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diff --git a/44891-0.txt b/44891-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de9ecc1 --- /dev/null +++ b/44891-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2370 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44891 *** + + Transcriber's Note: + + Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as + possible. + + Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. + OE ligatures have been expanded. + + + + + THE WORKS OF THE + RIGHT HONOURABLE + _JOHN_ Earl of _Rochester_. + + Consisting of + SATIRES, SONGS, TRANSLATIONS, + AND OTHER + Occasional POEMS. + + [Illustration] + + _LONDON_: + Printed for the Booksellers of _London_ and + _Westminster_. 1718. Price 1 _s._ + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE CONTENTS. + + + A _Satire against Mankind_. Page 3 + + _Tunbridge-Wells: A Satire._ p. 11 + + Horace_'s Nempe incomposita dixi pede, &c. imitated._ p. 19 + + _A Satire against Marriage._ p. 25 + + _A Letter from _Artemisa_ in the Town, to _Cloe_ in the + Country._ p. 29 + + _An Epistolary Essay from _M. G._ to _O. B._ upon their mutual + Poems._ p. 41 + + _The maim'd Debauchee._ p. 46 + + _Upon Nothing._ p. 49 + + _The Advice._ p. 53 + + _The Discovery._ p. 56 + + _The ninth Elegy in the second Book of _Ovid_'s Amours + translated._ To Love. p. 58 + + _Woman's Honour. A Song._ p. 62 + + _Grecian Kindness. A Song._ p. 64 + + _The Mistress. A Song._ p. 65 + + _A Song._ p. 67 + + _To _Corinna_. A Song._ p. 69 + + _A Young Lady to her antient Lover. A Song._ p. 71 + + _To a Lady, in a Letter. A Song._ p. 73 + + _The Fall. A Song._ p. 75 + + _Love and Life. A Song._ p. 77 + + _A Song._ p. 78 + + _A Song._ p. 79 + + _A Song._ p. 80 + + _Upon his leaving his Mistress._ p. 82 + + _Upon drinking in a Bowl._ p. 84 + + _A Song._ p. 86 + + _A Song._ p. 88 + + _The Answer._ p. 89 + + _A Song._ p. 91 + + _Constancy. A Song._ p. 94 + + _A Song._ p. 95 + +[Illustration] + +_FINIS._ + + + + +A SATIRE AGAINST MANKIND. + + + Were I, who to my Cost already am, + One of those strange, prodigious Creatures _Man_, + A Spirit free, to chuse for my own Share, } + What Sort of Flesh and Blood I pleas'd to wear, } + I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear; } + Or any thing, but that vain Animal, + Who is so proud of being Rational. + The Senses are too gross; and he'll contrive + A sixth, to contradict the other five: + And before certain Instinct, will prefer + Reason, which fifty Times for one does err. + Reason, an _Ignis Fatuus_ of the Mind, + Which leaves the Light of Nature, Sense, behind. + Pathless, and dang'rous, wand'ring Ways it takes, + Thro Error's fenny Boggs, and thorny Brakes: + Whilst the misguided Follower climbs with Pain + Mountains of Whimseys heapt in his own Brain; + Stumbling from Thought to Thought, falls headlong down + Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, + Books bear him up a while, and make him try + To swim with Bladders of Philosophy: + In hopes still to o'ertake the skipping Light, } + The Vapour dances in his dazzled Sight, } + Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night. } + Then old Age and Experience, Hand in Hand, + Lead him to Death, and make him understand, + After a Search so painful, and so long, + That all his Life he has been in the wrong. + Huddled in Dirt the reas'ning Engine lies, + Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise: + Pride drew him in, as Cheats their Bubbles catch, + And made him venture to be made a Wretch: + His Wisdom did his Happiness destroy, + Aiming to know the World he should enjoy. + And Wit was his vain frivolous Pretence, + Of pleasing others at his own Expence. + For _Wits_ are treated just like _Common-Whores_; + First they're enjoy'd, and then kick'd out of Doors. + The Pleasure past, a threat'ning Doubt remains, + That frights th' Enjoyer with succeeding Pains. + Women, and Men of Wit are dang'rous Tools, + And ever fatal to admiring Fools. + Pleasure allures, and when the Fops escape, } + 'Tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate; } + And therefore what they fear, at Heart they hate. } + But now methinks some formal Band and Beard + Takes me to Task, Come on, Sir, I am prepar'd: + Then by your favour, any thing that's writ + Against this gibing, gingling Knack call'd Wit, + Likes me abundantly; but you'll take Care + Upon this Point not to be too severe: + Perhaps my Muse were fitter for this Part; } + For I profess I can be very smart } + On Wit, which I abhor with all my Heart. } + I long to lash it in some sharp Essay, } + But your grand Indiscretion bids me stay, } + And turns my Tide of Ink another Way. } + What Rage ferments in your degen'rate Mind, + To make you rail at Reason and Mankind? + Blest glorious Man, to whom alone kind Heav'n + An everlasting Soul hath freely giv'n; + Whom his great Maker took such Care to make, + That from himself he did the Image take; + And this fair Frame in shining Reason drest, + To dignify his Nature above Beast. + Reason, by whose aspiring Influence, + We take a Flight beyond Material Sense, + Dive into Mysteries, then soaring pierce + The flaming Limits of the Universe; + Search Heav'n and Hell, find out what's acted there, + And give the World true Grounds of Hope and Fear. + + Hold, mighty Man, I cry; all this we know + From the pathetick Pen of _Ingelo_: + From _Patrick_'s Pilgrim, _Sibb_'s Soliloquies, + And 'tis this very Reason I despise; + This supernat'ral Gift, that makes a Mite + Think he's the Image of the Infinite; + Comparing his short Life, void of all Rest, + To the eternal and the ever-blest: + This busy, puzzling, Stirrer up of Doubt, + That frames deep Mysteries, then finds 'em out, + Filling with frantick Crouds of thinking Fools, + The rev'rend Bedlams, Colleges and Schools, + Born on whose Wings each heavy Sot can pierce + The Limits of the boundless Universe. + So charming Ointments make an old Witch fly, + And bear a crippl'd Carcase thro' the Sky. + 'Tis this exalted Pow'r whose Bus'ness lies + In Nonsense and Impossibilities: + This made a whimsical Philosopher, + Before the spacious World his Tub prefer: + And we have many modern Coxcombs who + Retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do. + But Thoughts were giv'n for Action's Government; + Where Action ceases, Thought's impertinent. + Our Sphere of Action is Life's Happiness, + And he that thinks beyond, thinks like an Ass. + Thus whilst against false Reas'ning I inveigh, + I own right Reason, which I would obey; + That Reason which distinguishes by Sense, + And gives us Rules of Good and Ill from thence; + That bounds Desires with a reforming Will, + To keep them more in Vigour, not to kill: + Your Reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy, + Renewing Appetites yours would destroy. + My Reason is my Friend, yours is a Cheat, + Hunger calls out, my Reason bids my eat; + Perversly yours your Appetite do's mock; + This asks for Food, that answers what's't a Clock. + + This plain Distinction, Sir, your Doubt secures; + 'Tis not true Reason, I despise but yours. + Thus, I think Reason righted: But for Man, + I'll ne'er recant, defend him if you can. + For all his Pride, and his Philosophy, } + 'Tis evident Beasts are, in their Degree, } + As wise at least, and better far than he. } + Those Creatures are the wisest, who attain + By surest Means, the Ends at which they aim. + If therefore _Jowler_ finds, and kills his Hare, + Better than _Meres_ supplies Committee Chair; + Tho' one's a Statesman, t'other but a Hound; + _Jowler_ in Justice will be wiser found. + You see how far Man's Wisdom here extends: + Look next if Human Nature makes amends; + Whose Principles are most generous and just, + And to whose Morals you wou'd sooner trust. + Be judge your self, I'll bring it to the Test, + Which is the basest Creature, Man, or Beast: + Birds feed on Birds, Beasts on each other prey, + But savage Man alone do's Man betray. + Prest by Necessity, _They_ kill for Food; + Man undoes Man, to do himself no good. + With Teeth and Claws, by Nature arm'd, _They_ hunt + Nature's Allowance, to supply their Want: + But Man with Smiles, Embraces, Friendships, Praise, + Inhumanly his Fellow's Life betrays; + With voluntary Pains works his Distress; + Not thro' Necessity, but Wantonness. + For Hunger, or for Love, _They_ bite, or tear, + Whilst wretched Man is still in Arms for Fear; + For Fear he arms, and is of Arms afraid; + From Fear to Fear successively betray'd. + Base Fear, the Source whence his best Passions came, + His boasted Honour, and his dear-bought Fame: + The Lust of Pow'r, to which he's such a Slave, + And for the which alone he dares be brave: + To which his various Projects are design'd, + Which makes him gen'rous, affable, and kind: + For which he takes such Pains to be thought wise, + And scrues his Actions in a forc'd Disguise: + Leads a most tedious Life in Misery, + Under laborious, mean Hypocrisy. + Look to the Bottom of his vast Design, + Wherein Man's Wisdom, Pow'r, and Glory join; + The Good