think'st it strange, in all I not obey.
When mine own Fancy does not me excite,
I cannot then command my self to write.
Ep. 61. Gutta cavat lapidem—
Boast on the Senceless Enemies of Rome,
By ancient Canons that our Church you doom
A plain Usurper, Forger, and a Cheat,
While you Confute, 'tis we that do Defeat:
For vainly you contend, you've won the Field,
Of those, who broken, never yet do yield:
But shatter'd Arguments retrieve ag'in,
Baffle'd a thousand times, and with them win;
Set hard our Face, with the same Weapons fight,
And carry Captives off, ev'n in your sight,
Our greatest Leaders foil'd, we nothing care,
Tho' Bellarmine, and Perron, worsted are.
Each petty Priest can what they urge recite,
Which ever's new to a weak Proselyte.
Incredible it is, how great a Feat
The same words work, when often but repeat.
We are the Church, without all proof, we say:
But saying often, we do win the day.
Vainly you trust, your Books your Foes have sped,
They're words prevail, what's writ is rarely read.
Ep. 62. On the same.
Your Pains, to shew our Errors, we deride;
That to explain, industriously we hide.
You fondly aim, at what can ne'er be done,
A Pope we'd Poison, were he to be won.
Ep. 63. On Quintus.
When thou luxuriously dost drink and eat,
And know'st the Gout thou swallow'st with thy Meat;
Yet in thy Pains thou never dost express
Any dislike to thy belov'd Excess:
But lest thou Sacred Gluttony should'st wrong,
Blam'st a cold Night, or say'st, I stood too long.
Ep. 64. On the same.
Thou termest Hunger, the most sharp Disease,
Did not its Remedy as highly please:
Hungry, thou say'st, Provide me what is good,
Search me the Air, the Forest, and the Flood.
This Flux and Surfeits often does procure,
Thou fear'st them not, thou hast for them a Cure;
Thy Rosa-Solis, but for these, were lost,
Gelly, and all the Closet's precious cost;
Many good things Distempers bring in play.
Thus eating breeds, and drives thy Griefs away.
That Fasting's good, 'twere Treason here to say.
Ep. 65. On an Idle Person.
Thou eat'st and drink'st, revell'st, fare'st splendidly,
Yet that thou liv'st, there's many do deny.
Ep. 66. To Sylvius.
That I for Hawking do so little care,
For hunting of the Fox, the Stag, or Hare,
Thou wond'rest. But to speak the truth to thee,
Hunting, a Mad-man's Journey, seems to me.
Ep. 67. On a Father and his Son.
A Father chasing at his Son's lewd Course,
With Passionate words, but those of little force,
Repeated oft, Have you nought else to tend,
But on a Beastly Whore your time to spend?
(Again,) On a base Whore your time to spend?
The Son, as if h'ad chid him on the Score
Of his ill Choice; his Words uneas'lier bore,
And grumbling said, The Whore was a good Whore.
Ep. 68. On Fulvia and Silvia.
Fulvia of late a blust'ring Visit made,
In Jewels, Points, and Richest Stuffs array'd:
She alarm'd all the Room with her approach,
Her Brav'ry made a Rusling like her Coach;
And the whole Chambers did with Odours fill,
Which when her self withdrew, remained still:
As on a Comet all on her did gaze,
But none she won, tho' all she did amaze.
Silvia, she gone, succeeded without Noise,
Attended only by a thousand Joys
And Native Sweets, which whereso'er she goes,
The more she'd vail, the more themselves disclose.
Her Garments plain, her Beauty bright did shine;
Her Mein was Charming, and her Grace Divine;
So winning and obliging her Address,
She spoke to none she seemed not to bless.
Fulvia's proud Pomp, may some course Thoughts embroil.
Where they both meet, she is but Silvia's Foil.
Beauty's a Myst'ry, not the Fair and Tall
Expound, tho' Rich and Potent there-withall.
Ep. 69. On Cloe.
Thou'rt mean in Feature, always rich in Clothes,
Which do not mend, but thy Defects expose,
Thou say'st, when thou'rt most brave, I laugh or scoul,
A Jest, or ominous, all Men count an Owl.
Ep. 70. On Fulvia.
Thy Beauty thou dost boast, and much admire,
They burn few else, who set themselves on fire.
Ep. 71. On the same.
If, Fulvia, thou a thousand years should'st live,
This Crime in me thou never cou'd'st forgive,
That Silvia I preferr'd. How wert thou pleas'd?
How was thy Pride and boiling Choler eas'd,
When late I saw a Gallant hold each hand,
Three more bare-headed walk at thy command?
Thou didst presume the Sight my Envy stirr'd.
Just as when Flyes do buz about a T—
Ep. 72. On Posthumus.
I early waited, and some Suters more,
The op'ning first of the King's Chamber-door;
From whence came forth a Goodly Sir to see,
Bulky, and seeming of no low Degree.
He turn'd him round, as he a survey took,
But rather seem'd to over-look, than look.
Him to inform me, I did humbly pray,
If such a Lord in the King's Chamber lay.
He gloted on me, but made no reply,
And of a Comrade ask'd, who there stood by,
Shall we to Breakfast have the thing you know?
And strait into the Chamber back did go.
I blam'd my self, that I the Rule had broke
Of Distance, to so great a Personage spoke.
When, to my wonder, he return'd again,
Took up a Broom, without the least disdain,
Dogs-Turds and Bones into a Shovel swept,
But still his former State and Grandure kept.
Ep. 73. On Thais.
In vain thou me, like others, would'st bewitch:
A Flower thou art, but grow'st in ev'ry Ditch.
Ep. 74. On Galla.
Galla wears rich Clothes, bears her self with Pride,
Strange Arts! yet us'd great Poverty to hide.
But while she wou'd a Lover thus betray,
With too much cost and noise her Lime-twigs lay,
She does not catch, but frights away the Prey.
Ep. 75. On my Censurer.
My Epigrammick Vein thou dost despise,
And by thy Scorn, expect'st to make me wise;
Where it would bear it, if thou didst approve,
Then some Example give, that were above
My mean Essays; thou'd'st profit by such treat,
Praise and Ambition make a Poet great.
Ep. 76. On Balbus.
Balbus, who boldly in his Life had taught,
The Soul no real Substance was, nor ought
But the Result of Matter organiz'd,
Dissolv'd with it; their Theorem despis'd,
(As Nonsence in more specious Terms disguis'd)
Who it a Being did Immortal make,
Found after Death, too late, his sad mistake;
When real Fiends his living Soul did hale
To Hell, and all his Sophistry did fail;
When he beheld the Ghost without the Glass,
He first confess'd, h'ad reason'd like an Ass.
Surly yet still, and froward 'mong the dead,
To's once deny'd Tormentors thus he said.
Forbare accursed and ungrateful Crew,
Who, like to me, both of your Prince and you
Has so deserv'd? Who e'er did so refel
What Men believ'd of God, of Heaven, and Hell?
And while I redicul'd a Sinners Fate,
I vastly have enlarg'd th' Infernal State.
'Tis true, some Ancients did before me write,
But weakly 'twas, and in an Age of Night,
Not when Truth triumph'd in Meridian height.
The Fiends did here with feign'd Obeysance bow,
And all he spoke with Rev'rent Mien allow,
Told him, to their Dread Lord's Emperial Throne
Their Orders were to bring him; where alone
Grandees o'th' Realm allowed were their Grace,
To share his Honours, and to see his Face;
And doubted not, their King to him would doom
A Crown of Flames, even 'bove some Popes of Rome.
Ep. 77. On a Debauchee.
Probus, thou'rt dull and lumpish, thou dost say:
Take a brisk Cup, if me thou wilt obey,
And a warm—in thy cold Bosom lay.
And canst thou too secure this double fear?
Hell ward of, next Life, and Infamy here?
Ep. 78. To Laurentius.
Wou'd'st thou be Happy? Innocence embrace;
To Death, than Sin, chuse rather to give place;
God's ever there, where Gooness does abound,
And Heaven, be sure, where ever God is found.
Ep. 79. On Sextus.
Thou say'st, thou hast of Vice the deepest Sense,
But this a Blind is only, and Pretence;
Thou'd'st have it thought, when Partridge thou dost eat,
Thou purchas'd them as cheap as common Meat;
When thou art Drunk, what of the Case to think
Thou dost not know, thou didst but so much drink.
Thus Vice thou hate'st, but with it dost dispence,
And thy whole Life's Apology, and Offence.
Knaves sell false Wares, Mountebanks use Deceit,
But none, like Thee, Himself did ever cheat.
Ep. 80. On a Court-Parasite.
Some Skill it asks to Hammer out this Tool,
His Wit is mean, but far he's from a Fool:
A Fashionable Knave does speak him best,
To which he'll answer put upon the Test.
Vertue, Religion, Honesty, he Scorns,
Holds nought, like Impudence, a Man adorns;
The Modest slights, tho' Noble of Degree,
And thinks himself their better far to be;
Dares such with his Buffoonery to treat,
Even all, by whom he fears not to be beat:
Lewdness he lives by, Vice is his Support,
To make what's Sacred and Divine his Sport;
None at the Board's so loud, so much commands,
On all that's Rare, so boldly lays his Hands.
He'll call an Earl an Ass, and yet he can,
Tho' Saucy here, flatter the Serving-man;
Whose Anger, than his Lords, he more does shun,
Finding his Favour harder to be won;
For these do oft affront intruding Guests,
Like not their taking on them, nor their Jests.
The Gen'rous Scorn ought 'gainst him to attempt,
As Vertue others guard, so him Contempt.
But when such lewd Diseases of the Court,
The Makers, and the Subjects of its Sport,
Grow Old, and Sick, on their last Beds do lye,
Like Dogs o'th' Game worn out, neglected dye.
Ep. 81. On a decay'd Beau.
Decrepid I am grown, and more my Purse,
I seek not now a Mistress, but a Nurse.
Solicitous I was rare Stuffs to choose,
And richest Points; I'm now to mend my Shooes.
Ep. 82. On Dissolutus.
When thy close Follies, and thy Vice take wind,
And many Tongues drawn on thee thou dost find,
Thou rav'st and rail'st without all Aim or Wit,
And think'st, by calling Rogue and Dog, dost fit
Thy just Reprovers, tho' these Stones none hit.
How e'er this way thou tak'st to ease thy Smart,
And thus reveng'd, thou cheerest up thy Heart.
Alas, 'tis Truth, not Words, the Guilty wring,
Ungrounded Slanders, bear with them no Sting.
Ep. 83. None do their Duty.
Who all he ought performs, where is the Man?
Most Think 't too much, to do the Good they can.
Ep. 84. To Festus.
To thee an Epigram a Satyr seems,
That is, an allow'd Libel thou it deems,
Follies, thou say'st, they ever set in view,
Which in particular Persons are found true.
He that shall feign a Vice was never known,
Indeed, by doing so, will injure none;
But then this Error he does not descry,
As he no Libel writes, he writes a Lye.
That which in Nature to no Eye appears;
And merits to be crown'd with Asses Ears.
He sees not too, while his o'er-cautious Mind
Is none to gall, he slanders all Mankind.
While in true Colours who does Vice expose,
But to Contempt does no Man's Name disclose,
(In that all Vice in many does agree)
Tho' some are stung, all from Disgrace does free.
The Crime, 'tis true, is set in broadest Light,
But still the Man's unknown, and out of sight.
And who shall say, such Verses him express?
While no way charg'd, he does his Guilt confess.
Ep. 85. To the same.
I not deny an Epigram to be
A Satyr; but a Satyr unto thee
And Libel are the same; to tax a Crime.
And Vertue to defame in lewdest Rhime
All one; a Vice to scourge and to disgrace,
And Honours noblest Monuments deface;
As Satyr Vice exposes unto scorn,
So it no less all Vertue does adorn:
And as best Ages Libellers defame;
Among their Priests their Satyrists they name.
Ep. 86. On my Debauch'd Reader.
Reading my Epigrams, thou say'st, they lack,
To make them currant pass, a certain Knack:
And Writers should, like Treaters, make't their Care,
To fit all Pallats with all kind of Fare.
The Knack thou pointest at, strip'd from thy Cant,
In plainer terms is Baud'ry thou dost want;
And want thou shalt: I'll set forth no such Feast
To please my Guests, which makes my self a Beast.
The Lewder Heathen made a Treatment poor,
I'th' end not crowned with a naked Whore.
For what thou seek'st, into some Ancients look,
Or rather in a Brothel, than a Book.
Ep. 87. To Sextus.
To eat what's wholsom is my chiefest Care,
What pleases most the Pallate, is thy Fare.
Alas, I beg thy Pardon for my Treat,
Which did thy self, thy Gout, and Stone defeat.
Ep. 88. On Mens Folly.
How short is Time unto Eternity?
How short of Time's the Term Men live and die?
How short a part of this do they enjoy
Those things, for which th' Eternal Bliss destroy?
Open your Eyes, 'tis all you have to do,
In being Wise, you shall be Righteous too.
Ep. 89. A Reflection on my self.
