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 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form L I
 
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 MAY 19 198(1 
 
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 S P E C I ]\I E N S 
 
 OF THE 
 
 WITH PRELIMINARY NOTICES; 
 
 BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 458118 
 
 IM THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 FEINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES AND ORME, 
 PATER-NGSTER ROW. 
 
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 14 'A 4 
 
 Printed by S. HoUingsworth, Crane-Court, Fleet-Street.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I* These volumes are intended to accompany 
 Mr. Ellis's well known Specimens of the Early 
 ^ English Poets. That scries concludes with the 
 4 reign of Charles 11, this begins with that of 
 ^ James his successor : the two together will \ 
 exhibit the rise, progress, decline and revival i 
 of our Poetry, and the fluctuations of our poe- 
 tical taste, from the first growth of the English- 
 language to the present times. A slight differ-j 
 ^ ence has been made in arrangement ; instead 
 ^ of sorting the Poets, according to the reigns in 
 r; which they flourished, I have noticed each 
 i;^ under the year of his death, where that could 
 be ascertained, otherwise according to the 
 date of his chief publication. It was desirable 
 that the series should be brought down to the 
 end of the last century, and thi& order deter- 
 a C
 
 iV 
 
 mined whom it should include. In consequence 
 of this arrangement a few names will be found, 
 which are included in the work of Mr. Ellis. 
 Many worthless versifyers are admitted among 
 
 ^ the English Poets, by the courtesy of criticism, 
 which seems to conceive that charity towards 
 the dead may cover the multitude of its offences 
 against the living. There were other reason* 
 for including here the reprobate, as well as the 
 elect. My business was to collect specimens 
 as for a hortus niccus ; not to cull flow ers as for 
 an anthology. I wished, as Mr. Ellis has done 
 
 , in the earlier ages, to exhibit specimens of every 
 writer, whose verses appear in a substantive 
 form, and find their place upon the shelves of 
 the collector. The taste of the publick may 
 better be estimated from indifferent Poets than 
 from good ones; because the former write for 
 their contemporaries, the latter for posterity. 
 Cleveland and Cowley, who were both more 
 popular than Milton, characterise their age 
 more truly. Fame, indeed, is of slow growth ; 
 hke the Hebrew language, it has no present 
 tense; Popularity has no future one. The gourd
 
 which sprang up in a night withered in a day. 
 The list of these writers, will inevitahly be im- 
 perfect. Ofall branches of Jviiowledge bibliology, 
 though always becoming more and more 
 needful, is that in which the student of our 
 literature can find the fewest works to guide his 
 researches. 1 have, however, to acknowledge 
 with pleasure, much personal assistance. Mr. 
 lleber's stores have been open to me on this, 
 as on former occasions; so also has Mr. 
 Hill's ample collection of English Poetry. The 
 worthy heart of Mr. Isaac Reed would have 
 rejoiced to have known the advantages f have 
 derived from liis rare Library, and still rarer 
 knowledge ; but while I am adding one more 
 testimony of esteem and thanks to the many 
 due to him, I hear of an event, which places 
 him beyond my praise or my gratitude. 
 Grosvenor Charles Bedford, an old and dear 
 friend, with whom Ij have lived in habits of 
 unbroken intimacy, since we were school-boys 
 together, hiis been my coadjutor in the work, 
 has selected many of the specimens, supplied 
 many of the prefatory notices^ and conducted
 
 VI 
 
 the whole through the press, wliich, in a 
 situation so remote from London as tliat of 
 my residence, it was impossible I could do myself. 
 
 The biographical notices might easily have 
 been extended, had it been consistent with the 
 plan, or the limits of this selection. Of a few- 
 great writers it was unnecessary to say any- 
 thing of some ignoble ones sufficient to say 
 what they had written. I have, in a few in- 
 stances, rather inserted a piece of inferior 
 merit, than those which are so well known, as 
 to be printed in every colleciion. 
 
 II. The collections of our Poets are either too 
 scanty, or too copious. They reject so many, 
 that we know not why half whom they retain 
 should be admitted ; they admit so many, that 
 we know not why any should be rejected. 
 There is a want of judgement in giving Bavius 
 a place ; but when a place has been awarded 
 him, there is a want of justice in not giving 
 IVJaevius one also. The sentence of Horace 
 concerning middling Poets is disproved by daily 
 experience; whatever the Gods may do,certainly 
 ;he publick and the booksellers tolerate them.
 
 Vll 
 
 When Dr. Aikin began to re-edite Johnson's 
 collection, it was well observed in the Monthly 
 Magazine, ' that to our best writers there 
 should be more commentary ; and of our in- 
 ferior ones less text.' But Johnson begins just 
 where this observation is applicable, and just 
 where a general collection should end. Down to 
 the Restoration it is to be wished, that every 
 Pact, however unworthy of the name, should be 
 preserved. In the worst volume of elder date, the 
 historian may find something to assist, or direct 
 his enquiries; the antiquarian something to 
 elucidate what requires illustration ; the philo- 
 logist something to insert in the margin of his 
 dictionary. Time does more for books than 
 for wine, it gives worth to what originally wjis 
 worthless. Those of later date must stand or 
 fall by their own merits, because the sources af 
 information, since the introduction of news- 
 papers, periodical essays, and magazines, are 
 so numerous, that if they arc not read for 
 amusement, they will not be recurred to for 
 anything else. The Restoration is the great 
 epoch in our annals, both civil and literary : a
 