he acts, the Ill he do's endure, + 'Tis all from Fear, to make himself secure. + Meerly for Safety, after Fame they thirst; + For all Men would be Cowards, if they durst: + And Honesty's against all common Sense, + Men must be Knaves; 'tis in their own Defence + Mankind's dishonest: If they think it fair, + Amongst known Cheats, to play upon the Square, + You'll be undone-- + Nor can weak Truth your Reputation save; + The Knaves will all agree to call you Knave. + Wrong'd shall he live, insulted o'er, opprest, + Who dares be less a Villain than the rest. + Thus here you see what Human Nature craves, + Most Men are Cowards, all Men shou'd be Knaves. + The Difference lies, as far as I can see, + Not in the thing it self, but the Degree; + And all the Subject Matter of Debate, + Is only who's a Knave of the first Rate. + + + + +_Tunbridge-WELLS_: + +A SATIRE. + + + At Five this Morn, when _Phoebus_ rais'd his Head + From _Thetis_ Lap, I rais'd my self from Bed; + And mounting Steed, I trotted to the Waters, } + The Rendezvous of Fools, Buffoons, and Praters, } + Cuckolds, Whores, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters. } + My squeamish Stomach I with Wine had brib'd, + To undertake the Dose that was prescrib'd; + But turning Head, a sudden cursed Crew, } + That innocent Provision overthrew, } + And without drinking, made me purge and spew; } + From Coach and Six, a Thing unwieldy roll'd, + Whom Lumber-Cart more decently would hold, + As wise as Calf it look'd, as big as Bully, + But handled, prov'd a meer Sir _Nich'las Cully_: + A bawling Fop, a _Nat'ral Nokes_, and yet + He dar'd to censure, to be thought a Wit. + To make him more ridiculous in Spite, + Nature contriv'd the Fool should be a Knight. + How wise is Nature when she does dispense + A large Estate to cover Want of Sense. + The Man's a Fool, 'tis true, but that's no Matter, } + For he's a mighty Wit with those that flatter, } + But a poor Blockhead is a wretched Creature. } + _Grant the unlucky Stars, this o'ergrown Boy + To purchase some aspiring pretty Toy, + That may his Want of Sense and Wit supply, + As Buxom Crab-fish doth his Lechery._ + Tho' he alone was dismal Sight enough, } + His Train contributed to set him off; } + All of his Shape, all of the self-same Stuff: } + No Spleen or Malice could on them be thrown, } + Nature had done the Bus'ness of Lampoon, } + And in their Looks their Characters were shewn. } + Endeavouring this irksome Sight to baulk, } + And a more irksom Noise, their silly Talk; } + I silently slunk down to'th Lower Walk. } + But often when one would _Charybdis_ shun, + Down upon _Scylla_ 'tis our Fate to run: + For there it was my cursed Luck to find + As great a Fop, tho' of another kind; + A tall, stiff Fool, that walk'd in _Spanish_ Guise, } + The Buckram Poppet never stirrd his Eyes, } + But grave as Owl he look'd, as Woodcock wise. } + He scorns the empty Talk of this made Age, + And speaks all Proverb, Sentence, and Adage: + Can with as much Solemnity buy Eggs, + As a Cabal can talk of their Intrigues: + Master of Ceremonies, yet can't dispense + With the Formality of Talking Sense. + From whence unto the Upper Walk I came, + Where a new Scene of Foppery began; + A Tribe of Curates, Priests, Canonical Elves, + Fit Company for none besides themselves, + Were got together; each his Distemper told, + Scurvy, Stone, Strangury; some were so bold, + To charge the Spleen to be their Misery, + And on that wise Disease lay Infamy: + But none had Modesty enough t'explain } + His Want of Learning, Honesty, or Brain, } + The general Diseases of that Train. } + These call themselves Ambassadors of Heaven, + And sawcily pretend Commissions given: + But should an _Indian_ King, whose small Command + Seldom extends beyond ten Miles of Land, + Send forth such wretched Fools on an Embassage. + He'd find but small Effects of such a Message. + List'ning, I found the Cob of all this Rabble, + Pert _Bayes_ with his Importance comfortable; + He being rais'd to an Archdeaconry, + By trampling on Religion, Liberty, + Was grown so great, and look'd too fat and jolly } + To be disturb'd with Care and Melancholly, } + Tho' _Marvel_ had enough expos'd his Folly. } + He drank to carry off some old Remains + His lazy dull Distemper left in's Brains; + Let him drink on; but 'tis not a whole Flood } + Can give sufficient Sweetness to his Blood, } + To make his Nature, or his Manners good. } + _Importance_ drank too, _tho' she had been no Sinner, + To wash away some Dregs he had spew'd in her_. + Next after these, a fulsom _Irish_ Crew + Of silly _Macks_ were offer'd to my View; + The things did talk, but hearing what they said, + I hid my self the Kindness to evade. + Nature had plac'd these Wretches beneath Scorn, + They can't be call'd so vile as they are born. + Amidst the Crowd, next I my self convey'd, + For now there comes, White-Wash and Paint being laid, + Mother and Daughter, Mistress and the Maid, + And Squire with Wig and Pantaloons display'd. + But ne'er could Conventicle, Play, or Fair, + For a true Medly with this Herd compare, + Here Lords, Knights, Squires, Ladies, and Countesses, + Chandlers, and barren Women, Sempstresses, + Were mix'd together; nor did they agree + More in their Humours, than their Quality. + Here waiting for Gallant young Damsel stood + Leaning on Cane, and muffl'd up in Hood. + The Wou'd-be-wit, whose Bus'ness was to woe, + With Hat remov'd, and solemn Scrape of Shoe, + Advances bowing, then gentilely shrugs, + And ruffl'd Fore-top into Order tugs; + And thus accosts her: _Madam, methinks the Weather + Is grown much more serene, since you came hither: + You influence the Heav'ns; but shou'd the Sun + Withdraw himself, to see his Rays outdone + By your bright Eyes, they could supply the Morn, + And make a Day, before the Day be born._ + With Mouth screw'd up, conceited winking Eyes, + And Breast thrust forward, _Lard Sir_, she replies, + _It is your Goodness, and not my Deserts, + Which makes you shew this Learning, Wit, and Parts._ + He puzzled, bites his Nails, both to display + The sparkling Ring, and think what next to say, + And thus breaks forth afresh; _Madam, Egad, + Your Luck at Cards, last Night, was very bad; + At Cribbidge Fifty Nine, and the next Shew, + To make the Game, and yet to want these Two. + G--D--me, Madam, I'm the Son of a Whore, + If, in my Life, I saw the like before._ + To Pedlar's Stall he drags her, and her Breast + With Hearts, and such like foolish Toys he drest, + And then, more smartly to expound the Riddle + Of all his Prattle, gives her a _Scotch_ Fiddle. + Tir'd with this dismal Stuff, away I ran, } + Where were two Wives, with Girl just fit for Man, } + Short-breath'd, and palled Lips, and Visage wan. } + Some Court'sies past, and the old Compliment + Of being glad to see each other, spent, + With Hand in Hand they lovingly did walk, + And one began thus to renew the Talk: + _I pray, Good Madam, if it mayn't be thought + Rudeness in me, what Cause has hither brought + Your Ladyship?_ She soon replying, smil'd, + _We've got a good Estate, but have no Child; + And I'm inform'd, these Wells will make a barren + Woman as fruitful as a Coney-Warren._ + The first return'd, _For this Cause I am come, + For I can have no Quietness at Home; + My Husband grumbles, tho' we have got one, + This poor young Girl, and mutters for a Son: + And this is griev'd with Head-ach, Pangs, and Throws, + Is full Sixteen, and never yet had Those._ + She soon reply'd, _Get her a Husband, Madam; + I marry'd about that Age, and ne'er had had 'em + Was just like her, Steel Waters let alone, + A Back of Steel will better bring Them down. + And Ten to one, but they themselves will try + The same Means to increase the Family._ + Poor silly Fribble! who by Subtilty, + Of Midwife, truest Friend to Lechery, + Perswaded art to be at Pains and Charge, + To give thy Wife Occasion to enlarge + Thy silly Head: For here walks _Cuff_ and _Kick_, + With Brawny Back, and Legs, and potent P----, + Who more substantially can cure thy Wife, + And on her half-dead Womb bestow new Life; + From these the Waters got their Reputation + Of good Assistants unto Propagation. + Some warlike Men were now got into th' Throng, + With Hair ty'd back, singing a bawdy Song; + Not much afraid, I got a nearer View, + And 'twas my Chance to know the dreadful Crew; + They were Cadets, that seldom can appear, + Damn'd to the Stint of Thirty Pounds a Year; + With Hawk on Fist, and Grey-Hound led in Hand, + The Dog and Foot-Boys sometimes to command, + And now having trimm'd a Cast of spavin'd Horse, } + With Three Half-Pence for Guineas in their Purse, } + Two rusty Pistols, Scarf about their Arse, } + Coat lin'd with Red, they here presume to swell, + This goes for Captain, that for Collonel. + So the Bear-Garden Ape, on his Steed mounted, + No longer is a Jackanapes accounted; + And is, by virtue of his Trump'ry, then + Call'd by the Name of the young Gentleman: + Bless me! thought I, what thing is Man, that thus + In all his Shapes is so ridiculous? + Our selves with Noise of