Thrice Happy they, who can their Words dispose
With Musick all the way, and in the Close:
With grateing Harshness I my Thoughts express,
And in a Cynick's rugged Mantle Dress,
No Beau, but a Diogenes, in Verse.
Ep. 90. To Rufus.
T' excuse thy Silence, thou dost oft delight.
Tho' nought to say. The Fault were then to write.
Ep. 91. On the Great.
Those to whose Greatness all in gen'ral bow,
A Peer in Wisdom rarely will allow;
But 'cause 'tis dang'rous with them to dispute,
And Men give way, they think they all confute;
And their own Sense applaud, others despise,
When they o'er-wean, suppose that they are wise.
Ep. 92. On Miss Nell.
Pretty Miss Nell, her Mother being dead,
Her Father brought to London to be bred.
A Friend, 'mong other Sights, shew'd her the Park,
Where she beheld each choice and ruffling Spark
Of either Sex, and gilded Coaches full
Of Fops, and Beaus, and many a Gold-lace'd Trull.
The gaudy Pageantry she did much admire,
And their loose Courtship set her Heart on fire
To bear a Part, tho' hopeless her desire.
Returning home, her State she 'gan compare
With what sh'ad seen, and ready to despair,
An unknown Hand Relief to her did bring.
I saw you, Sweet, said one, in Hide-Park-Ring,
In a vile Hackny, with a Bag of Hay,
And Figures at its Tail: If me y' obey,
There's not a gaz'd-at Piece in all the Town,
Shall equal you in Glory and Renown.
She had no strength 'gainst such a powerful Spell,
But closed straight, and bid no one farewel.
E'er many days did pass, the Country-Girl
Was richly Coach'd, set by a bare-head Earl.
Her flaunting Gallantry you might see a-far,
Whore now her self, a Wonder, and a Star.
Ep. 93. On Silvia.
When lately I thy charming words did hear,
I vainly sought to make them so appear,
Repeating them: But I did quickly see
They charming were, 'cause they were spoke by thee.
Ep. 94. On Amarillis.
Loose Amarillis, conscious of her Vice,
Brands all her Sex, even the most Chast and Nice.
If you say, Fulvia bears a modest Brow;
No Modesty in her she will allow:
That Marcellina's of unblemish'd Fame;
She knows with whom she lost her vertuous Name:
That Dian's self, than Silvia's not more pure;
We err, she says, then most, when most secure:
If you shou'd reckon up a hundred more,
'Twixt Woman she no diff'rence makes, and Whore.
In Vertue 'cause with none she's equal found,
With Guilt all Womens Honour she'd confound,
To make them stand with her on level Ground.
Ep. 95. On a vain Talker.
Th' Occurrences o'th' Town, and of the Court,
There's few than thee, seem abler to report.
But when thou find'st thy Hearers thee admire,
Ambitious still to screw thy Credit higher,
Thou tell'st what wise Advice thou gav'st the King,
How all his Council to thy Sense didst bring.
For a shrewd Fellow thou before didst pass,
Thou art the first Wisdom e'er made an Ass.
Ep. 96. Men Praise the Young.
Men frankly Praise upon the Young bestow,
Envy, when they're improv'd, and Elder grow.
Ep. 97. On Miss Nell.
How is't, Miss Nelly? you seem wond'rous Sad.
The Wonder is, said she, I am not Mad.
I am undone, and by a paultry Jade,
My Lord has cast me off, and ta'en my Maid.
Think not your Case o'er-strange, your Shoulders shrug,
Beauty enjoy'd, is after but a Drug.
Ep. 98. Miss Nell reveng'd.
Miss Nell, altho' Forlorn and Discontent,
Home to return, her Heart would not consent:
But after some Debate, and inward Strife,
What Course to take, 'fore all an Actors Life
Most took. In her gay days some Plays sh'ad seen,
And the Thought pleas'd, but even to act a Queen.
Her Youth was fresh, her Fault did not impair
Her Beauty, lovely she was still and Fair;
Nor readier this way she her self t' engage,
Than they concern'd t' admit her on the Stage.
Where while she stood a Mute, boldness t' acquire,
Th' Aud'ence, 'bove all that spoke, did her admire.
And when set off w' th' Magick of a Part,
All Eyes she dazel'd, ravish'd every Heart.
The House, new Plays and Scenes, some time might spare.
'Twas Call enough, if Nell appeared there:
Nor fear'd she now again to b' out of date,
Her a new Creature each day did create;
A Nymph, a Goddess, Heroine, or Queen,
All which she suited with a charming Mein.
And none was found this Idol to adore,
Like her false Lord, that slighted her before.
He wooes, he offers Land, for Love now dies;
And her Turn 'twas, th' Inconstant to despise.
Ep. 99. To Albinus.
A Love sincere, unfeign'd, thou dost affect,
Thou'st Reason: But a false, if fair, accept,
Thou'lt find no better. If thou hast to give,
With those, hope from thee, in respect thou'lt live;
And warm Affection, when thou dost bestow,
They will express, but cold they strait will grow.
Trust unto what thou hast, there's no such Friend,
Men love themselves, when others they pretend.
Ep. 100. On Cloris.
Art thou the she, whose Youth so bright did shine,
Thou seem'dst no Mortal, but a thing Divine?
No Garden smell'd so sweet, had ought so fair,
As with thy blooming Graces to compare;
The blushing Rose, thy Cheeks did far surpass,
But now o'er-spread with Blossoms of the Glass;
Thou belchest oft, look'st Sottish, oft dost Spit,
Like those o'er-charged in a Drunken Fit:
Thy Eyes, that flash'd like Stars, with Humour run,
Thy lovely Shape's transform'd into a Tun.
Thou wert a Field of rich Arabian Spice,
A Dunghill now, as once a Paradise.
For murdering Beauty, I do thee arraign,
Of a fair Mind for being too the Bane.
What, Wretch, for thy Defence, can'st thou alledge,
Thus Guilty found, of double Sacrilege?
Ep. 101. On Oxford Friends.
Beside, that all I am, to you I owe,
Friends so sincere, I no where else did know.
If it be ask'd, wherein ye did excel?
A Volume, not an Epigram, must tell.
A Princes Pow'r may to his Will be scant,
And so might yours, but Love you ne'er did want.
Ep. 102. On an Unhandsome Woman.
All thy Defects, thy Wisdom does supply,
Which captivates the Soul, tho' not the Eye.
I am converted, Beauty may be in
A crooked Body, and a tawny Skin.
Ep. 103. On a Noble Person.
Rais'd for thy Worth unto a high Degree,
Thy chief Ambition is, to let Men see
Thy Princes Grace; thy Honour so to bear,
As if to earn it, not t' enjoy 't thou were.
T' excite continually thy Noble Blood,
T' advance thy Donors Glory, Countries Good.
While those whose Vice has rais'd them to high Place,
Think a Proud Port, Greatness enough does Grace.
Ep. 104. On Bassus.
Who the Philosopher does so affect,
Comport so truly with in sage Aspect
As Bassus does? So sharply who declames
'Gainst Vice, the trifling'st Over-sights so blames?
And then the frailer Sex are most his Care,
In Vertues Paths to guide the Young and Fair.
These he instructs, chides, of't in fervent Zeal,
Upon their Necks a Spiritual Kiss will Seal.
But this is far from any Wanton Feat,
But done in Transport of a Holy Heat,
When his Reproofs and Counsels are most warm,
And far surmount the Pow'r of Beauties Charm.
If any start, or a dislike do show,
What he has done, he least himself does know;
Amaz'dly asks, with an astonish'd Mein,
Not discompos'd, while they to Blush are seen.
Than what he seems, nor should I judge him other,
As Nell he kiss'd, if he had kiss'd her Mother.
Ep. 105. On the Envious.
Thou lik'st what's Mean; if Good, no Grace dost show,
Thy Praise, and Dispraise, both from Envy flow.
Ep. 106. On Rodia.
If ought to Rodia thou dost give in Charge,
And leave the thing to her to do at large,
No thought about it she at all will take:
But act like one, that is but half awake.
Knowing of this, if you to her shall say,
I'd have it done precisely such a way:
Then she begins to think, each Stone to turn,
Another way to do't, and yours to shun.
If this displeases, she her Case bewails,
Thinks you to blame, and that she never fails.
There's no so awkward and vexatious Tool,
As an unthinking, or a thinking Fool.
Ep. 107. To a Noble Wife.
Thou late a noble Maid, now nobler Wife,
T' excel thy Virgin State's thy worthy Strife:
Not only to transcend in Houshold Care,
In ord'ring of thy Servants and thy Fare,
Which Duties are, but of a low concern,
As thy great Genius is not now to learn.
Thy Gen'rous Lord can none his equal find,
In Body so accomplish'd as in Mind;
And as Heroick Vertues in him shine,
Thou art no less t' appear a Heroine;
To Mate his Glories, with his Brav'ry vie,
To shew thou movest in an Orb as high;
And tho' his State, in all does Princely show,
Its brightest Lustre, yet to thee does owe.
A Wonder seen; but Silence by thee broke,
To make it thought Vertue and Prudence spoke.
When thou obliging Grace dost all afford,
To shew 'twas yet address'd unto thy Lord.
Happy in 's various Bliss, and largely spread,
But above all i' th' Honour of his Bed.
Ep. 108. On Regulus.
Thou'rt Great, but beneficial unto none;
A meer Title, but to thy self alone:
Resemblest Rocks, which Tow'r unto the Sky,
As barren of all Fruit, as they are high:
Even those thou favour'st, and do best deserve,
No happier are, than those thy Picture have.
Ep. 109. The Grove.
Rack'd with sharp Pains, and quite cast down with Grief,
Into a Grove I walk'd, to seek Relief.
In a close shade a wanton Couple lay,
I fled the fight, as they did fly the day;
And turn'd my steps into a pleasant Glade,
Where the fresh Spring in gorgous Robes array'd,
The Air, the Flow'rs, and charming Sylvan Choir,
To make a Paradise did all conspire.
Among the Boughs a wond'rous Bird did sing.
Brief Joys eternity of Woe do bring;
Which answer'd was by one of the like kind,
Suff'rings, tho' short, eternal Bliss do find.
E'er my distracted Thoughts collect I cou'd,
A third Voice said, proceeding from the Wood,
Both Songs are true, if rightly understood.
Musing on what these Voices did relate,
I found they Humane Joys and Griefs did state,
Declar'd their present Lot, and future Fate.
And tho' my Pains still urg'd me as before,
Home I return'd, and them more eas'ly bore,
And than the Wantons Bliss esteem'd them more.
Ep. 110. On a Gentleman-Apprentice.
A Trade, where Fortune's streight is no disgrace;
A Worthless Beggar-Gentleman is base.
When late I saw thee in thy Trades Attire,
Thy Axe, thy Apron, Mien, I did admire,
They all to set thee up, did so conspire.
Methought thy Father did not thee beget,
But hew'd thee out, for what thou art so fit.
Ep. 111. To the Vertuous.
'Tis said of Caesar, that he set at nought,
The most Heroick Actions he had wrought;
And still at Greater aim'd; at the same rate
Men Others do, Himself did emulate.
In Vertues Race the like Ambition shew,
Think nothing's done, while more thou hast to do.
Those that stand still, this detriment have found,
They ever lose, when they advance no Ground;
Caesar ne'er stop'd, till he attain'd a Crown,
And thou, on this side Heaven, wilt sit inglorious down.
Ep. 112. On a Solemn Blockhead.
Thy Silence thou for Wisdom would'st have pass,
With me, it shall the Braying of an Ass;
Who loves, the Truth, tho' naked, to display?
Thou hold'st thy Tongue, when thou hast nought to say:
But gravely fit'st, hast thy approving Faces,
And disapproving, suited to both Cases;
Smil'st and contract'st thy Brow, mov'st oft thy Hand,
And all the while, dost nothing understand.
Ep. 113. On C. O. being very Ingenious, and dying Young.
Under this Leaf of Marble I do lie,
Early I liv'd, as early I did die;
As soon as I cou'd read, I sought to know,
Not Childish Tales, but how the World did go;
How with the King the Houses did comply,
What Interest France unto the Port did tie.
The School was my delight, the dread of Boys,
But Sickness twice did snatch me from those Joys;
My Spirit broke, and kept me ever low,
Where I shou'd soar, 'twas well if I cou'd go.
A pow'rful Preacher I did more admire,
In Gifts as Place, than's Hearer's mounted higher
Than all the Stages Gauds, and glitt'ring Attire.
In my ninth Year I felt the Flame of Love,
All what that Passion had Divine, did prove;
In an Abyss of Beauty I was lost,
A brighter Form or Soul none e'er did boast,
And none cou'd say, which spoke the Angel most.
Much I experienc'd in my Life's short span,
Some, threescore Years shew not so much of Man,
My days were few, yet I out-liv'd my Date,
Great Care and Love did so contest with Fate.
Ep. 114. On a Hector.
When thou the Peaceful meet'st, thou'rt ever brave,
But when a Huffer like thy self, his Slave.
Be not deceiv'd, that many thee forbear,
For Conscience do't, not out of any Fear.
The Town some time thou troublest, till at last
A Cane or Cudgel all thy Glories blast;
A Hector is a Coward yet un-cas'd.
Ep. 115. On various Readers.
Some, all they read, despise; some over-rate;
Just Praise I love, but Scorn and Flatt'ry hate.
Ep. 116. On Mrs. Steward Howard.
Who Amber chafes, does nought but Odor find,
Because the Mass is all of one rich kind:
So who bright (H.) shall prove, will nought but Grace
And Vertue find, what suits a Cherubs Face.
And as the Angels, when on Message sent,
Did Heaven bear with them, wheresoe'er they went:
She such an Air of Excellence does show,
A Court feems with her, nay a Heaven to go.
And when her Beauties near her any draw,
Whom they attract, they also keep in awe;
And all they act or speak is mix'd with Fear,
Wrapt, e'er aware, in so Divine a Sphere.
Ep. 117. On Clodius.
Noble of Birth, in thy Possessions high,
Courage and Learning none can thee deny;
For greatest Actions Nature did thee fit,
Graceful in Person, piercing in thy Wit:
And yet 'tis said, where thou art understood,
These Parts restrain no Vice, nor do no Good.
Ep. 118. On the same.
When such thy Pow'rs, so ill-dispos'd appear,
There seems great cause, the Publick Peace to fear.
But those who none oblige, are lov'd by none,
And Wickedness is weak, when't stands alone.
Caesar us'd Winning and Heroick Arts;
'Fore Rome he won, he reigned in Mens Hearts.
'Tis Good and Bad, the dang'rous Man compounds,
Bare Vice, the Person, not a State confounds.
Ep. 119. On our Church-Writers.
Great Lights o'th' Church, Glory o'th' latter Age!
Who Popish Falshood, and Schismatick Rage,
So strongly stemm, Hooker, Hammond, Ʋsher,
Morton, Andrews, Chillingworth and Taylor,
Jackson, Patrick, Stillingfleet, Cudworth, More,
You few I name out of the mighty store,
Not aiming a just Cat'logue to recite,
But a short curtail Epigram to write:
And that your Names in Rhime I not rehearse,
Too Grave they are to gingle in a Verse.
Nor hope I vainly here t' augment your Fame,
But raise mine own, while you I barely name.
Ep. 120. On Chillingworth.
Stout Champion of the Truth, Rome's Scourge and Dread,
Who with such Profit, and such Pleasure's read?
None e'er, like thee, her Falshoods did detect,
Her Frauds and Sophisms so clear dissect,
Dismounted from her Beast the Gorgeous Whore,
And shew'd her wallowing in her Filth and Gore.
Nor didst thou fear her Bravo's mighty Fame,
Hosius, or Bellarmine's, gigantick Name;
But shew'dst vile Interest their Writings season,
And that their Purple dazles, not their Reason.
And all the way thy Pen does overthrow
The Idol Church, thou dost divinely show
The rescu'd Gospel, shining heav'nly bright,
None ever set it in a fairer Light.
How sordid do the various Sects appear,
Bapists, Scepticks, Atheists, this Truth when near!
Those who enthron'd themselves for Power or Wit,
Seem Dunghills to imbrace, or on them sit.
Ep. 121. On Dr. H. Hammond.
Thou great Apostle of our later days,
What Pen, what Tongue, what Pow'r, can speak thy Praise?
So Learn'd, so Holy, so instructing Kind,
All who approach'd thee, did Improvement find.
The height of Wit, in all thou spok'st was found,
Yet thy whole Converse Piety did bound.
Goodly in Person, and in outward Grace,
The day seem'd brighter, when thou wert in place.
Thy Heart so full was fraught, with Thoughts Divine,
They ray'd forth to thy Face, and made it shine
Like Moses Horns! Thy Works themselves must speak,
I knew thy Person, but I am too weak
Thy Worth unto Posterity to show;
What for this Sketzo's due, to me they owe.
Ep. 122. On Dr. E. Stillingfleet Bishop of Worcester.
How great, how mighty, Stillingfleet 's thy Force!
How like a Giant dost thou run thy Course!
The ablest Foes, who to oppose thee dare,
Thou dost not only conquer but o'er-bare.
The Romanists contend it cannot be,
Without the grossest Inconsistency,
T' impeach believers of Idolatry.
But them Idolaters thou firmly term'st,
Demonstrating no less, what thou affirm'st,
That Rome does practice Jeroboam's Wile,
Beth-el and Sion, seek to reconcile.
Thy Learned Pen does also plainly show,
Fanaticism unto Rome we owe:
This Pest into the World at first did come,
Like other Monsters, from her Fertile Womb.
And daily is improved by her Arts,
Her choicest Agents acting in 't their Parts.
This Scandal on our Church thou dost display,
Her Spurious Off-spring at her own Doors lay.
As to advance her Pow'r, she does refuse
No Tyranny, or impious Means, to use;
Kings to assassine, and the World confound;
So she Religion poisons, where 'tis sound.
Ep. 223. On Dr. Patrick Bishop of Ely.
Most Learned, Pious, and most Rev'rend Head!
They safely walk, are by thy Guidance lead.
Slight Schemes of Art thou leav'st, when thou dost preach,
To those that flourish, rather than they teach;
And from thy Lips profoundest Truths dost pour,
Like to St. Paul, in a Coverting Showre,
Attested by the Spirit and its Power.
Not that to Miracles thou dost pretend,
But Doctrines which past Miracles defend.
Ep. 124. On the Froward.
Thou'rt still Uneasie, Chiding, ever vext,
Believ'st, for this, thou hast a just Pretext.
Thou say'st, Thy Servants nought to do thy Mind;
Seek'st Peace without, which thou within should'st find.
Ep. 125. On the same.
Thy Servants thou immod'rately dost rate
For small Defaults; for coming home too late
Thy Son: Nor does an Hour i'th' day occur,
In which some Cross does not thy Choler stir.
Dost thou believe, none from their Duty stray,
But those alone, who ought thee to obey?
Or dost expect, that so the Case shou'd be;
That Men should move, as of one piece with thee?
Or were it so, Did thine own Foot or Hand
Ne'er err, in what thy Will did them command?
Didst never Business of Import forget,
Or what concern'd thee highly, e'er omit?
Blame not thy Servants then, but cure thy Fits;
They act like Men, thou only want'st thy Wits.
Ep. 126. To Atheists.
Why do you God and 's Attributes deny?
His Providence and Precepts so decry?
To make you Happy, what can you disclose,
Equal to that his gracious Laws propose?
The World, they tell you, he to you has given,
Only he bids you not prefer 't to Heaven;
Its Pleasures he allows you to enjoy,
With this Restraint, Do not your selves destroy:
He 'as made you Lords of all that Nature craves,
But would not have you Slaves, unto your Slaves.
Ep. 127. To the Poets of the Time.
No Age 'fore this so many Poets bred,
Nor Wit was known to have so large a Spread;
Times past, who writ, rarely did miss of Fame,
Good Verse now's read, and not th' Author's Name;
What Works were then admir'd, and brightly shon,
Are now new writ, eclips'd, and far out-done;
The Classicks we not only English'd see,
But whom themselves Virgils and Ovids be;
Nor Pindars, nor Lucilius's are scant,
Plautus and Sophocles yet less we want,
The Stage was never in so high a Flaunt.
But what's defective, and withall more strange,
In this so large and bold Poetick Range,
Not one attempts the Epigrammick strain,
Has try'd his Force in Martial's sprightly Vein.
Malice nor Slander dares this thing avow,
None do his Wit conceive, or it allow.
How comes it then, that he neglected stands,
Or what's all one, left to Unskilful Hands?
Is't Johnson does in Epigram excel?
Be it so: Yet where he has writ as well,
With good Success some bravely have essay'd,
And noble Voyages have also made.
It Satyr were, if I the Cause shou'd say,
'Tis not in Mode, France has not led the way.
Let France teach Fops to Dance, and Girls to Dress,
Preside our Shooe-tyes, not controul our Press.
Ep. 128. On the Pope.
The Jews Messiah knew not when he came,
'Cause false Idea's they of him did frame:
And Antichrist i' th' Pope Men do not find,
'Cause they conceit another in their Mind.
And while they fancy he is yet to come,
Discern him not, tho' long inthron'd in Rome.
Ep. 129. A Simple Papist, and a Missioner.
Sim. Pap.] They wind and turn you all, to and again,
With greatest Ease, these Church of England Men.
Why tempt you them? Mis.] They know (it is too true)
They have the Right: But how dost come that you,
A Roman Catholick, this thing do see?
It speaks you half a Heretick to be.
And does your Wisdom think, we 're overborne,
Tho' nought we win, if we do keep our own?
If to our Party, strong our Proofs appear,
What Hereticks conceive, we little care.
The Reason's good, were't so we had no other,
Volumes to write, only the Truth to smother:
For while our Pages are with Fathers fraught,
Counsels, tho' feign'd, with Ostentation brought;
And these the Learn'd despise, they yet amuse,
Th' Ignorant, the Pretending side who chuse.
'Tis Sloth alone a Missioner defames,
Juggling and Lyes, his Holiness ne'er blames.
Ep. 130. To Admiral Killigrew.
The Standard bear aloft, and boldly show,
Th'Oceans Glory, Terror of the Foe;
With outward Pride and Dread to all appear,
And where thou ought'st, be a true cause of Fear,
But kind and gentle unto all draw near.
Firmly thy just Authority maintain,
But Insolent Command as much disdain.
When thou assault'st, let th' Adversary find,
Storm, Thunder, Lightning, in the Ship combin'd.
Should an unequal Force chance to distress,
There let thy Courage rise, but not grow less;
Buoy up what's weak, bravely make good the Spot,
Valour has often turn'd in Fight the Lot.
Thy God's, thy King's, thy Country's Interest bear
In mind, with them let thine own Honour share,
And what with these can poise, or yet compare?
Alone then fear, when not, wou'd Rashness show,
When Danger's high, th' Advantage mean and low.
Malice and Envy with Scorn only treat,
Like little Billows 'gainst thy Ship that beat.
Shall I now say, I'ave taught thee here thy Part?
No: I have spoke, but what in truth thou art.
Ep. 131. To the Muses.
Not unto you, nor yet unto my Brain,
I owe these Shreds of Verse, but unto Pain:
Nor have I cause to grieve, if none they please,
Since Laudanum and Rhime oft gave me Ease.
Ep. 132. To Linus.
Why ragest thou, when counsell'd for thy good?
Have I traduc'd thee, or mis-understood?
Expos'd to Shame, or what's more hardly bore,
Not sought thy Cure, but thee insulted o'er?
If none of these, why without Care of Right,
Dost thou recriminate, to shew thy Spight?
Make me in thine, and yet worse Follies share?
Triumph when done, as all with thee were fair?
Can'st thou believe, (thy Spleen didst justly vent,)
Another's Guilt can make thee Innocent?
Ep. 133. To the same.
Confute an Error in an honest Mind,
Honour and Love you in return will find.
But where Truth 's hated, Error rooted in,
They hate those bring a Light upon their Sin.
Ep. 134. On a Fair Maid.
Thy Friends, according to the common Guise,
Plac'd Bliss in Riches, being worldly Wise,
Design'd thee on a Banker to bestow,
Who did no other Saint but Mammon know.
Being exposed at a splendid Treat,
He thee beheld, but minded more the Meat:
Like a bright Star thou at the Board didst shine,
But Earth 's not influenc'd with what 's Divine.
A Nephew, as his Shadow, with him came,
Rich, travell'd, young, and of no vulgar Fame;
The Steam o'th' Feast did not the Gallant blind,
Darken the Eyes of's Body or his Mind:
But Perseus like, he set himself to free
The Fair—Condemn'd, from her Captivity,
And such prevailing Courtship did display,
From th'Orke he bore the Lovely Maid away.
Ep. 135. On Goodness.
Goodness o'th' Good does work, rarely o'th' Evil,
An Angel first in Heaven became a Devil.
Ep. 136. On Philodoxus.
Thou covet'st Glory, and a noble Name!
The Arts of War and Peace procure Men Fame,
Learning, great Deeds, constant Integrity,
To be in Truth, what thou pretend'st to be:
Vertue, not Praise, i'th' first place to affect,
Glory comes soonest, when thou it neglect'st.
Thou say'st, the Task is hard, Wou'd'st thou attain
What's Excellent, without thy Sweat and Pain?
Ep. 137. On the Pope.
By Usurpation thou hast reach'd a Throne,
The which no Age o'th' Gospel e'er did own;
Sole Monarch of the Church, and Spiritual Prince,
Impow'r'd alone to teach, and to convince
Infallibly; Christ's Vicar, at whose Nod
Even Truth does vail, The Pope, our Lord and God.
Who with th' Almighty only can pull down,
Again set up; bestow, transplant, a Crown!
Of thy vast Pow'r to give the full Account,
To the great Antichrists it does amount.
Ep. 138. On Bellarmine.
Had Bellarmine the former Verses read,
What wou'd the Scarlet Parasite have said?
Tho' Rage I feign'd, to utter what was true,
My meaning was, To give the Pope his Due.