Reason we do please, + In vain Humanity is our worst Disease; + Thrice happy Beasts are, who because they be + Of Reason void, are so of Foppery. + _Faith, I was so asham'd, that with Remorse, + I us'd the Insolence to mount my Horse; + For he doing only Things fit for his Nature, + Did seem to me by much the wiser Creature._ + + + + +_HORACE_'s _Nempe incomposito dixi pede_, &c. IMITATED. + + + Well, Sir, 'tis granted, I said _Dryden_'s Rhimes + Were stoll'n, unequal, nay, dull many Times: + What foolish Patron is there found of his + So blindly partial to deny me this? + But that his Plays embroider'd up and down } + With Wit and Learning, justly please the Town, } + In the same Paper I as freely own. } + Yet having this allow'd, the heavy Mass + That stuffs up his loose Volumes, must not pass: + For by that Rule, I might as well admit + _Crown_'s tedious Sense for Poetry and Wit. + 'Tis therefore not enough, when your false Sense + Hits the false Judgment of an Audience + Of clapping Fools assembling, a vast Crowd, + Till the throng'd Play-House crack with the dull Load; + Tho' ev'n that Talent merits, in some sort, + That can divert the Rabble and the Court; + Which blund'ring _Settle_ never could attain, + And puzz'ling _Otway_ labours at in vain: + But within due Proportion circumscribe + Whate'er you write, that with a flowing Tide + The Stile may rise, yet in its Rise forbear + With useless Words t'oppress the weary'd Ear. + Here be your Language lofty, there more light, + Your Rhet'rick with your Poetry unite: + For Elegance sake, sometimes allay the Force + Of Epithets, 'twill soften the Discourse + A Jest in Scorn points out, and hits the Thing + More home, than the morosest Satyr's Sting. + _Shakespear_ and _Johnson_ did in this excel, + And might herein be imitated well; + Whom refin'd _Etherege_ copies not at all, + But is himself a meer Original; + Nor that slow Drudge in swift Pindarick Strains, } + _Flatman_, who _Cowley_ imitates with Pains, } + And rides a jaded Muse, whipt, with loose Reins. } + When _Lee_ makes temp'rate _Scipio_ fret and rave, + And _Hannibal_ a whining am'rous Slave, + I laugh, and wish the hot-brain'd Fustian Fool + In _Busby_'s Hands, to be well lash'd at School. + Of all our modern Wits, none seem to me } + Once to have touch'd upon true _Comedy_, } + But hasty _Shadwell_, and slow _Wycherley_. } + _Shadwell_'s unfinish'd Works do yet impart + Great Proofs of Force of Nature, none of Art; + With just bold Stokes he dashes here and there, + Shewing great Mastery with little Care; + Scorning to varnish his good Touches o'er, + To make the Fools and Women praise him more: + But _Wycherley_ earns hard whate'er he gains; + He wants no Judgment, and he spares no Pains: + He frequently excells, and at the least, + Makes fewer Faults than any of the rest. + _Waller_, by Nature for the Bays design'd, } + With Force, and Fire, and Fancy, unconfin'd, } + In Panegyrick do's excel Mankind: } + He best can turn, enforce, and soften things, + To praise great Conquerors, and flatter Kings. + For pointed Satyr I would _Buckhurst_ choose, + The best Good Man with the worst-natur'd Muse. + For Songs and Verses mannerly obscene, } + That can stir Nature up by Springs unseen, } + And, without forcing Blushes, warm the Queen; } + _Sedley_ has that prevailing, gentle Art, } + That can with a resistless Pow'r impart } + The loosest Wishes to the chastest Heart; } + Raise such a Conflict, kindle such a Fire + Betwixt declining Virtue and Desire, + Till the poor vanquish'd Maid dissolves away + In Dreams all Night, in Sighs and Tears all Day. + _Dryden_ in vain try'd this nice Way of Wit, + For he to be a tearing Blade thought fit; + But when he would be sharp, he still was blunt, + To frisk and frolick Fancy he'd cry ---- + Wou'd give the Ladies a dry bawdy Bob; + And thus he got the Name of Poet Squab: + But to be just, 'twill to his Praise be found, + His Excellences more than Faults abound; + Nor dare I from his sacred Temples tear + The Laurel, which he best deserves to wear; + But do's not _Dryden_ find ev'n _Johnson_ dull? + _Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_ incorrect and full + Of _Lewd Lines_, as he calls 'em? _Shakespear_'s Stile + Stiff and affected? To his own the while, + Allowing all the Justice that his Pride + So arrogantly had to these deny'd? + And may not I have Leave impartially + To search and censure _Dryden_'s Works, and try + If those gross Faults his choice Pen doth commit, + Proceed from Want of Judgment, or of Wit? + Or if his lumpish Fancy do's refuse + Spirit and Grace to his loose slattern Muse? + Five Hundred Verses ev'ry Morning writ + Prove him no more a Poet than a Wit: + Such scribb'ling Authors have been seen before, } + _Mustapha_, the _Island Princess_, Forty more, } + Were things, perhaps, compos'd in Half an Hour. } + To write, what may securely stand the Test + Of being well read over, thrice at least; + Compare each Phrase, examine ev'ry Line, + Weigh ev'ry Word, and ev'ry Thought refine; + Scorn all Applause the vile Rout can bestow, + And be content to please those few who know. + Canst thou be such a vain mistaken Thing, + To wish thy Works might make a Play-house ring + With the unthinking Laughter and poor Praise + Of Fops and Ladies factious for thy Plays? + Then send a cunning Friend to learn thy Doom + From the shrewd Judges in the Drawing Room. + I've no Ambition on that idle Score, } + But say with _Betty Morris_ heretofore, } + When a Court Lady call'd her _Buckhurst_'s Whore: } + I please one Man of Wit, am proud on't too, + Let all the Coxcombs dance to Bed to you. + Should I be troubled when the purblind Knight, } + Who squints more in his Judgment, than his Sight, } + Picks silly Faults, and censures what I write? } + Or when the poor-fed Poets of the Town, + For Scraps and Coach-room cry my Verses down? + I loath the Rabble; 'tis enough for me; + If _Sedley_, _Shadwell_, _Sheppard_, _Wycherley_, + _Godolphin_, _Butler_, _Buckhurst_, _Buckingham_, } + And some few more, whom I omit to name, } + Approve my Sense, I count their Censure Fame. } + + + + +A SATIRE AGAINST MARRIAGE. + + + Husband, thou dull unpitied Miscreant, + Wedded to Noise, to Misery and Want: + Sold an eternal Vassal for thy Life, + Oblig'd to cherish, and to hate thy Wife: + Drudge on till Fifty at thy own Expence, + Breathe out thy Life in one Impertinence: + Repeat thy loath'd Embraces every Night, + Prompted to act by Duty, not Delight: + Christen thy froward Bantling once a Year, + And carefully thy spurious Issue rear: + Go once a Week to see the Brat at Nurse, + And let the young Impostor drain thy Purse: + Hedge-Sparrow-like, what Cuckows have begot, + Do thou maintain, incorrigible Sot. + O! I could curse the Pimp, (who could do less?) + He's beneath Pity, and beyond Redress. + Pox on him, let him go, what can I say? + _Anathema_'s on him are thrown away: + The Wretch is marry'd and hath known the worst; + And his great Blessing is, he can't be curst. + _Marriage!_ O Hell and Furies! name it not; + Hence, ye holy Cheats, a Plot, a Plot! + _Marriage!_ 'Tis but a licens'd Way to sin; + A Noose to catch religious Woodcocks in: + Or the Nick-Name of Love's malicious Fiend, + Begot in Hell to persecute Mankind: + 'Tis the Destroyer of our Peace and Health, + Mispender of our Time, our Strength and Wealth; + The Enemy of Valour, Wit, Mirth, all + That we can virtuous, good, or pleasant call: + By Day 'tis nothing but an endless Noise, + By Night the Eccho of forgotten Joys: + Abroad the Sport and Wonder of the Crowd, + At Home the hourly Breach of what they vow'd: + In Youth it's _Opium_ to our lustful Rage, + Which sleeps awhile, but wakes again in Age: + It heaps on all Men much, but useless Care; + For with more Trouble they less happy are. + Ye Gods! that Man, by his own Slavish Law, + Should on himself such Inconvenience draw. + If he would wiser Nature's Laws obey, + Those chalk him out a far more pleasant Way, + When lusty Youth and fragrant Wine conspire + To fan the Blood into a gen'rous Fire. + We must not think the Gallant will endure + The puissant Issue of his Calenture, + Nor always in his single Pleasures burn, + Tho' Nature's Handmaid sometimes serves the Turn: + No: He must have a sprightly, youthful Wench, + In equal Floods of Love his Flames to quench: + One that will hold him in her clasping Arms, + And in that Circle all his Spirits charms; + That with new Motion and unpractis'd Art, + Can raise his Soul, and reinsnare his Heart. + Hence spring the Noble, Fortunate, and Great, + Always begot in Passion and in Heat: + But the dull Offspring of the Marriage-Bed, + What is it! but a human Piece of Lead; + A sottish Lump ingender'd of all Ills; + Begot like Cats against their Fathers Wills. + If it be bastardis'd, 'tis doubly spoil'd, + The Mother's Fear's entail'd upon the Child. + Thus whether illegitimate, or not, + Cowards and Fools in Wedlock are begot. + Let no enabled Soul himself debase + By lawful Means to bastardise his Race; + But if he must pay Nature's Debt in Kind, + To