His Chymick Wit, from Satyr and abuse,
Praise can extract, by a long practic'd use.
Ep. 139. On the Saints of the Church of Rome. In Dogg'rel.
O Roman Saints! St. Christopher, Longinus,
Unto whose Worship none can e'er incline us.
One a long Spear, the other a feign'd Giant:
To bloody Dominick we're less compliant,
Bedlam Ignatius, and Fanatick Francis,
Whose Lives resembled Corybantick Dances:
She-Saints we leave to Frolick o'er a Posset,
We at their Shrines, will neither kneel or Cross-it.
Ep. 140. The General Lover.
I all do love are Excellent and Fair,
My Mistresses, not knowing it, such are;
The Witty, Shapely, Gallant, Brown and Bright,
Their various Graces variously delight;
When they are best set forth for Publick view,
And most ambitiously their Glories shew;
'Tis me they court, tho' nought they less design,
Nor use I any means to make them mine.
If any Scorn, and to shew Pride affect,
I pay them, unconcern'd, the same Respect.
Where Beauty Reigns, I there no Fault do find,
They're all alike to me Kind or Unkind.
But thou who unto One thy Heart dost tye,
Even those excel, disgust thy partial Eye;
And if this One be moody or disdain,
Thy Peace is lost, and wretched thou art slain.
But then thou say'st, while all I thus approve,
Not one does me reciprocally love,
Which thou esteem'st the Quintessence of Joy,
But I a fond and despicable Toy.
Beauty, at distance, Divine Rays does shed,
But none e'er met a Goddess in his Bed;
Tho' Eyes, we Stars do call, when they are bright,
A vulgar Error 'tis, they shine by night.
Ep. 141. To Sillius.
Sillius, of late, it was my chance to meet,
Who with surprizing Kindness did me greet,
He hugg'd me, kiss'd me, ev'n for Joy did weep.
My best of Friends, said he, you'll also sleep
Your Eyes in Tears, when I shall let you know,
What I in Persia late did undergo.
Oh, the vast Deserts! Oh, the dang'rous Sand!
The Hardships I sustain'd by Sea and Land!—
In short, his Carr'age had such tender Charms,
As forc'd me sympathize in all his Harms.
But when within my Mind I did revolve
Our kind Encounter, pos'd how to resolve,
When our huge Amity at first began,
All I cou'd say, was, I had seen the Man;
And wonder'd much at such his Magick Pow'r,
Cou'd perfect Friendship less than in an Hour.
While thus the Novelty did me confound,
He did the Mystery himself expound.
Thou needs, says he, must lend me Twenty Pound.
Ep. 142. On the World.
Thy Glory, Riches, Beauty, strongly Charm,
One grain of Faith can yet their Powers disarm.
Ep. 143. On Sextus.
Whatever Sea or Land do rare afford,
In Season's serv'd at thy volupt'ous Board;
Thy Cook with no less Art does these prepare,
And for thy self is all this costly Fare:
Yet thou a Glutton's Name in ill part tak'st,
And tell'st what sober Meals thou often mak'st.
Were't thou not sick? or else dislik'd thy Meat?
And think'st thou'rt temperate, when thou can'st not eat.
Ep. 144. To the Generous.
The Jew all Interest was forbid to take,
Advantage, from his Brother's Want, to make.
Their wise Men, from this Law, did thus decree,
Thy Brother Jew shall not Obsequious be,
For any Loan pay servile Usury,
Crouch, or demean himself more abject low,
Pay a Respect, before he did not owe.
Ep. 145. On Bibulus.
Bibulus, mean of Birth, but high in Place,
Scarce to the Noblest will vouchsafe the Grace
To re-salute, or answer, when they speak,
But from their Court regardlesly does break:
While with Caresses some make humble Suit,
All Complement, but unto all he's mute.
Uneasie shews, even at a kind Address,
As Courtesie it self did him oppress.
As I did muse, who was the Happy He,
Cou'd to 's fastidious Humour grateful be;
Into the Room there came an uncouth Wight,
By Instinct known, I think, e'er come in sight:
For Bibulus, e'er you cou'd say, What's this?
Found him, embrac'd him, met him with a Kiss:
Hands they did shake, and for a pretty space,
One's Ruby Nose joyn'd t'other's Purple Face.
They smil'd, that cou'd the Mystery unfold.
The Man, it seems, drunk stiff, and good Wine sold,
Lovers and Courtiers Rivals do not brook,
But Drunkards kindly on their Rivals look.
Ep. 146. On Cranmer Archbishop of Canterbury.
Great Prelate, Learned, Holy, and Sincere,
Whom ev'n a Tyrant Master did revere;
And in the highest Trust and Honour plac'd,
When Malice most oppress'd, and chiefly grac'd.
Worthy the Slander, and the Hate of Rome,
Who Damns all those her Falshood can't o'ercome.
Let her thy Predecessor Thomas Saint,
With Vain Red Letters in her Dipticks paint;
His Meritorious Name, his Socks adore,
Help from his Shooes, and Sordid Clouts implore,
The Rebel, Death deserv'd, as his just Meed,
Tho' Cursed were the Hands that did the Deed.
Rome's Usurpation Trait'rously he own'd,
Whilst thou the Gross Impostor quite unthron'd.
But thy short Laps, thy Foes with Triumph tell,
For love of Life, the Martyr Cranmer fell;
Blush not, they us'd the Charms, and Powers of Hell.
Ep. 147. To a Christian.
To weigh thy Wrongs, thou usest too much Care,
To know them's not thy Duty, but to bear.
Ep. 148. On Rufus.
Thou often boast'st, how free thou art from blame,
If none do praise thee, none can also shame.
Boast thy good Luck, that thou'rt not understood,
There must be Evil, where is found no Good.
Ep. 149. On a Lady's Musick-Book richly bound.
Whoever takes me in his Hand,
These things I give him in Command.
That he not, idly, let me fall,
Nor hold me yet for good and all;
That he defile me with no Smutch,
My Gilding was not laid for such;
That he transcribes, by stealth, no Air,
My Leaves, for any uses, tear;
[...]hat he fills not my void Spaces,
With the Draughts of filthy Faces;
No, nor insert his Mistress Name,
Or yet his own. Go seek thee Fame
On Greenwich Leads, or top of Pauls,
Where such-like Worthies make their Scroles,
There leaving carv'd their Names and Feet,
Monuments for their Glories meet.
Art and Cost made me thus fair,
To treasure, like my self, things rare;
To serve a Mistress of great Name,
Of so Divine a Voice and Frame,
That neither can the Ears or Eyes
Say in which most the Angel lies.
If then what's artless, vile, or rude,
A brutish Hand shall here obtrude,
Know, where Excellence high appears,
There hideous shew the Asses Ears.
Ep. 150. On Sobrius and Profligus.
Sob.] What makes thee so Chagrin? What is the Case?
Despair seems to me, written in thy Face.
Prof.] Is there not Cause? Clippers no Mercy find,
Nor are the Laws to High-way-Men more kind;
Soldiers by Death and Danger seek for Fame,
Drinking and Swearing make not good the Name;
Young Men their own Instructors are in Vice,
Women to Sin avow'dly, are not nice;
Stick not to ask, where they did give a Price;
Perjury, Cheating, are no more in Vogue,
A Brave Tall Fellow now is term'd a Rogue;
Preachers 'gainst Lewdness reak their constant Spight;
And Probus Epigrams does 'gainst it write:
These we and many to a Halter force—
Sob.] Why not to make you take a better Course?
Ep. 151. On those that provoke Trouble.
Big of thy self, and conscious of thy Wit,
Thou thought'st thy Days ingloriously did fleet,
While thou no Foe to combat didst provoke,
Weigh'd'st not his Danger, that first strikes the stroke.
The sleeping Wrath of many this did rouse,
Inflamed such a Quarrel to espouse.
Against the Storm thy Worth thou didst oppose,
As Shield of Proof; but they with thee did close,
And wrested it, thy goodly Harness tore
From off thy back, and then in triumph bore:
Nor thus content, they farther thee disgrac'd,
Thy Glories sully'd, ridicul'd, defac'd.
Such was the Issue of this needless Fray,
Wounds thou didst deal, and wounded went'st away.
Achilles fear'd no Might, his Flesh no Steel,
A poison'd Shaft yet found the Heroes Heel.
Didst thou forget Fancy's creative Force,
Cou'd make a Centaur of a Man and Horse?
Nay, Harpyes, Hydra's, and Chimera's, frame
Beings, in Nature, never had a Name?
That Fiction cou'd bereave thee of thy Shape,
Transform thee from a Man into an Ape?
Ep. 152. On Frances.
Frances advanc'd to Chamber-Maids degree,
Vouchsaf'd sometimes her Country Friends to see:
And more to shew her Courtly Air and Art,
As she wore Silks, she acted too the Part
Of a fine Lady. On a sultry day,
As soon as come, her Neck she did display,
Much better hid; gave one her Scarf to hold,
Her Fan and Gloves to those that were so bold
(Which all were not) to touch such precious things.
She stript up high her Arms, brandish'd her Rings,
Toss'd her Locks, flounc'd, t' express a gallant Mein,
Tho', to say truth, not over-sweet nor clean.
Talk'd loud and fulsom, wry'd her Mouth and Face;
What e'er she thought wou'd add the greater Grace.
To taste of their course Fare, they her did pray.
Which squemishly, good Breeding to betray,
She did accept: But like a Wolf did eat,
(Lac'd Shoes at home abounded more than Meat.)
When she was gone, and all began t' admire
Her stately Way, Genteelness, and Attire,
A Girl there said, Mother, what e'er you think,
I, for my part, smelt Mistress Frances stink.
Ep. 153. To Proclus.
When Thirst of Wealth so high in Men do rage,
The furious Chace of Honour so ingage,
Their Lust so over-bearing is, and great,
They grudge the very Hours they sleep and eat:
What time is here for Holy things to share,
When Lust, to Lust, will not a Moment spare?
Ep. 154. On Claudia.
Fair Claudia wants no sweet and pow'rful Charms,
Her Eyes wound deep, and cure the pleasing Harms;
None can her Graces with such truth impart,
As I that feel them in my captiv'd Heart.
Yet when Divine Aemilia does appear,
Claudia, so many aws, her self does fear;
Sighs and sheds Tears to see her Empire wain,
A greater Exc'lence o'er her lesser Reign.
While thus I spoke, the smart and angry twang,
Of Cupid's Bow-string i' th' Air loudly rang.
Traitor, said he, and can'st thou then approve,
Another's Grace 'bove hers that thou dost love?
Ep. 155. On old Lamia.
From all Converse, I wholly did retire,
A fair Idea freely to admire;
Thou found'st my Walk, and thus to me didst say,
Cheer up thy Heart, all drooping cast away,
I'll never grudge to spend with thee a day.
As those from sleep, a Spectre does awake,
There was no Limb about me did not quake.
Thy Words did fully to thy Wish take place,
All that was pleasing in my Thoughts deface.
Nor was this all the Mischief they did do,
With Love they near destroy'd the Lover too.
Thy Presence I did most ungrateful find,
But dreadful, when thou threaten'd'st to be Kind.
Ep. 156. On Scipio Africanus.
Antiochus chose rather to defie
The Roman Pow'r, than with it to comply:
His Kingdom shaken by a great defeat,
In this submissive manner he did treat.
"Not what before the War you did demand,
"We yield, but all you shall beside command.
The Noble Scipio thus did answer make,
"Rome no Advantage does from Fortune take,
"As she does scorn to stoop to adverse Fate,
"By Prosp'rous she is never more elate.
"Our Actions Justice, not Success, does guide,
"We ask the same, which you before deny'd.
Ep. 157. On a Sordid Person.
All things to thee abound, Gold is not scant,
A Gen'rous Soul is all that thou dost want;
When thou should'st Give, thou act'st the Poor Man's Part,
Draw'st not thy Purse, but open'st wide thy Heart;
Pretend'st to blame, to pitty, or advise,
When thou art Base, would'st be thought Good and Wise.
Ep. 158. On a feign'd Friend.
When ought thou need'st, thou dost it so demand,
Not as one sues, but one that does command
In Friendship's Name. Thou say'st, a Friend is known,
When in Distresses he his Friend will own.
This is a Truth, which all will thee allow:
But then at other times, I know not how,
So strange thou art, thou scarce dost know my Face,
Or with a bare Good-morrow wilt me grace;
O'er-seest me oft, industriously dost shun,
Is't Friendship only then, to serve thy turn?
Ep. 159. On a Besotted Epicure.
Men call thee Glutton, Belly-God, and Sot,
Thou still eat'st on, their words regardest not:
Thy Cook, in dressing, spoil'd a Trout and Eel,
This Cross came home, and sharp thou it didst feel:
Sighing thou said'st, To lose a Child was common.
As if 't were more, to lose a Trout or Salmon:
Then trembling grasp'd thy Knife, and raging Swore,
Thou'd'st have the Villain's Life upon this Score.
But tho' thy brutish Wrath did thus far go,
Thy Threats must be but Threats, thou well didst know.
Thy Fury therefore, which so highly boil'd,
To Moanings turn'd, and on thy self recoil'd;
Thy Voice did crack, and Tears thy Cheeks did steep,
Heart-broke thou seem'd'st, and tenderly didst weep.
The Carthage Queen, in her deserted State,
Rav'd not, like thee, 'gainst the Decrees of Fate.
One wou'd suppose, this so deplored Dish,
Some Siren were, and not a butter'd Fish.
Ep. 160. On Dionysius.
Dionysius, ambitious was to be,
Tyrant no less o'er Wit, than Sicily:
As he his Countries Laws had broke before,
The Muses he as barb'rously o'erbore.
A Poem to Philoxenes did show,
Commanding thereupon his Thoughts to know;
Who true to's Judgment, to his Safety rash,
Defac'd the whole Performance at one dash.
For which the Tyrant did in rage confine
His Judge, to dig in Fetters in the Mine.
But disciplin'd, did him again restore,
And shew'd him other Verses, as before,
Reading them now, the better to display,
Wherein their Grace and Elegancy lay.
Philoxenes, e'er half the Book was done,
On's own accord, beckon'd the Guards to come,
And back convey him to the Mine again,
To dig, than hear, holding it lesser Pain.
Ep. 161. On a Male-Content.
Whatever News is good, thou dost deny,
That thou dost wish it false, we're sure's no Lye.
Ep. 162. On Dr. Rugely, robb'd and wounded.
Great Naturalist, good Christian, and Divine,
Tho' rarely seen, in thee they all combine.
So knowing, yet so tender in thy Art,
That Patient and Physician both thou art;
And though Oracular thy Advices are,
Yet for the Sick thou oft vouchsaf'st to fear.
As robb'd and wounded, hadst thou too been slain,
How many Hundreds had receiv'd their Bain?
Thy Goodness weigh'd, and Good that thou dost do,
Death had been Sacrilege and Murder too.
Fit Vengeance for this Crime no Tongue can tell,
As it was hatch'd, it must be purg'd in Hell.
Ep. 163. To Marinus.
Thus one did rally me the other day,
Thou Preachest, when the Poet thou should'st Play:
Thee for thy Merit, if I were to Dub,
I'd say, Rise up Sir Laureat of the Tub.
The Jest I quarrell'd not, but did reply,
There are a sort of Men, who Sermons fly;
These, when betray'd by th' Title of my Book,
Will find that there, for which they least did look;
Folly and Vice, more sharply mock'd and scourg'd,
Than by Catharticks of the Pulpit purg'd.
Ep. 164. On Dionysius.
Philoxenes no Cruelties cou'd tame,
Or Scorn the Tyrant Dionysius shame:
But Verses on him he wou'd still obtrude,
Howe'er before his Censure had been rude.
The Tyrant oft, reciting, drop'd a Tear,
Philoxenes, affected to appear,
Sad, Me too, what you read, it pitties much to hear.
Ep. 165. On my Nice Reader.
Thou nauseates all I write, and dost contend,
My Subjects more, than my Course Verse offend:
I shou'd of Springs, and flowry Meadows write,
What Ladies wear; such Themes would all delight.
To get a Poets name if this would do;
I'd sooner mend, than praise, a Ladies Shooe;
Sell Boxes for their Trinkets and their Dress,
Than make a Case of Drawers of my Verse.
And tho' such trifling Subjects thee do please,
Others, dark Rocks delight, and stormy Seas:
The whole Creation, that disgusteth thee,
Hadst thou thy Will, shou'd all discarded be;
Yet he that made thy Mistress, made a Dog,
A Bear, a Toad, a Serpent, and a Hog:
And all these Exc'lent are, as well as she,
Beauties, and Wonders, in a high degree;
Which others see, tho' thou dost them despise,
Adore their Maker, and confess him wise.
Ep. 166. On Sin.
Who Sin obey, Captives and Bond-men be,
Tho' all their Chains and Slav'ry do not see;
As Libertines do think they are of all most free.
Ep. 167. On the same.
Slaves, oft to break their Chains, themselves have slain;
But Sin's a Chain, does after Death remain.
Ep. 168. On Madam Pen.
Why, Madam Pen, in such a fume and pet?
Th' Affront, said she, wou'd make even Patience fret.
'Tis bad enough to call one Trapes and Jade,
Insufferable, Old or Ancient Maid.
Ep. 169. On a little Boy.
Making a Visit late, I need not name,
There was a Child rich clad of lovely Frame!
A Lady said, when I admir'd his trim,
He's a find Scholar, pray examine him.
More to encourage, than his strength to try,
What spells [L, o, r, d] young Mas', said I?
Briskly and roundly [from] he did reply.
Ep. 170. On Rome.
We grudge not, Rome, thy Secular Renown,
Usurped Primacy, or Tripple Crown;
Right of Communion we do only claim,
While with the ancient Church our Faith's the same;
While her three Creeds and Councils we embrace,
In all things strictly do her Foot-steps trace;
The Scripture Canon, which thou call'd'st thine own
Four hundred Years, is that we now do own,
Enrag'd, thou say'st, What is all this to me?
Where is my claim'd Infallibility,
My Purgatory, Power to dispence,
With whatsoe'er the Scripture makes Offence?
My Image-Worship, Worship of the Cross,
Of Saints and Angels, be it with the loss
Of a Commandment? Let Tramontans rebel,
My Pow'r does yet extend to Heaven and Hell.
Think you, 'cause Christians, to avoid the Doom
Of Hereticks, while Enemies to Rome?
My Artifices ye have all disclos'd,
My Cheats and Novelties to th' World expos'd,
Open'd all Nations Eyes, and made them see,
How weakly my Pretences founded be.
But what's your Gain? b' th' Pains you have employ'd,
Y' have that confirm'd, ye hop'd to have destroy'd.
What by a Cripple Faith thou had'st before,
We hold by Int'rest now, a Nobler Score:
All Kings and States are at this day thy Friends,
Not as, Times past, deceiv'd, but for their Ends.
Peter, his Keys, consigned in a Mist,
And lost they'd been, and perhaps never miss'd,
Had we not found and seiz'd them; for a while,
An ignorant World these served to beguile:
But now we do not on such shifts rely;
No Pow'r's so Great, we dare not to defie.
Y' are sawcy therefore thus to claim Communion,
To hold with us a Parity and Ʋnion.
Do ye for Pardon sue, and for Protection?
What you Communion call, shou'd be Subjection.
Ep. 171. On Sylvia.
Three naked Virgins, 'cause there's none can bring,
Of Divine Form, and dancing in a Ring.
Such Powers (are Graces call'd) thou dost deny,
As a meer Fiction, and Poetick Lye.
Behold, fair Sylvia, as she there does walk,
(Altho' thou com'st not near to hear her talk)
And if in her, these Pow'rs thou can'st not find,
'Tis not that they're not there, but thou art blind;
Or disbeliev'st the Truth upon the Score,
Thou see'st not Three, but Troops of Graces more.
Ep. 172. On a Lyer.
When 'tis a Lye, thou tell'st it with that Art,
Thou winn'st belief from ev'ry Ear and Heart:
But Truth so lamely always dost report,
Because it needs no Wit for its support,
That none receive the things that they do hear,
But with a wrong and a mistaken Cheer.
Held in the dark by that which thou dost tell,
Rejoyce in Evil, mourn when all is well;
Thou Bane of Converse, and thou greatest Curse,
Who stiflest Good, and oft mak'st Evils worse.
Ep. 173. To Proclus.
Wisdom in Youth, as irksom, we refuse,
Covet in Age, when 'tis too late to use.
Ep. 174. By way of Dialogue between the Author and his Friend.
Fr.] What makes thee, Probus, in thy latter days,
As youthful still, covet a Wreath of Bays?
Prob.] Some hours, in serious reading, I can spend,
But long my Faculties I cannot bend,
As in times past: Tir'd, I Refreshment find,
In the Amusements of a roving Mind.
All Pleasures of the World from me are fled,
And (I rejoyce) some Years before me dead.
Friends say they come Respect and Love to pay,
But glad they are, when they can get away:
And 'twere a shame, at this my Age to show,
Content to any, but my self, I owe.
Epigrams afford a great Variety,
And ne'er are tir'd, or tiring Company:
The Wise, the Foolish, Jocular, and Sad,
The Noble, Serious, I see here, and Mad.
And like a Farce, if some appear but mean,
Others display again a Glorious Scene.
My Life I not with thine, but theirs, compare,
Who droop their days out in a sleeping Chair.
Ep. 175. On Atheists.
If Voices now and Wonders, thou dost say,
Were sent from Heaven, there's none but wou'd obey▪
All thou behold'st, proclaims unto thy Shame,
'Twas wrought by God, and that from Heav'n it came;
His Judgments also, and his Mercies speak,
Altho' their Voices are to Atheists weak:
But how shou'd those discern, conceive, or hear,
Who have no Eye, no Intellect, no Ear?
Ep. 176. On Romances.
Were th'ancient Greeks, and learned Romans freed
From Shades below, with Wonder they would read,
Th'elaborate Romances of this Age;
Believe the Fates not only did engage
Them in a Life, but in a World, was new,
That things so serious writ, were also true:
For those who raw at first, this way do see,
Are Quixots all, at least in some degree.
Admire they wou'd, what Climates did afford
A People, whom their Wisdom nor their Sword
Cou'd ever find, whose Principles and Passions,
Whose gen'rous Thoughts, and whose Heroic Actions,
In all their Search, their Moralists ne'er knew,
Or the least Scheme of them cou'd ever shew.
So do the Creatures of Romance Formation,
Transcend th' Idea's of the first Creation!
As Fames shrill Trumpet, Love and Lust resound,
How comes't, no other Vice has Patrons found?
High would the Glory be of the first Teller,
Of Heroes of the Kitchin, and the Cellar.
Ep. 177. On Demas.
Art thou so mope'd, past fourscore Years, to wed?
A Woman to betray (as may be said)
Unto a Grave, not to a Nuptial-Bed?
Thou call'st thy walking Skelliton, a Life;
And avow'd Bawdry, by the Name of Wife.
Ep. 178. On the Anxious.
Why Evils past, and those to come, dost mourn,
Dead to the first, and to the last not born?
To day is thine, enjoy it without Care,
Cloud not thy Thoughts, when all thou seest is fair.
Ep. 179. On Laura.
Most lovely Maid! of so Divine a Frame,
We see in thee, all we can Exc'lent name;
The Sweetness of a Spring thy Youth does sum,
And promis'd Blessings of the Year to come.
Yet thou wert slighted lately on the score,
A Bunch-back brought upon 't two thousand more.
With whom thy cautious Gallant did engage:
But shortly after purchas'd from the Stage
A Prostitute; set all, for her, at nought,
And thought his rotten Ware was cheaply bought.
Thus, when to seek a Wife, such Brutals go,
You'd swear they went to Market, not to woo▪
They do so huckster, bargain, and demur,
Vertue and Beauty are not any Spur;
To make their Earthly sordid Minds lay hold
On that, which gain'd, wou'd all they have turn Gold.
Ep. 180. On one who Translated some of Martial's Epigrams.
The great Defects which thy Translations show,
Have made me see some things I ne'er did know.
That words in Rhime and Metre there may be,
A measur'd Verse, and yet no Poetry.
Thy sense of single Terms, thou'rt sure to take,
And wooden English, of choice Latin make:
But tho' the Book, th'Epigram, all can tell;
There's none can Martial, in thy Version spell;
His various Humours in thy Lines are one,
The Mirthful, Grave, i'th' same dull strain do run.
And should'st thou sev'ral Authors undertake,
Thou wou'd'st but one, even of a thousand make.
In short, to let thee know what Fault I find,
Thou tak'st the Words, and leav'st all Grace behind.
Ep. 181. On Theonina.
In Censure spiteful, Defamation bold,
Young but in Years, and yet in Mischief old;
Lyes are thy Pastime, Slander is thy Food,
To hatch some Evil thou dost always brood;
Thou fear'st no Sin, where thou dost fear no Law,
Punishment may, but Conscience ne'er did awe.
Since in what's Bad thou glory'st to excel,
There is a King: Be thou the Queen of Hell.
Ep. 182. To Fabius.
The most displeased, with themselves are pleas'd;
And tho' some Wants do render them diseas'd;
They this Man's Health, and that Man's Wealth require,
The Honour of a third, or Pow'r desire;
Yet these they'd have, as Vantage, and Access
To what they are, and what they do possess;
Their belov'd selves, their Frame of Mind, their All,
They will not truck with those they Happy'st call.
Yet to complain of Want, these Men are prone,
When their Condition's such, they'll change with none.
Ep. 183. On Crispus.
Faithful and Friendly thou wou'd'st fain appear,
But none, beside thy self, to thee is dear;
If thou for others ought dost undertake,
Thou castest what Advantage thou can'st make;
And none obligest but upon the Score,
Some End of thine thou can'st promote much more.
Ep. 184. On a debauch'd Wit▪
Thou'st read some Poets, that the Grape adore,
Idolize Wit, loose Life, a rampant Who—
Despise all Vertue, as below their Care,
And high, on these accounts, their Heads they bear.