check his eager Passion, let him find + Some willing Female out, who, tho' she be + The very Dregs and Scum of Infamy: + Tho' she be Linsey-Woolsey, Bawd, and Whore, + Close-stool to _Venus_, Nature's Common-Shore, + Impudent, Foolish, Bawdy, and Disease, + The Sunday Crack of Suburb-Prentices; + What then! She's better than a Wife by half; + And if thour't still unmarried, thou art safe. + With Whores thou canst but venture; what thou'st lost, + May be redeem'd again with Care and Cost; + But a damn'd Wife, by inevitable Fate, + Destroys Soul, Body, Credit, and Estate. + + + + +A LETTER FROM _Artemisa_ in the Town, TO _CLOE_ in the Country. + + + _Cloe_, by your Command, in Verse I write: + Shortly you'll bid me ride astride, and fight: + Such Talents better with our Sex agree, + Than lofty Flights of dangerous Poetry. + Among the Men, I mean the Men of Wit, + (At least, they past for such before they writ) + How many bold Advent'rers for the Bays, + Proudly designing large Returns of Praise; + Who durst that stormy, pathless World explore, } + Were soon dash'd back, and wreck'd on the dull Shore, } + Broke of that little Stock they had before. } + How wou'd a Woman's tott'ring Bark be tost, + Where stoutest Ships, (the Men of Wit) are lost? + When I reflect on this, I streight grow wise, + And my own self I gravely thus advise. + + Dear _Artemisa_! Poetry's a Snare: + _Bedlam_ has many Mansions; have a Care: + Your Muse diverts you, makes the Reader sad: + You think your self inspir'd, he thinks you mad: + Consider too, 'twill be discreetly done, + To make your self the Fiddle of the Town: + To find th' ill-humour'd Pleasure at their Need; + Curst when you fail, and scorn'd when you succeed. + Thus, like an arrant Woman, as I am, } + No sooner well convinc'd Writing's a Shame, } + That _Whore_ is scarce a more reproachful Name } + Than Poetess-- + Like Men that marry, or like Maids that woo, + because 'tis th' very worst thing they can do: + Pleas'd with the Contradiction, and the Sin, + Methinks I stand on Thorns till I begin. + + Y'expect to hear, at least, what Love has past + In this lewd Town, since you and I saw last; + What Change has happen'd of Intrigues, and whether + The old ones last, and who and who's together. + But how, my dearest _Cloe_, shou'd I set + My Pen to write, what I wou'd fain forget? + Or name that lost thing Love without a Tear, + Since so debauch'd by ill-bred Customs here? + Love, the most gen'rous Passion of the Mind; + The softest Refuge Innocence can find; + The safe Director of unguided Youth; + Fraught with kind Wishes, and secur'd by Truth: + That Cordial-drop Heav'n in our Cup has thrown, + To make the nauseous Draught of Life go down: + On which one only Blessing God might raise, + In Lands of Atheists, Subsidies of Praise: + For none did e'er so dull and stupid prove, + But felt a God, and bless'd his Pow'r in Love: + This only Joy, for which poor we are made, + Is grown, like Play, to be an arrant Trade: + The Rooks creep in, and it has got of late, + As many little Cheats and Tricks as that. + But, what yet more a Woman's Heart wou'd vex, + 'Tis chiefly carry'd on by our own Sex. + Our silly Sex, who, born like Monarchs, free, } + Turn Gypsies for a meaner Liberty; } + And hate Restraint, tho' but from Infamy: } + They call whatever is not common nice, } + And, deaf to Nature's Rule, or Love's Advice, } + Forsake the Pleasure to pursue the Vice. } + To an exact Perfection they have brought + The Action Love; the Passion is forgot. + 'Tis below Wit, they tell you, to admire; + And ev'n without approving, they desire. + Their private Wish obeys the publick Voice, + 'Twixt Good and Bad, Whimsey decides, not Choice. + Fashions grow up for Taste, at Forms they strike; + They know not what they wou'd have, nor what they like. + _Bovy_'s a Beauty, if some few agree } + To call him so, the rest to that Degree } + Affected are, that with their Ears they see. } + + Where I was visiting the other Night, + Comes a fine Lady with her humble Knight, + Who had prevail'd with her, thro' her own Skill, + As his Request, tho' much against his Will, + To come to _London_-- + As the Coach stopt, I heard her Voice, more loud + Than a great bellied Woman's in a Crowd; + Telling the Knight that her Affairs require + He, for some Hours, obsequiously retire. + I think she was asham'd he shou'd be seen, } + Hard Fate of Husbands! the Gallant has been, } + Tho' a diseas'd, ill-favour'd Fool, brought in. } + Dispatch, says she, the Business you pretend, + Your beastly Visit to your drunken Friend. + A Bottle ever makes you look so fine; + Methinks I long to smell you stink of Wine. + Your Country-drinking Breath's enough to kill: + Sour Ale corrected with a Lemon-Pill. + Prithee, farewel: We'll meet again anon. + The necessary Thing bows, and is gone. + She flies up Stairs, and all the Haste does show + That fifty antick Postures will allow, + And then burst out--Dear Madam, am not I + The strangest, alter'd Creature: Let me die + I find my self ridiculously grown, + Embarrast with my being out of Town + Rude and untaught like any _Indian_ Queen; + My Country Nakedness is plainly seen. + How is Love govern'd? Love that rules the State; + And pray who are the Men most worn of late? + When I was marry'd, Fools were a-la-mode; + The Men of Wit were held then incommode. + Slow of Belief, and fickle in Desire, } + Who, e'er they'll be persuaded, must enquire; } + As if they came to spy, and not to admire. } + With searching Wisdom, fatal to their Ease, + They still find out why, what may, shou'd not please: + Nay, take themselves for injur'd, when we dare + Make 'em think better of us than we are: + And, if we hide our Frailties from their Sights, + Call us deceitful Jilts, and Hypocrites: + They little guess, who at our Arts are griev'd, + The perfect Joy of being well deceiv'd. + Inquisitive, as jealous Cuckolds, grow; } + Rather than not be knowing, they will know, } + What being known, creates their certain Woe. } + Women should these, of all Mankind, avoid; + For Wonder, by clear Knowledge, is destroy'd. + Woman, who is an arrant Bird of Night, } + Bold in the dusk, before a Fool's dull sight, } + Must fly, when Reason brings the glaring Light. } + But the kind easie Fool, apt to admire } + Himself, trusts us, his Follies all conspire } + To flatter his, and favour our Desire. } + Vain of his proper Merit, he, with ease, + Believes we love him best, who best can please: + On him our gross, dull, common Flatteries pass; + Ever most happy when most made an Ass: + Heavy to apprehend; tho' all Mankind } + Perceive us false, the Fop, himself, is blind. } + Who, doating on himself,-- } + Thinks every one that sees him of his Mind. } + These are true Womens Men--here, forc'd to cease + Thro' want of Breath, not will, to hold her Peace; + She to the Window runs, where she had spy'd + Her much-esteem'd, dear Friend, the Monkey ty'd: + With forty Smiles, as many antick Bows, + As if't had been the Lady of the House + The dirty, chatt'ring Monster she embrac'd; + And made it this fine tender Speech at last. + + Kiss me, thou curious Miniature of Man; + How odd thou art, how pretty, how japan: + Oh! I could live and die with thee: Then on, + For half an Hour, in Complements she ran. + I took this Time to think what Nature meant, } + When this mixt Thing into the World she sent, } + So very wise, yet so impertinent. } + One that knows ev'ry Thing that God thought fit + Shou'd be an Ass thro' Choice, not want of Wit. + Whose Foppery, without the help of Sense, + Cou'd ne'er have rose to such an Excellence. + Nature's as lame in making a true Fop + As a Philosopher, the very Top + And Dignity of Folly we attain + By studious Search, and Labour of the Brain: + By Observation, Counsel, and deep Thought: + God never made a Coxcomb worth a Groat. + We owe that Name to Industry and Arts; + An eminent Fool must be a Fool of Parts. + And such a one was she; who had turn'd o'er + As many Books as Men; lov'd much, read more: + Had discerning Wit; to her was known + Every one's Fault, or Merit, but her own. + All the good Qualities that ever blest } + A Woman so distinguish'd from the rest, } + Except Discretion only, she possest. } + But now _Mon Cher_, dear Pug, she crys, adieu, + And the Discourse broke off, does thus renew: + You smile to see me, who the World perchance, + Mistakes to have some Wit, so far advance + The Interest of Fools, that I approve + Their Merit more than Men of Wit in Love. + But in our Sex too many Proofs there are + Of such whom Wits undo and Fools repair. + This, in my Time, was so observ'd a Rule, + Hardly a Wench in Town but had her Fool. + The meanest, common Slut, who long was grown + The Jest and Scorn of ev'ry Pit-Buffoon; + Had yet left Charms enough to have subdu'd + Some Fop or other; fond to be thought lewd. + _Foster_ could make an _Irish_ Lord a _Nokes_; + And _Betty Morris_ had her City Cokes. + A Woman's ne'er so ruin'd but she can + Be still reveng'd on her Undoer, Man: + How lost soe'er, she'll find some Lover more, + A more abandon'd Fool than she a Whore. + That wretched Thing _Corinna_, who has run + Thro' all th' several Ways of being undone: + Cozen'd at first by Love, and living then + By turning the too dear-bought Cheat on Men: + Gay were the Hours, and wing'd with Joy they flew, + When first the Town her early Beauties knew: + Courted, admir'd, and lov'd, with Presents fed; + Youth in her Looks, and Pleasure in her Bed: + 'Till Fate, or her ill Angel, thought it fit + To make her doat upon a Man of Wit: + Who found 'twas dull to love above a Day; + Made his ill-natur'd Jest, and went away. + Now scorn'd of all, forsaken and oppress'd, + She's a _Memento Mori_ to the rest: + Diseas'd, decay'd, to take up half a Crown + Must mortgage her long Scarf, and Manto Gown; + Poor Creature, who unheard of, as a Fly, + In some dark Hole must all the Winter lie: + And Want and Dirt endure a whole half Year, + That for one Month she tawdry may appear. + In _Easter_ Term she gets her a new Gown; + When my young Master's Worship comes to Town: + From Pedagogue and Mother just set free; + The Heir and Hopes of a great Family: + Who with strong Beer and Beef the Country rules; + And ever since the Conquest have been Fools: + And now with careful Prospect to maintain + This Character, lest crossing of the Strain + Shou'd mend the Booby-breed; his Friends provide + A Cousin of his own to be his Bride: + And thus set out-- + With an Estate, no Wit, and a young Wife: + The sole Comforts of a Coxcomb's Life: + Dunghil and Pease forsook, he comes to Town, + Turns Spark, learns to be lewd, and is undone: + Nothing suits worse with Vice than want of Sense: + Fools are still wicked at their own Expence. + This o'er-grown School-Boy lost _Corinna_ wins; + At the first dash to make an Ass begins: + Pretends to like a Man that has not known + The Vanities or Vices of the Town: + Fresh in his Youth, and faithful in his Love, + Eager of Joys which he does seldom prove: + Healthful and strong, he does no Pains endure, + But what the Fair One he adores can cure. + Grateful for Favours does the Sex esteem, + And libels none for being kind to him. + Then of the Lewdness of the Town complains, + Rails at the Wits and Atheists, and maintains + 'Tis better than good Sense, than Pow'r or Wealth, + To have a Blood untainted, Youth and Health. + The unbred Puppy who had never seen + A Creature look so gay, or talk so fine; + Believes, then falls in Love, and then in Debt: + Mortgages all, ev'n to the ancient Seat, + To buy his Mistress a new House for Life: + To give her Plate and Jewels robs his Wife. + And when to th' Heighth of Fondness he is grown, + 'Tis Time to poison him, and all's her own. + Thus meeting in her common Arms his Fate, + He leaves her Bastard-Heir to his Estate: + And as the Race of such an Owl deserves, + His own dull lawful Progeny he starves. + Nature (that never made a Thing in vain, + But does each Insect to some End ordain) + Wisely provokes kind-keeping Fools, no doubt, + To patch up Vices Men of Wit wear out. + + Thus she ran on two Hours, some Grains of Sense + Still mixt with Follies of Impertinence. + But now 'tis Time I shou'd some Pity show } + To _Cloe_, since I cannot chuse but know, } + Readers must reap what dullest Writers sow. } + By the next Post I will such Stories tell, + As, join'd to these, shall to a Volume swell; + As true as Heaven, more infamous than Hell: + But you are tir'd, and so am I. + + _Farewel._ + + + + +An EPISTOLARY ESSAY From _M.G._ to _O.B._ Upon their mutual POEMS. + + +Dear Friend, + + I hear this Town does so abound + With saucy Censurers, that Faults are found + With what of late we (in poetick Rage) + Bestowing threw away on the dull Age. + But (howsoe'er Envy their Spleens may raise, + To rob my Brows of the deserved Bays) + Their Thanks at least I merit; since thro' me + They are Partakers of your Poetry: + And this is all I'll say in my Defence, } + T'obtain one Line of your well-worded Sence, } + I'll be content t'have writ the _British_ Prince. } + I'm none of those who think themselves inspir'd + Nor write with the vain Hope to be admir'd; + But from a Rule I have (upon long Trial) + T'avoid with Care all sort of Self-denial. + Which way soe'er Desire and Fancy lead, + (Contemning Fame) that Path I boldly tread; + And if exposing what I take for Wit, } + To my dear self a Pleasure I beget, } + No Matter tho' the cens'ring Criticks fret. } + These whom my Muse displeases are at Strife, + With equal Spleen against my Course of Life, + The least Delight of which I'll not forego, + For all the flatt'ring Praise Man can bestow. + If I design'd to please, the Way were then + To mend my Manners, rather than my Pen: + The first's unnatural, therefore unfit; } + And for the second, I despair of it, } + Since Grace is not so hard to get as Wit. } + Perhaps ill Verses ought to be confin'd + In meer good Breeding, like unsav'ry Wind, + Were reading forc'd, I shou'd be apt to think, + Men might no more write scurvily than stink: + But 'tis your Choice, whether you'll read, or no. + If likewise of your Smelling it were so, + I'd fart just as I write, for my own Ease, + Nor shou'd you be concern'd unless you please. + I'll own that you write better than I do, + But I have as much need to write as you. + What tho' the Excrements of my dull Brain, + Flows in a harsh and an insipid Strain; + While your rich Head eases it self of Wit, + Must none but Civet Cats have leave to shit? + In all I write, shou'd Sense, and Wit, and Rhime + Fail me at once, yet something so sublime, + Shall stamp my Poem, that the World may see, + It cou'd have been produc'd by none but me. + And that's my End; for Man can wish no more + Than so to write, as none e'er writ before. + Yet why am I no Poet of the Times? + I have Allusions, Similes, and Rhimes, + And Wit; or else 'tis hard that I alone, + Of the whole Race of Mankind shou'd have none. + Unequally the partial Hand of Heav'n, + Has all but this one only Blessing giv'n. + The World appears like a great Family, + Whose Lord, oppress'd with Pride and Poverty, + (That to a few great Bounty he may show) + Is fain to starve the num'rous Train below: + Just so seems Providence, as poor and vain, + Keeping more Creatures than it can maintain: + Here 'tis profuse, and there it meanly saves, + And for one Prince it makes ten thousand Slaves. + In Wit, alone, 't has been Magnificent, } + Of which so just a Share to each is sent, } + That the most avaricious are content. } + For none e'er thought (the due Division's such) + His own too little, or his Friends too much. + Yet most Men shew, or find, great want of Wit, + Writing themselves, or judging what is writ. + But I who am of sprightly Vigour full, + Look on Mankind, as envious, and dull. + Born to my self, I like my self alone; + And must conclude my Judgment good, or none: + For cou'd my Sense be naught, how shou'd I know + Whether another Man's were good or no, + Thus I resolve of my own Poetry, + That 'tis the best; and there's a Fame for me. + If then I'm happy, what does it advance + Whether to Merit due, or Arrogance? + Oh! but the World will take Offence hereby: + Why then the World shall suffer for't, not I. + Did e'er this saucy World and I agree, + To let it have its beastly Will on me? + Why shou'd my prostituted Sense be drawn, + To ev'ry Rule their musty Customs spawn? + But Men may censure you, 'tis two to one + Whene'er they censure they'll be in the wrong. + There's not a thing on Earth, that I can name, + So foolish, and so false, as common Fame: + It calls the Courtier Knave; the plain Man rude; + Haughty the Grave; and the Delightful lewd; + Impertinent the Brisk; morose the Sad; + Mean the Familiar; the Reserv'd one mad. + Poor helpless Woman, is not favour'd more, + She's a sly Hypocrite, or publick Whore. + Then who the Dev'l wou'd give this to be free + From th' innocent Reproach of Infamy. + These Things consider'd, make me, in despite + Of idle Rumour, keep at home and write. + + + + +THE _Maim'd Debauchee_. + + + I. + + As some brave Admiral in former War + Depriv'd of Force, but prest with Courage still, + Two rival Fleets appearing from afar, + Crawls to the Top of an adjacent Hill. + + + II. + + From whence (with Thoughts full of Concern) he views + The wise, and daring Conduct, of the Fight: + And each bold Action to his Mind renews, + His present Glory, and his past Delight. + + + III. + + From his fierce Eyes flashes of Rage he throws, + As from black Clouds when Lightning breaks away, + Transported thinks himself amidst his Foes, + And absent yet enjoys the bloody Day. + + + IV. + + So when my Days of Impotence approach, + And I'm by Love and Wine's unlucky Chance, + Driv'n from the pleasing Billows of Debauch, + On the dull Shore of lazy Temperance. + + + V. + + My Pains at last some Respite shall afford, + While I behold the Battels you maintain; + When Fleets of Glasses sail around the Board, + From whose Broad-sides Vollies of Wit shall rain. + + + VI. + + Nor shall the Sight of honourable Scars, + Which my too forward Valour did procure, + Frighten new-listed Soldiers from the Wars, + Past Joys have more than paid what I endure. + + + VII. + + Shou'd some brave Youth (worth being drunk) prove nice, + And from his fair Inviter meanly shrink, + 'Twould please the Ghost of my departed Vice, + If at my Counsel he repent and drink. + + + VIII. + + Or shou'd some cold complexion'd Sot forbid, + With his dull Morals, our Nights brisk Alarms, + I'll fire his Blood by telling what I did, + When I was strong, and able to bear Arms. + + + IX. + + I'll tell of Whores attack'd their Lords at home, + Bawds Quarters beaten up, and Fortress won; + Windows demolish'd, Watches overcome, + And handsome Ills by my Contrivance done. + + + X. + + With Tales like these I will such Heat inspire. + As to important Mischief shall incline; + I'll make him long some ancient Church to fire, + And fear no Lewdness they're call'd to by Wine. + + + XI. + + Thus Statesman-like I'll saucily impose, + And safe from Danger valianly advise; + Shelter'd in Impotence urge you to Blows, + And being good for nothing else be wise. + + + + +Upon _NOTHING_. + + + I. + + _Nothing!