These thou admir'st; their Lessons dost transcribe,
And glory'st to be listed of their Tribe.
Drink'st, rant'st, blasphem'st, and often dost complain
When thou dost want thy Vices to maintain,
None do true Worth regard; and full of Wine,
Think'st thou art Great in Parts, something Divine.
Had'st thou thy due, thou shou'd be rank'd with Swine.
Ep. 185. To Priscus.
With Flavia's Praises thou dost deaf mine Ear,
As if enough of her I ne'er cou'd hear:
Confessest yet that Beauty she has none,
But other Excellence, which all must own;
All that she wears is Modish, ever clean,
Seldom the fairest are so curious seen!
I tell thee, should a Sow in Velvet lye,
And perfum'd Sheets, she'd turn them to a Sty.
Ep. 186. To the same.
Thou think'st my Answer to thy Praise unmeet.
Try; wash a T—till thou can'st make it sweet.
Ep. 187. On the Guilty.
Thou would'st thy Crimes excuse upon the Score,
Temptation thy weak Nature overbore.
If those are Guiltless by Temptation fall,
There wou'd be no such thing as Sin at all,
All Men are tempted, but their Choice is free,
When they consent, then Guilty first they be.
Like Soldiers all are led into the Field,
The Brave oppose, the Cowards faintly yield.
Ep. 188. On an old Dotard.
Thou'rt fourscore Years and more; yet thou wou'd'st wed,
Tho' past the Duties of the Marr'age-Bed.
And sham'st thou not, such Thoughts to entertain,
Which thy Religion, Honour, Age, do stain?
Hast thou no Moral Strength, if not Divine,
That thus below a Man thou dost decline?
Let no false Principle thy Heart abuse,
Marr'age it self will not thy Lust excuse.
It was ordain'd this raging Sin to tame,
Not to foment and keep alive its Flame.
Ep. 189. On a Dishonest Shop-keeper.
Thy Lights are large, but false; Words fair, not true;
And more than Friendly, to all Comers shew:
Equivocations praise, and prize thy Ware,
Justice thou think'st it, neatly to ensnare,
That Credit both and Conscience thou dost save,
When thou can'st play the undiscover'd Knave.
Ep. 190. On a Drunken Quack.
Butler, Great Butler, thou dost often say,
I make my Rule, his Method, and his Way!
He, a Good-Fellow was, and lov'd good Wine,
Nor to Moroseness will I e'er incline.
Thus Idle hours, that is, thy Life, thou spend'st,
The day in Drink beginn'st, and in Drink end'st.
Soak'st it like Butler, not like him dost read;
A Bottle mak'st all Books to supersede.
Thou a great Drunkard may'st arrive to be,
But a great Doctor thee we ne'er shall see.
Ep 191. On the Spreaders of False News.
Pest of the Times, the Nations great Annoy,
Who with false Fears, or else with vainer Joy
The Rout affect: Loss, and Success relate,
Both with design to prejudice the State,
To mock Mens Wishes, or their Hopes deject,
News you pretend, but Tumults you project;
None like to you, Rebellion so refine,
Treason attempt, and Danger yet decline.
Ep. 192. The Invitation of a Friend.
Come Dine with me to day, and you'll revive,
Those drooping Spirits, are but just alive.
All sweet and pure you ev'ry where shall find,
The Senses pleas'd, do recreate the Mind;
Your Sight and Smell luxuriously I'll treat,
E'er I do set before you ought to eat.
Nor shall your Welcome yet be wholly airy,
As if I feasted not a Man, but Fairy.
Ven'son I have, young Partridges, and Hare,
Some Home-Provisions, that may prove as rare;
Wine from the Soil immediately that's brought
Of various Kinds, all Presents, and not bought.
Choice Fruits and Herbs I not vouchsafe to name,
Aiming to day to reach Lucullus Fame.
We'll eat alone, unless a Third appear,
That will not check our Mirth, but mend our Chear:
Prudence in whom does so out-vie what's fair,
You'll think all Vertue present when she's there;
She'll not importune with her Speech or stay,
Tho' all be Exc'lent that you hear her say,
And Sad you'll be, when she does go away.
The Board remov'd, the sober Fumes of Wine
Our Thoughts shall wing to something that's Divine,
We'll that discourse, which Vertue may improve,
Even at our Years, our Knowledge, and our Love;
Confer what eithers Muse did late inspire,
Thou mine shalt judge, while I do thine admire.
Ep. 193. To Priscus.
Dost ask, 'mong Men, whom I do happy'st find?
Those whom a Competence content, whose Mind
Within this Limit rests; whose Lives are pure,
And no less blameless, than their State's secure;
Who think their Wealth then riots like a Flood,
When others they can do some little Good.
Ep. 194. To Publius.
When thou complain'st, Man's Life's both short and Sad,
To me thou seemest in some measure Mad:
It is not long enough, if it be Bad?
Ep. 195. To the same.
Why dost thou fear to die? Is it because
Thou dost excel, and there is no applause
I'th' Grave? Or do the Pleasures of the Age,
The Feasts, the Revels, Courtships thee ingage?
Thy fair Estate, or else thy fairer Wife?
Alas when dead, thou wilt not want thy Life.
Ep. 196. On Criticus.
Marius, thou say'st, in Knowledge not abounds,
His Books are few, and weak in Arts his Grounds;
Thou, in all Learning and all Tongues, art skill'd,
Thy Shelves with num'rous and best Authors fill'd.
Yet whatsoe'er Marius undertakes,
The most Judicious high Account of't makes;
And thy profund pretending Works despise,
As Dullness cloathed in a Learn'd Disguise.
I thus in other Trades have seen such Fools,
Who Bunglers are, yet proud of Exc'lent Tools.
Ep. 197. To Marcus.
Bad Men live long, the Good short liv'd we deem:
This is not so, but only so does seem.
Ep. 198. On Linus.
Vicious, Conceited, Insolent and Proud,
Void of all Worth, yet positive and loud;
Ill Master, Father, Husband, Neighbour, Friend,
Whom sense of Right or Wrong cou'd never bend;
Who God unseen not only dost despise,
But fatten'st i'th' Oppressed's Tears and Cries;
And smiling ask'st, What's, after all, the Evil?
None: 'cause 'tis hope'd, thou't fright from Earth the Devil.
Ep. 199. On the like.
Poor in thy Youth, sharking and profligate,
Unjust and proud, when rais'd to high Estate;
Which thou conceiv'st thy Parts did bring thee to;
But want of Wit did plainly thee undo.
And when thou lay'st under the sadest Cross,
The Vice of all three Fortunes didst engross.
Ep. 200. To Quintus.
Thou say'st, My Lines do most to Satyr tend.
More to condemn I find, than to commend.
Ep. 201. On an Atheist.
Thou, who the Faithful Man, esteem'st a Fool,
To a wise reas'ning Heathen go to School.
The Envious did 'gainst Sacrates combine,
Because his Wisdom was pronounc'd Divine:
But to this high Repute he shew'd just Right,
Thus arguing when he drank the fatal Aconite.
If when Just Souls are from the Body free,
They ever Blessed and Eternal be,
As I believe, by Death I vastly gain:
Or be it so, that this Conceit is vain,
No Prejudice can come from the Mistake,
When I am nothing, me Ʋnhappy make.
My Vertue hence, in Life, support did find,
And I in Death a firm undaunted Mind.
But then thou say'st, Who with this Faith shall close,
The darling Pleasures of his Life must lose.
None great, some false, uncertain all, and few,
To purchase those Eternal are, and true.
And how wilt thou, with Endless Torments fare,
Who Vertues Gentle Laws cou'd'st never bear?
How with Eternal Flames endure to dwell,
Who count'st an hour of Pray'r a kind of Hell?
Ep. 202. To the same.
A Prejudice thou hold'st it to thy Wit,
A pleasant Sin, when offer'd, to omit:
But to thy Reason not the least Disgrace,
Heav'ns Kingdom to reject, and Hell embrace.
Ep. 203. On a Lady Painter.
With excellent Mystery thou draw'st the Face,
Each Feature dost express, and natural Grace.
Were th'Inward Man as well by me design'd,
I shou'd be stil'd, the Titian of the Mind.
Ep. 204. On the Enamour'd of false Beauty.
A well-bred Virgin, Vert'ous, Noble, Wise,
Most Beautiful withall, thou dost despise.
But Players, Dancers, Singers, dost admire;
These, thou confessest, set thy Heart on fire.
Didst never hear, how by a Magick Spell,
Dead Bodies have been rais'd, and made to tell
Some things above themselves, and then have sunk
Again into a gastly loathsom Trunk?
Such, if thy blindness wou'd allow thee prove,
Thou'd'st find th' admired Object of thy Love;
The Persons self, strip'd of adult'rous Art,
Scarce wou'd make good the Carcass of her Part;
Withdraw the Poets words, the Stage Attire,
And thou wilt loath, what thou dost now admire:
She, like the Scenes, appears a glorious Sky,
A Sun, what not? false Lights deceive thine Eye,
Both, Paint and Trash, are found, examin'd nigh.
Ep. 205. On the Wicked.
Your Crimes you may, a while, with Shifts conceal,
But then their Guilt no Tract of Time can heal.
You seek, in Drink, their Memory to dround,
With Noise and Mirth their Clamours to confound:
But in the Din they oft before you stand,
Grasping a Scourge of Vipers in their hand;
And make you, as a Ghost, each Shadow fear,
Faint with dismay, ev'n when no Danger's near;
Your Jollity's a forc'd a feigned Part,
A Smile i'th' Face, and Anguish in the Heart.
In vain you hope from Misery to find,
And greater Evils, Ease unto your Mind.
However then you're bold t'offend, be sure,
Your Sins, tho' secret, ne'er can be secure;
Or, Unrepented, any Peace can have,
Until Eternity shall find a Grave.
Ep. 206. On a Coward.
Like thee, in Safety, none's so fierce and bold,
Danger approaching, none so faint and cold;
The Brave, in Peril, do consult which way
They may o'ercome; thou, which to run away;
They only ask, what is their Duty here;
Thou, what's suggested by thy treach'rous Fear;
They Face to Face confront a daring Foe,
Thy Malice, hid and sculking, thou dost show;
When they subdue, their Anger they asswage,
But here thy Fury first begins to rage;
The Rancour Fear did in thy Heart suppress,
Without all Mercy now thou dost express.
In Private Converse thou'rt to all a Slave,
And certainly, in Publick Trust, a Knave.
Ep. 207. What is Sweet.
What is so Sweet, nought with it can compare?
By Love perfum'd, a vertuous Maid and fair.
Ep. 208. On the Upstart Great.
Thy Wit was lately but of equal size
With mine, now all I say, thou dost despise;
To height of Honour thou art rais'd and Power,
Which confer Wisdom also in an Hour;
No Politick or Philosophick School,
Like Pride and Greatness do improve a Fool.
Ep. 209. On a conceited Person.
Perswaded of thy Worth, thou long'st to see,
What some do fear, an Epigram on thee.
But little Bad or Good of thee I know,
And none delighted are with what's so so.
This vulgar Proverb by thy self discuss,
Souce a Sows Ear, 'twill ne'er make Velvet Purse.
Those Subjects I pass by, have no eclat,
In Vice and Vertue common are and flat.
Ep. 210. On Cotta.
Thou who all weary'd'st with thy ambitious Prate,
Of Officers and Honours in the State,
Assur'd by those in highest place who stood,
And eas'ly cou'd their Promises make good:
Thou who wou'd'st none but richest Widows Wed,
Or noblest Virgins court unto thy Bed;
To thy Paternal 'State a Visit made,
There first debauch'd, then marry'd thine own Maid;
A Lord thou art, when thou hast plow'd and digg'd,
Thy Cow has Calv'd, and when thy Sow has Pigg'd.
Ep. 211. On my Censorious Reader.
Thou say'st, I'm full of Malice of Spight,
Ill Nature's seen, in all that I do write:
Thy Censure does not wound, but me delight.
Gainst Vice I have, 'gainst Men I never wrote,
Nor will for any Wrong or Price be bought,
Be thou Good-natur'd then, to what is naught.
Ep. 212. On the same.
More close and home thou yet dost me accuse,
Say'st, in an Epigram, thy words I use;
Nay, a known Vice of thine display. Be't so,
Must I remember unto whom I owe
All I have heard or seen? Or must Men know
A Person by one Speech or Act? 'Tis true,
By th'Lions Claw, a killful Artist knew
His bulk: But who shall only draw thy Toe,
Thy Manners or thy Face will never show.
Ep. 213. On the same.
Displeased at the Freedom of my Pen,
Which thou conceiv'st dissects so many Men,
Thou ask'st, If I my self from Vice am free?
I wish I were: But what is this to thee?
Why, thou wou'dst have me my own Follies show;
Alas, who is so Happy them to know?
But while thou think'st my self I do conceal,
All that I write, my secret Thoughts reveal;
What I do love, despise, admire, or hate,
When I least think, I truly do relate:
One Epigram may on some One reflect,
But they all joyn my Nature to detect.