_ thou elder Brother ev'n to Shade, + Thou hadst a Being e'er the World was made, + And (well fix'd) art alone, of ending not afraid. + + + II. + + E'er Time and Place were, Time and Place were not, + When primitive _Nothing_ something straight begot, + Then all proceeded from the great united--What. + + + III. + + Something the gen'ral Attribute of all, + Sever'd from thee, it's sole Original, + Into thy boundless self must undistinguish'd fall. + + + IV. + + Yet something did thy mighty Pow'r command, + And from thy fruitful Emptiness's Hand, + Snatch'd Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Air, and Land. + + + V. + + Matter, the wicked'st Off-spring of thy Race, + By Form assisted, flew from thy Embrace, + And rebel Light obscur'd thy rev'rend dusky Face. + + + VI. + + With Form and Matter, Time, and Place did join, + Body, thy Foe, with thee did Leagues combine + To spoil thy peaceful Realm, and ruin all thy Line. + + + VII. + + But turn-coat Time assists the Foe in vain, + And, brib'd by thee, assists thy short-liv'd Reign. + And to thy hungry Womb drives back thy Slaves again. + + + VIII. + + Tho' Mysteries are barr'd from Laick Eyes, + And the Divine alone, with Warrant, pries + Into thy Bosom, where the Truth in private lies. + + + IX. + + Yet this of thee the Wise may freely say, + Thou from the Virtuous nothing tak'st away, + And to be part with thee the Wicked wisely pray. + + + X. + + Great Negative, how vainly wou'd the Wise + Enquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise? + Didst thou not stand to point their dull Philosophies. + + + XI. + + _Is_, or _is not_, the two great Ends of Fate, + And, true or false, the Subject of Debate, + That perfect, or destroy, the vast Designs of Fate. + + + XII. + + When they have rack'd the Politician's Breast, + Within thy Bosom most securely rest, + And, when reduc'd to thee, are least unsafe and best. + + + XIII. + + But, _Nothing_, why does _Something_ still permit, + That sacred Monarchs should at Council sit, + With Persons highly thought at best for nothing fit. + + + XIV. + + Whilst weighty _Something_ modestly abstains, + From Princes Coffers, and from Statesmens Brains, + And nothing there like stately _Nothing_ reigns. + + + XV. + + _Nothing_, who dwell'st with Fools in grave Disguise, + For whom they rev'rend Shapes and Forms devise, + Lawn Sleeves, and Furs, and Gowns, when they like thee look wise. + + + XVI. + + _French_ Truth, _Dutch_ Prowess, _British_ Policy, + _Hibernian_ Learning, _Scotch_ Civility, + _Spaniards_ Dispatch, _Danes_ Wit, are mainly seen in thee. + + + XVII. + + The Great Man's Gratitude to his best Friend, + King's Promises, Whores Vows tow'rds thee they bend, + Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end. + + + + +The ADVICE. + + + All Things submit themselves to your Command, + Fair _Cælia_, when it does not Love withstand: + The Pow'r it borrows from your Eyes alone; + All but the God must yield to, who has none. + Were he not blind, such are the Charms you have, + He'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave: + Be proud to act a mortal Hero's Part, + And throw himself for Fame on his own Dart. + But Fate has otherwise dispos'd of Things, + In different Bands subjected Slaves and Kings: + Fetter'd in Forms of Royal State are they, + While we enjoy the Freedom to obey. + That Fate like you resistless does ordain, + To Love, that over Beauty he shall reign. + By Harmony the Universe does move, + And what is Harmony but mutual Love? + Who would resist an Empire so divine, + Which universal Nature does enjoin? + See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide, + Kissing the rugged Banks on either Side. + While in their Crystal Streams at once they show, + And with them feed the Flow'rs which they bestow: + Tho' rudely throng'd by a too near Embrace, + In gentle Murmurs they keep on their Pace + To the lov'd Sea; for Streams have their Desires; + Cool as they are, they feel Love's powerful Fires; + And with such Passion, that if any Force + Stop or molest them in their amorous Course; + They swell, break down with Rage, and ravage o'er + The Banks they kiss'd, and Flow'rs they fed before. + Submit then, _Cælia_, e'er you be reduc'd; + For Rebels, vanquish'd once, are vilely us'd. + Beauty's no more but the dead Soil, which Love + Manures, and does by wise Commerce improve: + Sailing by Sighs, thro' Seas of Tears, he sends + Courtships from foreign Hearts, for your own Ends: + Cherish the Trade, for as with _Indians_ we + Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery: + So to each other for their useless Toys, + Lovers afford whole Magazines of Joys. + But if you're fond of Baubles, be, and starve, + Your Guegaw Reputation still preserve: + Live upon Modesty and empty Fame, + Foregoing Sense for a fantastick Name. + + + + +The DISCOVERY. + + + _Cælia_, that faithful Servant you disown, + Would in Obedience keep his Love his own: + But bright Ideas, such as you inspire, + We can no more conceal, than not admire. + My Heart at home in my own Breast did dwell, + Like humble Hermit in a peaceful Cell. + Unknown and undisturb'd it rested there, + Stranger alike to Hope and to Despair. + Now Love with a tumultuous Train invades + The sacred Quiet of those hollow'd Shades. + His fatal Flames shine out to ev'ry Eye, + Like blazing Comets in a Winter Sky. + How can my Passion merit your Offence, + That challenges so little Recompence? + For I am one, born only to admire; + Too humble e'er to hope, scarce to desire. + A Thing whose Bliss depends upon your Will, + Who wou'd be proud you'd deign to use him ill. + Then give me leave to glory in my Chain, + My fruitless Sighs, and my unpitied Pain. + Let me but ever Love, and ever be + Th' Example of your Pow'r and Cruelty. + Since so much Scorn does in your Breast reside, + Be more indulgent to its Mother Pride. + Kill all you strike, and trample on their Graves; + But own the Fates of your neglected Slaves: + When in the Croud yours undistinguish'd lies, + You give away the Triumph of your Eyes. + Perhaps (obtaining this) you'll think I find + More Mercy than your Anger has design'd: + But Love has carefully design'd for me, + The last Perfection of Misery. + For to my State the Hopes of Common Peace, + Which ev'ry Wretch enjoys in Death, must cease: + My worst of Fates attend me in my Grave, + Since, dying, I must be no more your Slave. + + + + +THE NINTH ELEGY, In the Second Book of _Ovid_'s Amours, translated. + +_To LOVE._ + + + O Love! how cold and slow to take my part? + Thou idle Wanderer about my Heart: + Why, thy old faithful Soldier, wilt thou see + Oppress'd in thy own Tents? They murther me. + Thy Flames consume, thy Arrows pierce thy Friends: + Rather on Foes pursue more noble Ends. + _Achilles_ Sword would certainly bestow + A Cure, as certain as it gave the Blow. + Hunters, who follow flying Game, give o'er + When the Prey's caught, Hopes still lead on before. + We thine own Slaves feel thy tyrannick Blows, + Whilst thy tame Hand's unmov'd against thy Foes. + On Men disarm'd, how can you gallant prove? + And I was long ago disarm'd by Love. + Millions of dull Men live, and scornful Maids: + We'll own Love valiant when he these invades. + _Rome_ from each Corner of the wide World snatch'd + A Laurel, or't had been to this Day thatch'd. + But the old Soldier has his resting Place; + And the good batter'd Horse is turn'd to Grass: + The harrass'd Whore, who liv'd a Wretch to please, + Has leave to be a Bawd, and take her Ease. + For me then, who have truly spent my Blood + (Love) in thy Service; and so boldly stood + In _Cælia_'s Trenches; were't not wisely done, + E'en to retire, and live in Peace at home? + No--might I gain a Godhead to disclaim + My glorious Title to my endless Flame: + _Divinity_ with Scorn I wou'd forswear + Such sweet, dear, tempting Devils _Women_ are. + Whene'er those Flames grow faint, I quickly find + A fierce, black Storm pour down