Ep. 214. To Marcus, on Maevius and Cloe.
While Maevius Verses, Good, thou didst declare,
And Cloe's Form, to keep them from Despair;
That neither by a Rope shou'd end their days,
They took thy Candor for deserved Praise:
And one, to fright all Eyes, her self does dress,
And t'other no less rages in the Press.
Ep. 215. On a mistaken Epigrammatist.
Thou stil'st, what's nothing like, an Epigram,
And may'st as well, a Wesel term a Ram;
Or draw an Ape, and then upon't endorse,
The Animal you see, I call a Horse.
On this, thou dost retort to me in spite,
My Verse are harsh: Nor do I Sonnets write.
My Bark oft buffets with a rugged Stream,
And I must suit my Stile unto my Theme.
Painters, with flowing Oil, their Figures draw;
But Carvers use the Chisel and the Saw.
Ep. 216. On Veterator.
Thy Pride, Perversness, Tyranny to cloak,
On the Worlds Censure to avoid the stroke,
After vile Deeds thou vaunt'st and boast'st thy Parts,
Thy Skill in Tongues, and in the Noblest Arts,
Thy long Experience, Dignity and Fame,
Among the Learn'd the Greatness of thy Name!
These do amuse, but not thy Credit save,
The Wise, through all the Mist, discern the Knave.
Endowments only Visors are and Tricks,
In him who at Dishonesty ne'er sticks.
Ep. 217. On an Ungrateful Visitant.
I'm often troubled when I see thee here,
Too soon or late thou always dost appear:
But the Myst'ry of this, in brief to sum,
Thou can'st not possibly in Season come.
Ep. 218. On the same.
Many Excuses thou dost often frame,
For thy slack Visits, and thy self dost blame,
You'd mend all Faults, if that you never came.
Ep. 219. On a Debtor.
When I by chance do meet thee in my way,
I not forget— thou constantly dost say:
But they forget, who justly do not pay.
Ep. 220. More Cupids than one are blind.
Th'imposing Gang of those the World counts wise,
Only to Venus Son allow no Eyes;
While each their Cupid has, that's more a Child,
And far more dark and witless may be stil'd:
The Envious, Covetous, and Ambitious,
Gluttonous, and who other ways are Vicious.
For shall we say, Who Beauty loves is blind?
Yet who loves Sin, has a discerning Mind?
Ep. 221. On Hedon.
When that thy Mis, or those to her relate,
Want ought, thy Purse, thy Interest, thy Estate,
With Joy thou dost engage; dost nothing grudge,
I'th' Cause like hir'd Solicitors dost trudge.
But when thy nearest Kin know like Distress,
Their Evils no way thee, tho' them oppress.
Here thou art Poor, can'st not do Six-pence good,
How much thy Lust, is nearer than thy Blood!
Ep. 222. On Sempronia.
Thy tender Years had a strong bent to go
An Evil way, e'er thou didst Evil know.
Th'Examples ever pleas'd thee of the worst,
What noble Virgins trembled at, thou durst.
Thy Beauty thou didst early understand,
And gav'st the Reins, to that thou shoud'st command.
Thy Clothes excessive were, loose thy Address,
All a close wanton Mind might loud express.
Thus thy first days in Luxury were spent;
In Amorous Stealths all of thy Age out-went.
Thy Flow'r of Youth and Beauty when decay'd,
With these all Sense of Shame did also fade,
And leud Affections thee did only sway,
The Laws of Lust bare-fac'dly to obey,
Thy House thou mad'st a profess'd School of Vice,
The Rendezvous of Riot, Whoredom, Dice.
Which those of either Sex that did not shun,
Were in their Vertue, Fame, and State undone.
Arm'd Cat'line made the Roman Hearts to quake,
But thy Debauch did Rome's Foundations shake.
Ep. 223. To Fabius.
To thee a Dotard, and to rave I seem,
That old, by Verse, I tedious hours redeem:
'Tis better yet, than o'er a Bottle soak,
And fill a Room with Spittle, and with Smoak.
Ep. 224. On an old Amorous Cockscomb.
Thou'st thrown away thy Night-Cap, bought a Wig,
Thy hobling Gate converted to a Gig;
Ty'd a broad flaunting Ribond in thy Hat,
One, that out-stares thy self, at thy Cravat.
And now dost hope, that the most searching Eyes,
Cannot discern thy Age thro' this disguise;
But joyn'd with Wealth, thou'lt make a pow'rful Court
Unto the Fair. Thou'lt make at least good Sport.
Ep. 225. On the same.
I heard thy Rhume defeated thy Disguise,
And that a Lady so did thee despise,
She said, Old Sir, blow both your Nose and Eyes.
Ep. 226. To Fabius on Livina.
Livina's rather Continent than Chaste;
Than wisely Provident, one does not waste;
Than Friend to Vertue, no professed Foe;
Neuter, at best, to Good and Bad does show.
Thou say'st, This Censure does of Malice sound,
Exacts Perfection, which is no where found.
No where, where Gen'rous Breeding is not taught,
Good Books, as well as Clouts and Needles, thought
The Means a well-born Virgin to improve;
Instructions us'd to make her know, and love
The Duties, Custom only does impose,
And not their hidden Excellence disclose:
But leads her Hood-wink'd Scholars in a Track,
Vertue that's pleasant, rendering a Rack.
Where Wolves and Bears are fear'd, strict Watch-men keep,
Bar strong their Gates, but they securely sleep,
Where Spiders, Fleas, and Gnats, the House annoy,
Little concern'd such Insects to destroy:
So most will guard their Daughters on the Score
Of some gross Vice, the frightful Name of Whore:
But Lying, Meanness, Spight, they do despise,
What's Great and Gallant, 's nothing in their Eyes.
Thus little crawling Sins, by giving way,
(But Slutt'ries of the Mind, as I may say,)
Grow to Gigantick Bulk, and bear the Sway.
And, when too late, all grant, without dispute,
There's no such Monster, as a Lady Brute.
Ep. 227. On Thais.
Thou vainly prid'st thy self upon the Score
Of the last Epigram, that went before;
Because an Elegant and Courtly Whore.
Ep. 228. The young and old Schismatick.
Jun.] I have been lately, where my Ears did glow,
To hear the Praise of one that was our Foe.
Sen.] Our Foe? Some Child of Hell, be sure, a Dog,
A Reprobate, in Scripture stile, a Frog
Of the deep Pit, a Jacobite, and Traytor.
He must be these, profess'dly if our Hater,
One that will set his Country at a Price.
Jun.] I do not find he's charg'd with any Vice.
Sen.] But you shall find, I'll black him with all Evil,
If he be ours, he's God's Foe, and the Devil.
Ep. 2 [...]9. The Reflection.
As from the Shoar I safely did behold,
(My own days spent) how Mortal Men were roll'd,
With the Worlds Billows, some for Riches moil'd,
Others for Honour, with more hazard, toil'd,
While they their Lusts and Vanity to please,
Oft lost the Life, they sought to spend in ease.
I said, were I again my Race to run,
What Troubles and what Dangers cou'd I shun?
First, I wou'd weigh the shortness of my days,
Yet, well employ'd, the Pow'r they had to raise
Their Length 'bove what Arithmetick can count.
Yet ne'er their Glory and their Bliss surmount.
By this I'd steer my Course, here fix my Eye,
Renounce what with this Truth did not comply;
No avaricious or ambitious Itch
Shou'd my staid Mind with their false Charms bewitch.
Next in what State Providence me had plac'd,
I wou'd regard, and with what Parts had grac'd;
These I'd improve, aiming at no Employ,
Admit none offer'd with least sense of Joy.
Yet on my Charge I'd ever be intent;
Duty secure, whate'er were the Event.
So that whate'er Misfortune hap'n to be,
Men shou'd reproach the Chance, not censure me.
Ep. 230. On a Disgrac'd Courtier.
Fallen by Crimes from a high Place in Court,
Thou, after Shipwreck, Malice mak'st thy Port.
Deeply resenting thy Disgrace and Loss,
The Kingdom thou decreed'st shall bear thy Cross.
But Vice undid thee, Vertue must redeem,
Vertue, not real, but what so does seem.
Guilty thy self, the State thou wilt reform,
That is, confound its Laws, and Justice storm.
The Noblest are by thee impeach'd, defam'd;
The Factious only, Honest Men proclaim'd;
Grievances sought; not found, are often made;
Just Rights pretended to be sav'd, betray'd.
Hell can no Instrument so dang'rous frame,
As Knave and patriot blended in a Name.
Ep. 231. On Lewis XIV.
The Life, the Soul, Upholder of the Port,
Whose Arms the Crescent 'gainst the Cross support;
Want of true Greatness, and the Thirst of Sway
All that is Sacred makes thee to betray,
Faction and Treason to foment and nurse
In ev'ry Land, Europe's, even France's, Curse;
For thou no less thy Agents dost employ,
Thy Subjects, than thy Neighbours, to destroy;
Myriads of harmless Souls thou hast undone,
With loss of thine own Justice, their Land won;
And while they mourn, thy Pleasure thou dost take;
Upon a Couch, War with the World dost make;
Sloathful thy self, by others get'st Renown,
Thou winn'st a Game at Cards, while they a Town.
Empire alone is that with thee does weigh,
Which, so thou get'st, it matters not which way;
No scruple mak'st, so that thou hast Success,
Whether 'tis Heaven or Hell thy Forces bless.
Lucifer to justifie, thy Actions tend,
'Tis hop'd, thou see'st thy Fall, and mak'st a Friend.
Ep. 232. On a Bad Poet.
Thou askest why thy Aim I disallow,
With Sacred Laurel to adorn thy Bow?
I ask thee too, Why Men do not presume,
From stinking Weeds to draw a rich Perfume?
With Canvas and course Home-spun undertake,
A Mantle-Royal, Princes Robes to make?
Ep. 233. On Silvia richly Apparell'd.
Silvia, I Swear, I ever thee admir'd,
When in the simplest plainest Guise attir'd;
As costly Garments thou disdain'st to vaunt,
Them, in my Judgment, thou didst never want.
But now I, thus adorned, thee behold,
Something Angelical thou dost unfold;
And sett'st me to consider on what Score,
Jewels and Gold ne'er struck my Eye before.
Indeed, sometimes, upon a Worthless Back,
They seem'd condemn'd; yet then did Splendor lack.
But now I find, the Lustre they do show,
They unto Vertue, and to Beauty owe.
Ep. 234. On Lamia.
Deform'd thou'rt seen to be in ev'ry Part,
Beyond the Remedy of Wit and Art;
Cease then to jet, and tweer, and make a-do,
Ugly thou can'st not be, and Pretty too.
Ep. 235. On the same.
Old crooked Claudia has a sober Grace,
And honour'd is, where-e'er she comes in place;
What she was made, she is content to be,
And none do want of Beauty in her see;
Prudence and Goodness all Defects supply,
Even pleasing make her to a curious Eye.
But thou, tho' most deform'd, dost not despair,
Agreeable to be, tho' nothing fair,
By acting what thou seest the Fair to do,
As if the same, the same were, done by two:
But fall'st so short of that which thou dost hope,
Thou play'st Jack-Pudding on the lower Rope;
And what w'admire in Clora, when we see,
Our Stomach turns, when we behold in thee.
The Charms, th'Affects, the Sweetness, and the Grace,
Essential are unto a Lovely Face;
Which when thou ape'st, and vilely dost repeat,
'Tis much that thou escap'st from being beat.
Ep. 236. On the same.
Of thine own self thou such Conceit dost hold,
That Buckram on thy Back seems Cloth of Gold;
Whereas o'th' contrary, it is enough,
Tissue to make the vilest of all Stuff
If worn by thee: But Garb, and thy Grimmace
For Beauty, thou believ'st, with all do pass:
Tho these all loath, detest, and ev'ry Tongue
Swears, as thou'rt Ugly, thou wert never young.
Ep. 237. On an Injurious Person.
After the barb'rous oft repeated Wrongs,
Thou say'st, Forgiveness yet to me belongs.
If thou repent'st, the Duty I confess,
For tho I thee, thy Sin I must not bless;
The Wicked, I allow, may claim my Love,
But Hell alone does Wickedness approve.
Ep. 238. On Nanus.
Nanus, tho' little, yet is fierce and bold,
Scorns by the Proudest He to be control'd;
And braves all Men, while such a Foe they shun,
By whom Disgrace may be, no Honour won.
Ep. 239. On Rome.
Her plighted Troth, why does Rome oft deny?
The Sacred'st Oaths, why set so little by?
She worships Idols, and those are a Lye.
Ep. 240. On a high-kept Miss.
Costly in Clothes, and haughty in thy Mein,
Thou wou'd'st be thought by all a petty Queen;
Contemn'st thy Betters, boast'st of what's thy shame,
As if by Birth thy Greatness to thee came:
When all that know thee, this Truth also know,
Thy Glory unto Baseness thou dost owe;
And that thy Sin's the same with that o'th' Poor,
Tho' Madam thou art stil'd, and they term'd Whore.