upon my Mind: + Headlong I'm hurl'd like Horsemen, who, in vain, + Their (Fury-flaming) Coursers would restrain. + As Ships, just when the Harbour they attain, + Are snatch'd by sudden Blasts to Sea again: + So Love's fantastick Storms reduce my Heart + Half rescu'd, and the God resumes his Dart. + Strike here, this undefended Bosom wound, + And for so brave a Conquest be renown'd. + Shafts fly so fast to me from ev'ry Part, + You'll scarce discern the Quiver from my Heart. + What Wretch can bear a live-long Night's dull Rest? + Fool--is not Sleep the Image of pale Death? + There's time for Rest, when Fate hath stopt your Breath. + Me may my soft deluding Dear deceive; + I'm happy in my Hopes while I believe. + Now let her flatter, then as fondly chide: + Often may I enjoy; oft be deny'd. + With doubtful Steps the God of War does move + By the Example, in ambiguous Love. + Blown to and fro like Down from thy own Wing; + Who knows when Joy or Anguish thou wilt bring: + Yet at thy Mother's and thy Slave's Request, + Fix an eternal Empire in my Breast: + And let th' inconstant, charming, Sex, + Whose wilful Scorn does Lovers vex, + Submit their Hearts before thy Throne: + The Vassal World is then thy own. + + + + +_Woman's HONOUR._ + +A SONG. + + + I. + + _Love_ bid me hope, and I obey'd; + _Phillis_ continu'd still unkind: + Then you may e'en despair, he said, + In vain I strive to change her Mind. + + + II. + + _Honour's_ got in, and keeps her Heart; + Durst he but venture once abroad, + In my own Right I'd take your part, + And shew my self a mightier _God_. + + + III. + + This huffing _Honour_ domineers + In Breasts, where he alone has place: + But if true gen'rous _Love_ appears, + The Hector dares not shew his Face. + + + IV. + + Let me still languish, and complain, + Be most inhumanly deny'd: + I have some Pleasure in my Pain, + She can have none with all her Pride. + + + V. + + I fall a Sacrifice to _Love_, + She lives a Wretch for _Honour_'s sake; + Whose Tyrant does most cruel prove, + The Difference is not hard to make. + + + VI. + + Consider _Real Honour_ then, + You'll find _Hers_ cannot be the same, + 'Tis noble Confidence in Men, + In Women mean mistrustful Shame. + + + + +_Grecian_ KINDNESS. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + The utmost Grace the _Greeks_ could shew, + When to the _Trojans_ they grew kind, + Was with their Arms to let 'em go, + And leave their lingring Wives behind. + They beat the Men, and burnt the Town, + Then all the Baggage was their own. + + + II. + + There the kind Deity of Wine + Kiss'd the soft wanton God of Love; + This clapt his Wings, that press'd his Vine, + And their best Pow'rs united move. + While each brave _Greek_ embrac'd his Punk, + Lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk. + + + + +The MISTRESS. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + An Age in her Embraces past, + Would seem a Winter's Day; + Where Life and Light with envious haste, + Are torn and snatch'd away. + + + II. + + But, oh! how slowly Minutes roul, + When absent from her Eyes; + That fed my Love, which is my Soul, + It languishes and dies. + + + III. + + For then no more a Soul but Shade, + It mournfully does move; + And haunts my Breast, by Absence made + The living Tomb of Love. + + + IV. + + You wiser Men despise me not; + Whose Love-sick Fancy raves, + On Shades of Souls, and Heav'n knows what; + Short Ages live in Graves. + + + V. + + Whene'er those wounding Eyes, so full + Of Sweetness, you did see; + Had you not been profoundly dull, + You had gone mad like me. + + + VI. + + Nor censure us, you who perceive + My best belov'd and me, + Sigh and lament, complain and grieve, + You think we disagree. + + + VII. + + Alas! 'tis sacred Jealousie, + Love rais'd to an Extream; + The only Proof 'twixt them and me, + We love, and do not dream. + + + VIII. + + Fantastick Fancies fondly move; + And in frail Joys believe: + Taking false Pleasure for true Love; + But Pain can ne'er deceive. + + + IX. + + Kind jealous Doubts, tormenting Fears, + And anxious Cares, when past; + Prove our Hearts Treasure fix'd and dear, + And make us blest at last. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + Absent from thee I languish still; + Then ask me not, When I return? + The straying Fool 'twill plainly kill, + To wish all Day, all Night to mourn. + + + II. + + _Dear_, from thine Arms then let me fly, + That my fantastick Mind may prove, + The Torments it deserves to try, + That tears my fix, Heart from my Love. + + + III. + + When wearied with a World of Woe, + To thy safe Bosom I retire, + Where Love and Peace and Truth does flow, + May I contented there expire. + + + IV. + + Left once more wandring from that Heav'n, + I fall on some base Heart unblest; + Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, + And lose my everlasting Rest. + + + + +To _CORINNA_. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + What cruel Pains _Corinna_ takes, + To force that harmless Frown: + When not one Charm her Face forsakes, + Love cannot lose his own. + + + II. + + So sweet a Face, so soft a Heart, + Such Eyes so very kind, + Betray, alas! the silly Art + Virtue had ill design'd. + + + III. + + Poor feeble Tyrant! who in vain + Would proudly take upon her, + Against kind Nature to maintain + Affected Rules of Honour. + + + IV. + + The Scorn she bears so helpless proves, + When I plead Passion to her, + That much she fears, (but more she loves,) + Her Vassal should undo her. + + + + +_A young Lady to her ancient Lover._ + +A SONG. + + + I. + + Ancient Person, for whom I + All the flatt'ring Youth defie; + Long be it e're thou grow old, + Aking, shaking, crasie, cold. + But still continue as thou art, + _Ancient Person of my Heart_. + + + II. + + On thy withered Lips and dry, + Which like barren Furrows lie; + Brooding Kisses I will pour, + Shall thy youthful Heart restore. + Such Kind Show'rs in Autumn fall, + And a second Spring recal: + Nor from thee will ever part, + _Ancient Person of my Heart_. + + + III. + + Thy nobler Part, which but to name, + In our Sex wou'd be counted Shame, + By Ages frozen grasp possess'd + From their Ice shall be releas'd: + And, sooth'd by my reviving Hand, + In former Warmth and Vigour stand. + All a Lover's Wish can reach, + For thy Joy my Love shall teach: + And for thy Pleasure shall improve + All that Art can add to Love, + Yet still I love thee without Art, + _Ancient Person of my Heart_. + + + + +To a LADY: IN A LETTER. A SONG. + + + I. + + Such perfect Bliss, fair _Chloris_, we + In our Enjoyment prove: + 'Tis pity restless Jealousie + Should mingle with our Love. + + + II. + + Let us, since Wit has taught us how, + Raise Pleasure to the top: + You rival Bottle must allow, + I'll suffer rival Fop. + + + III. + + Think not in this that I design + A Treason 'gainst Love's Charms, + When following the God of Wine, + I leave my _Chloris_ Arms. + + + IV. + + Since you have that, for all your Haste, + At which I'll ne'er repine, + Its Pleasure can repeat as fast, + As I the Joys of Wine. + + + V. + + There's not a brisk insipid Spark, + That flutters in the Town: + But with your wanton Eyes you mark + Him out to be your own. + + + VI. + + Nor do you think it worth your Care, + How empty, and how dull, + The Head of your Admirers are, + So that their Veins be full. + + + VII. + + All this you freely may confess, + Yet we ne'er disagree: + For did you love your Pleasure less, + You were no Match for me. + + + + +The FALL. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + How blest was the Created State + Of Man and Woman e're they fell, + Compar'd to our unhappy Fate, + We need not fear another Hell! + + + II. + + Naked, beneath cool Shades, they lay, + Enjoyment waited on Desire: + Each Member did their Wills obey, + Nor could a Wish set Pleasure higher. + + + III. + + But we, poor Slaves, to Hope and Fear, + Are never of our Joys secure; + They lessen still, as they draw near, + And none but dull Delights endure. + + + IV. + + Then, _Chloris_, while I Duty pay, + The nobler Tribute of my Heart, + Be not you so severe to say, + You love me for a frailer Part. + + + + +_LOVE_ and _LIFE_. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + All my past Life is mine no more, + The flying Hours are gone: + Like transitory Dreams giv'n o'er, + Whose Images are kept in store, + By Memory alone. + + + II. + + The Time that is to come is not; + How can it then be mine? + The present Moment's all my Lot; + And that, as fast as it is got, + _Phillis_, is only thine. + + + III. + + Then talk not of Inconstancy, + False Hearts, and broken Vows; + If I, by Miracle, can be + This live long Minute true to thee, + 'Tis all that Heav'n allows. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + While on those lovely Looks I gaze, + To see a Wretch pursuing; + In Raptures of a blest Amaze, + His pleasing happy Ruin; + 'Tis not for pity that I move; + His Fate is to aspiring, + Whose Heart, broke with a Load of Love, + Dies wishing and admiring. + + + II. + + But if this Murder you'd forego, + Your Slave from Death removing; + Let me your Art of Charming know, + Or learn you mine of loving. + But whether Life, or Death, betide, + In Love it's equal Measure, + The Victor lives with empty Pride; + The Vanquish'd die with Pleasure. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + Love a Woman! you're an Ass, + 'Tis a most insipid Passion; + To chuse out for your Happiness, + The silliest Part of God's Creation. + + + II. + + Let the Porter, and the Groom, + Things design'd for dirty Slaves; + Drudge in fair _Aurelia_'s Womb, + To get Supplies for Age and Graves. + + + III. + + Farewel, Woman, I intend, + Henceforth, ev'ry Night to sit + With my lewd well-natur'd Friend, + Drinking to engender Wit. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + To this moment a Rebel, I throw down my Arms, + Great _Love_, at first Sight of _Olinda_'s bright Charms: + Made proud, and secure by such Forces as these, + You may now play the Tyrant as soon as you please. + + + II. + + When Innocence, Beauty, and Wit do conspire, + To betray, and engage, and inflame my Desire, + Why should I decline what I cannot avoid, + And let pleasing Hope by base Fear be destroy'd? + + + III. + + Her Innocence cannot contrive to undo me, + Her Beauty's inclin'd, or why shou'd it pursue me? + And Wit has to Pleasure been ever a Friend, + Then what room for Despair since Delight is _Love_'s End. + + + IV. + + There can be no danger in Sweetness and Youth, + Where Love is secur'd by Good-nature and Truth: + On her Beauty I'll gaze, and of Pleasure complain; + While every kind Look adds a Link to my Chain. + + + V. + + 'Tis more to maintain, than it was to surprize, + But her Wit leads in Triumph the Slave of her Eyes: + I beheld, with the Loss of my Freedom before, + But hearing, for ever must serve and adore. + + + VI. + + Too bright is my Goddess, her Temple too weak: + Retire, Divine Image! I feel my Heart break. + Help, _Love_, I dissolve in a Rapture of Charms; + At the thought of those Joys I shou'd meet in her Arms. + + + + +Upon his leaving his _MISTRESS_. + + + I. + + 'Tis not that I am weary grown + Of being yours, and yours alone: + But with what Face can I incline, + To damn you to be only mine? + You, whom some kinder Pow'r did fashion, } + By Merit, and by Inclination, } + The Joy at least of a whole Nation. } + + + II. + + Let meaner Spirits of your Sex, + With humble Aims their Thoughts perplex: + And boast, if, by their Arts they can + Contrive to make _one_ happy Man. + While, mov'd by an impartial Sense, } + Favours, like Nature you dispense, } + With universal Influence. } + + + III. + + See the kind Seed-receiving Earth, + To ev'ry Grain affords a Birth: + On her no Show'rs unwelcom fall, + Her willing Womb retains 'em all. + And shall my _Cælia_ be confin'd? } + No, live up to thy mighty Mind; } + And be the Mistress of Mankind. } + + + + +Upon drinking in a BOWL. + + +I. + + _Vulcan_ contrive me such a Cup + As _Nestor_ us'd of old: + Shew all thy Skill to trim it up; + Damask it round with Gold. + + + II. + + Make it so large that, fill'd with Sack + Up to the swelling Brim, + Vast Toasts on the delicious Lake, + Like Ships at Sea, may swim. + + + III. + + Engrave not Battel on his Cheek; + With War I've nought to do: + I'm none of those that took _Mastrick_, + Nor _Yarmouth_ Leaguer knew. + + + IV. + + Let it no Name of Planets tell, + Fixt Stars, or Constellations: + For I am no Sir _Sindrophel_, + Nor none of his Relations. + + + V. + + But carve thereon a spreading Vine; + Then add two lovely Boys; + Their Limbs in amorious Folds intwine, + The Type of future Joys. + + + VI. + + _Cupid_ and _Bacchus_ my Saints are; + May Drink and Love still reign: + With Wine I wash away my Cares, + And then to Love again. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + As _Chloris_ full of harmless Thoughts + Beneath a Willow lay, + Kind Love a youthful Shepherd brought, + To pass the Time away. + + + II. + + She blusht to be encounter'd so, + And chid the amorous Swain: + But as she strove to rise and go, + He pull'd her down again. + + + III. + + A sudden Passion seized her Heart, + In spight of her Disdain; + She found a Pulse in ev'ry Part, + And Love in ev'ry Vein. + + + IV. + + Ah, Youth! (said she) what Charms are these, + That conquer and surprize? + Ah! let me--for unless you please, + I have no Power to rise. + + + V. + + She fainting spoke, and trembling lay, + For fear he should comply + Her lovely Eyes her Heart betray, + And give her Tongue the Lye. + + + VI. + + Thus she whom Princes had deny'd, + With all their Pomp and Train; + Was, in the lucky Minute, try'd, + And yielded to a Swain. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + Give me leave to rail at you, + I ask nothing but my due; + To call you false, and then to say + You shall not keep my Heart a Day: + But, alas! against my Will, + I must be your Captive still. + Ah! be kinder then; for I + Cannot change, and would not die. + + + II. + + Kindness has resistless Charms, + All besides but weakly move; + Fiercest Anger it disarms, + And clips the Wings of flying Love. + Beauty does the Heart invade, + Kindness only can persuade; + It gilds the Lover's servile Chain, + And makes the Slaves grow pleas'd again. + + + + +The _ANSWER_. + + + I. + + Nothing adds to your fond Fire + More than Scorn, and cold Disdain: + I, to cherish your Desire, + Kindness us'd, but 'twas in vain. + + + II. + + You insisted on your Slave, + Humble Love you soon refus'd: + Hope not then a Pow'r to have, + Which ingloriously you us'd. + + + III. + + Think not, _Thirsis_, I will e're, + By my Love my Empire lose: + You grow constant through Dispair, + Love return'd you wou'd abuse. + + + IV. + + Though you still possess my Heart, + Scorn and Rigour I must feign: + Ah! forgive that only Art, + Love has left your Love to gain. + + + V. + + You that could my Heart subdue, + To new Conquests ne'er pretend: + Let the Example make me true, + And of a conquer'd Foe a Friend. + + + VI. + + Then, if e'er I should complain + Of your Empire, or my Chain, + Summon all the powerful Charms, + And kill the Rebel in your Arms. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + Fair _Chloris_ in a Pig-Sty lay, + Her tender Herd lay by her: + She slept, in murmuring Gruntlings they, + Complaining of the scorching Day, + Her Slumbers thus inspire. + + + II. + + She dreamt, while she with careful Pains, + Her snowy Arms employ'd, + In Ivory Pails to fill out Grains, + One of her Love-convicted Swains, + Thus hastning to her cry'd: + + + III. + + Fly, Nymph, oh! fly, e're 'tis too late, + A dear-lov'd Life to save: + Rescue your Bosom Pig from Fate, + Who now expires, hung in the Gate + That leads to yonder Cave. + + + IV. + + My self had try'd to set him free, + Rather than brought the News: + But I am so abhorr'd by thee, + That ev'n thy Darling's Life from me, + I know thou wou'dst refuse. + + + V. + + Struck with the News, as quick she flies + As Blushes to her Face: + Not the bright Lightning from the Skies, + Nor Love, shot from her brighter Eyes, + Move half so swift a pace. + + + VI. + + This Plot, it seems, the lustful Slave + Had laid against her Honour: + Which not one God took care to save, + For he persues her to the Cave, + And throws himself upon her. + + + VII. + + Now pierced is her Virgin Zone, + She feels the Foe within it; + She hears a broken amorous Groan, + The panting Lover's fainting Moan, + Just in the happy Minute. + + + VIII. + + Frighted she wakes, and waking sighs, + Nature thus kindly eas'd, + In Dreams rais'd by her murm'ring Pigs, + And her own Th--b between her L--gs, + She's innocently pleas'd. + + + + +CONSTANCY. + +A SONG. + + + I. + + I cannot change, as others do, + Though you unjustly scorn: + Since that poor Swain that sighs for you, + For you alone was born. + No, _Phillis_, no, your Heart to move + A surer way I'll try: + And to revenge my slighted Love, + Will still love on, will still love on, and die. + + + II. + + When, kill'd with Grief, _Amintas_ lies; + And you to mind shall call, + The Sighs that now unpitied rise, + The Tears that vainly fall. + That welcome Hour that ends this Smart, + Will then begin your Pain; + For such a faithful tender Heart + Can never break, can never break in vain. + + + + +A SONG. + + + I. + + My dear Mistress has a Heart + Soft as those kind Looks she gave me, + When with Love's resistless Art, + And her Eyes, she did enslave me. + But her Constancy's so weak, + She's so wild, and apt to wander; + That my jealous Heart wou'd break, + Should we live one Day asunder. + + + II. + + Melting Joys about her move, + Killing Pleasures, wounding Blisses; + She can dress her Eyes in Love, + And her Lips can arm with Kisses. + Angels listen when she speaks, + She's my Delight, all Mankind wonder: + But my jealous Heart would break, + Should we live one Day asunder. + + +_FINIS._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of the Right Honourable John +Earl of Rochester, by John Wilmot + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44891 *** |