Tho' Coach and Palace varnish o'er thy Blot,
The Stocks and Bridewell are those Wretches Lot.
Thou liv'st by Lust, while they but make a slip,
And more deserv'st the Cart-tail, and the Whip.
Ep. 241. On Mr. Joseph Mede.
What Topick can I find, thy Worth to raise,
Whose Leaves not only teach, but ev'n amaze?
Not by the slights of a delusive Art,
None, like to thee, such trifling set a-part.
Thou in all Tongues, all Learning didst abound,
And yet thy Exc'lence not in Books was found:
But he that said, Those who Heav'ns Will shall do,
To them the deepest Mysteries I'll shew.
Thy Soul enlighten'd: Thy Judicious Eye
Was owing meerly to thy Piety.
From hence the Sense of Scripture thou didst hit,
As guided by the Spirit they were writ.
Ep. 242. On the unworthily Fortunate.
While that a prosperous and fore-right Gale,
Fills the expanded Bosom of thy Sail,
Thou Happy seem'st, and all to thee do bow,
All, but thy self, thy Glories do allow:
But while they stoop, applaud, and matter find
T'extol, thou sadly want'st it in thy Mind.
Ep. 243. On a Drunkard.
Scholar and Poet both, in Drink, thou art;
Skill'd in the Statesman, and the Soldiers part;
The Travellers, the Courtiers, and what not?
When all's summ'd up, thou only art a Sot.
Ep. 244. On Paris.
Forbear to boast thy infamous Success,
That thou the Great Achilles didst oppress,
When hid, and trembling thou didst only act,
And 'twas, in truth, a Goddess did the Fact,
Guided the poyson'd Arrow to his Heel,
While the brave Hero to the Gods did kneel.
Ep. 245. On a Religious Glutton.
Gorg'd with good Cheer and Wine, thou, to dilate
On Spiritual Feasts, and an Angelick State,
Tak'st great delight; affect'st thy Heart so deep,
Thou in such Transports oft art seen to weep.
Thus, when not able one Bit more to eat,
Thou fall'st afresh upon Celestial Meat.
Not to defraud thy Belly's thy great Care,
Why to delude it dost thou not forbare?
Fat Cocks and Snipes are not the Angels Fare.
Ep. 246. On blind Zeal.
Blind Zeal no Bounds nor Moderation knows,
From Rome it flies, and unto Munster goes;
While Spiritual Tyranny does it affright,
In Spiritual Anarchy it takes delight.
As ▪Light the Blind directs not in their way,
When Truth such stumble on, the more they stray.
Ep. 247. On the Shepherds, Luke 2.
While on soft Plumes the Rich did sleep,
Or Riot them did waking keep,
Consuming in Debauch the Night,
Acting black Sins in Chambers bright:
We poor and hardy Shepherd Swains,
Freed at no Season from our Pains,
Under the shelter of a Rock,
In Winter Nights did guard our Flock;
When, lo, a bright and glorious Ray,
The Sun out-shining at Mid-day,
Surrounded us with great Dismay.
A Choir of Angels thus did sing,
Good Tidings to the Earth we bring,
A Saviour to the World is born;
There never rose so Bless'd a Morn!
Peace unto Earth, Good Will to Men.
Glory, i'th' highest, be to Heaven!
The Child to know, we give this Sign,
A Manger holds the Babe Divine.
We found that true the Angels said,
And our Account fill'd all with Dread.
The Vision thus when we had spread,
Ador'd, and offer'd up a Lamb,
Back to our Folds with Joy we came,
Our honest Labours eas'ly bore,
Finding Heavens Shepherd self was poor.
Ep. 248. On Epicurus's Atomes.
Observing the last Winters Show'rs of Snow,
How thick the Flakes, and numberless did flow,
Crossing each other, hitting, often joyn'd,
It brought the Dance of Atomes to my Mind,
And narrowly I look'd upon the Ground,
To see what Figures they did there compound,
But arrant shapeless Snow was all I found:
Nor, I believe, on Salisbury's wide Plain,
(Unless by Rigor of the Cold was slain)
The Shepherds saw no Semblance of a Sheep,
Or the least Insect on the Earth does creep.
And much I fear, the Atomists wild Scheme
Of the Worlds Frame, is but a drowsie Dream:
The Plants, the Beasts, the Men, the Stars, the Sun,
By interfering Particles begun,
Are only Maggots in their Brains that run.
Ep. 249. On the Wise Men. Matth. 2.
The Eastern Sages came from far,
Led by Devotion and a Star,
To Heavens King did Homage pay,
When Poor he in a Stable lay!
To Gentiles God did thus reveal,
What from proud Jews he did conceal:
But these embroil'd in factious Wars,
In cov'tous and ambitious Jars,
Wise to the Earth, were blind to Stars.
Ep. 250. On Spurius.
Much thou dost glory in they Father's Name,
O'erseeing of thine own, and Mothers Shame:
The sway of Lust lodg'd in thy spurious Blood,
To Vice o'er-bears thee, like a Potent Flood:
Nor known's the Crime thou'rt not engulphed in,
A Grandee seen, and Prince in ev'ry Sin.
Would'st thou be truly Great? Vertue embrace,
Rescind the Curse intail'd on Bastard-Race.
Ep. 251. On a Droll.
Things Vain and Serious, when thou art i'th' Fit,
Thou mak'st alike the subject of thy Wit;
And all thou say'st does so surprising flow,
A Hermit it wou'd pose, what Mood to show.
Vicious thou'rt not, but so content to seem,
Sporting thy self, with some Mens dis-esteem.
Ep. 252. The Prisoner.
The Court was up, and I had ta'en a stand,
(Being a Stranger) to behold near hand
The Prisoner, and besought my Friend to show
By some Remark, how I the Man might know.
That's he, he said, which you see march alone,
Whom many bow to, tho' they fear to own.
What, he that bears such Brightness in his Face,
Such high Assurance, and serene a Grace?
That's sure the Judge, his Guard, that armed throng.
It is the Prisoner that they lead along.
O blessed Land! I cry'd, if such I see
Be Criminals, thy Just must Wonders be!
I hardly spoke, when I was bid to view
A sneaking, abject, and down-looking Crew,
Whose Malice the brave Prisoner had run down,
Having no other Crime, but his Renown.
Let mean Men Vice avoid, the Gen'rous Fame,
There's nought more dang'rous than the Noble Name.
Ep. 253. On a young Country Damsel.
A Country Damsel by a Feaver brought
To great Extreams, all Remedies were sought,
Both to relieve her Body and her Mind,
The Church-man did his Task the hardest find;
Who, hoping her young Fancy so to bribe,
Jerusalem above did so describe,
As the Apocalyps does it unfold,
The Structure all of Jewels and of Gold.
She sigh'd, and said, Tho' what you tell be so,
Wou'd I were well, and might to London go.
Ep. 254. To Silius.
Thou'd'st have a hundred Pound by way of Loan,
In greatest need I this way trouble none,
And to deny such Suits, shame not to own.
Ten Pound thou say'st I lent thee. To a Friend
What I can lose, I am content to lend.
Ep. 255. On the like.
A Noble Lord five hundred Pounds did lend,
Out of meer Greatness, to a slipp'ry Friend,
Who, beyond hope, the Money did repay;
But, in few days, a larger Sum did pray;
Which was deny'd, and that upon the Score,
He had so much deceiv'd the time before.
Which when the wond'ring Borrower did deny!
My Lord faceciously did thus reply.
The Money lent, I never hop'd to see,
But twice deceiv'd I'll ne'er consent to be.
Ep. 256. On Cloe.
Lazy, but Witty, Cloe does essay,
To hold her Place, yet loyter all the day:
When her Neglect provokes her Ladies Rage,
Her Anger, with a Jest, she can asswage.
Plenty, 'mong other Vices, is Sloth's School,
'Tis Service to the Great, to play the Fool.
Ep. 257. On Pompillius.
Pompillius has attain'd, at last, his Post;
As he complain'd, as much he now does boast;
A Charge he has at Court, no common Grace,
And his Success is pourtrai'd in his Face;
O'er-looks not only such as you, and me,
But his Great-Self does also over-see;
Usurps the Parts he has not, and the Pow'r,
Fancies he's Wise, and Potent, in an hour;
When Sawcy, Witty; Courtly, when most rude;
Obliging, where his Folly does obtrude.
Some Smile, some Jest: All, he believes, admire,
And ne'er will see, till he's again i'th' Mire.
Ep. 258. On Coffee, Tea, and Chocolate.
As thou desir'st, Avitus, I'll relate
My thoughts of Coffee, Tea, and Chocolate.
The first I'ave sip'd, spit out, and that's enough
For such ill smelling, looking, nautious Stuff:
But this does many good; and so do Crosses,
Sharp Sicknesses, Imprisonment and Losses.
Sickness I cou'd, before this Drench, endure,
Tho' those there are that Frolick in the Cure.
Tea is much prettier, pleads a fairer quarter,
China Leaves, finest Sugar, and Spring-water.
A darling Drug, and not mis-understood,
If on th'account of Pleasantness, term'd Good.
But such its Glory I let Fools admire,
That oft ten Pounds, the Pound, it costs the Buyer.
The Indian Nut, much more regard does claim,
Right Chocolate, not all that bears the name:
Grateful in Taste, and high in Vertue found,
Great Spirits, in a little Dose, abound;
Both Heart and Brain it cheers; as one well said,
It Foxes all the Body, but the Head;
No Fumes, no Opilations, it attend,
To those who Studious are, a mighty Friend.
Let others be to Tea and Coffee kind,
The Good they fancy, thou in this wilt find.
Ep. 259. On Fungus.
A Truant Youth, a Loyt'rer in the Arts,
Trifling that time, shou'd have improv'd thy Parts,
Th'uncultivated Mind now nothing breeds,
But the most vicious, rank, and poysonous Weeds;
And Idleness, which thee times past did please,
Is now a burdensom and sore Disease.
Labour does not the Plow-man so annoy,
As Rest does thee, and want of all Employ.
In Drink, or worse Debauch, thou spend'st this day,
The next thou play'st at Dice, or seest a Play;
The third, and fourth, thou being at a loss,
Can'st scarce, without a Halter, bear the Cross.
Physicians, in this Malady, abjure,
Seek not the Wells, but Galleys, for thy Cure.
Ep. 260. To Decius.
Thou tell'st me Chremes often does complain,
To see me in a Month he can't obtain,
He may as well complain, and also say,
With Stocks and Pillory I can't away.
Who can support to hear a Dotard tell
Whole days, what Luck to him at Cards befell;
How beyond hopes came in the wish'd-for Knave,
The desperate Game, when given for lost, to save.
Can hear the raving Legends of his Dreams,
Histories of Aches, and of such like Themes.
To speak of's breaking Wind he will not balk;
Who little know, all of themselves do talk.
Ep. 261. On an old Leacher.
Rotten with Gouts, with Issues, and with Age,
Feel'st thou as yet Lusts Tyranny and Rage?
When now cadav'rous, burn'st thou with Desire?
Thy Head when Snow, contain thy Veins a Fire?
If with such Flames thou dost thy Age deprave,
Into an Aetna thou'lt convert thy Grave.
Ep. 262. On Sir Irus.
A Noble Lady at her gen'rous Board,
Access to half-starv'd Irus did afford,
As old as poor, to these, as little wise;
Her Goodness did not yet the Wretch despise.
A Knight he was, but not of antick Fame,
Who Giants split, and Monsters us'd to tame.
But his Adventures now he first began,
And much like Him, who at the Wind-mill ran.
Hearten'd and warm, by being daily fed,
The Snake aspir'd unto the Ladies Bed.
'Twou'd honour him to say, He was defeat,
And lost his Aim. No: But he lost his Meat.
Tho' Dotage be high rank'd in Cupid's School,
He thence expels an aged, needy, Fool.
Ep. 263. To the Muses.
Your Clients, Goddesses you often name;
Prevaricating then, without all Shame,
They make you serve their Loves, their Lusts, their Rage,
In ways both base and impious you engage.
Tho' I no Temples to your Fame have rais'd,
By an immortal Verse your Glories blaz'd,
If 'twas not too much Honour, 'twas no stain,
That I invok'd you to support my Pain;
Made real Powers of nominal and vain.
And when my Thanks I unto you have paid,
I'll lean hereafter on Diviner Aid.
Ep. 264. On Captain James Killigrew kill'd in a Sea-fight against the French.
By another Hand.
Too much had Fate, on our unhappy Land,
Already stretch'd her all-destroying Hand;
Both Church and State late felt a dreadful Loss,
And each still mourn'd under their heavy Cross;
When flesh'd with Slaughter, and more cruel grown,
She wou'd her Power shou'd o'er the Sea be known;
And Killigrew, tho' young in high Command,
While double Force he did some time withstand;
By her Decree was in the Conflict slain,
Tho' his Ship safe, and both the Foes were ta'en.
Thus Vict'ry did his breathless Corpse attend,
As in his Life, so in his Death a Friend.
Ep. 265. To my displeased Reader.
Altho' I ne'er cou'd please thee heretofore,
Yet now I can, To write I do give o'er.