 VIU 
 
 new order of things was then established, and we 
 look back to the times beyond, as the Romans 
 under the Empire, to the age of the Republick. 
 III. The early history of poetry, in every na- 
 tion of modern Europe is the same ; the Monks 
 wrote hymns and legends, while war-songs 
 were composed for the Chieftains and Soldiers, 
 who were as yet only half converted. It is 
 idle to look for the origin in any particular 
 place. Wherever language is found, verse of 
 some kind or other is found also. Wherever 
 any of the Gothick, or any of the Romance 
 languages was spoken; that is, in every country 
 of modern Europe, except the Slavonick con- 
 fines of barbarism which have never yet been 
 civilized, the institutions, manners, and pursuits 
 of the people were alike, and the same species 
 of poetry was cultivated at the same time; 
 and this similarity continued till the different 
 nations had acquired each its peculiar cha- 
 racter. Similar states of intellect produce si- 
 milar customs; our ancestors tattooed them- 
 selves; scalping was a Gothick punishment; 
 the Berserick fury of the Danes, differed only
 
 IX 
 
 in its accidents, and not in its essence from 
 the Malay and Malabar practice of running 
 a-muck. It requires, tlierefore, neither erudition 
 nor hypothesis to explain why poetry is universal, 
 jior wliy that peculiar species of fiction, which 
 "U e call Romance, should be found in the early 
 literature of every country, of which the early 
 literature has been preserved. The mind has ita 
 instincts and appetites, as well as the body, and 
 they are tlie same every where. 
 
 IV. That similar stories of war and wonders 
 should have delighted nations widely separated 
 from each other, is thus easily explicable ; but 
 that the same stories should be found in coun- 
 tries between which there neither was, nor 
 could be, any comiuunion, requires farther 
 explanation. One instance out of many may 
 sufiice. 
 
 In the Spanish Romance of Alexander, 
 written by Joan Lorenzo Segura de Astorga, 
 about the middle of the thirteenth century, is 
 a long description of Alexander's descent into 
 the sea, in a house of glass, which 1 have else- 
 where had occasion to quote, and therefore
 
 VfiW not ^-epeat here. Where the Spaniard found 
 the story 1 cannot say; if lie is to be under- 
 stood *lilerally, it was not a written legend, 
 but one which he received from tradition. 
 
 In the Cehick Researches of Mr. Davies, of 
 Olveston, is the following passage, from one of 
 the old Welch Bards... *I wonder it is not 
 perceived, that Heaven had promised the 
 earth a mighty chief, Alexander the Great, the 
 Macedonian; Hewyss^ the Iron Genius, the 
 renowned wai'rior descended into the deep. 
 Into the deep he went, to search for the mystery 
 (Kelayddijd.) In quest of science let his 
 mind be importunate, let him proceed on his 
 way in the open air, between two f griffins, to 
 catch a view- no view he obtained to grant 
 such a present would not be meet. He saw the 
 wonders of the superior race in the fishy seas. 
 He obtained that portion of the world, which 
 
 * Unas facianas su'tlen las gentes retraer 
 Non yaz en escrito, e es grave de creer. 
 
 f This also makes a part of the fable, both in the 
 SpaDish and German authors.
 
 XI 
 
 Ills mind had coveted, and in the end mercy 
 from the God.* 
 
 In the German legend of St. Anno, written 
 at the close of the year 1100, Mr. Coleridge 
 has shewn me the same story of Alexander, 
 thus related, with circumstances of greater 
 sublimity than elsewhere; ' He let himself down 
 to the bottom of the sea in a glass. Then his 
 faithless followers cast the chain far away in 
 the sea, and said, if thou wishest to see miracles, 
 go roll for ever in the abyss. , There he saw 
 many a great fish, half fish and half man, that 
 struck a vehement terrour into his heart. Then 
 the politick man began to think how lie might 
 free himself. The sea surge rolled him into 
 the abyss : there through the glass he saw 
 many wonders, till he greeted the severe ocean 
 with some of his blod ; when the ocean saw 
 his blood, then it flung this lord upon the 
 land.' 
 
 The Malays of Malacca, according to Diogo 
 deCouto, had this tradition of the origin of their 
 city. * There was once a King of the world, 
 who desired to ce the wonders which arc in
 
 the ocean; and had an iron ark made with glass 
 windows, into which he entered, and was 
 lowered down. The king of the ocean received 
 him well, and gave him his daughter in mar- 
 riage; he lived with her till she had borne 
 l^im two sons, then went up to visit his do- 
 minions and never returned. The wife, when 
 her sons were about ten years old, mounted 
 them on porpoises, and sent them in search of 
 him ; and the son of the younger brother 
 founded Malacca.' 
 
 Whether this King of the world be Alexander 
 (as is most probable) or not, here is the same 
 story of a descent into the sea, in a diving- 
 house, found in Malacca, Germany, Wales, and 
 Spain ; countries of which the languages are 
 all radically different, and between which, 
 when the poems in question were written, there 
 was no communication. It would not be difficult 
 to adduce many more such instances. The 
 fictions of romance, and the stories of the jest- 
 book, have travelled everywhere. The travels 
 of the minstrels will not explain this; their 
 travels were confined to a narrow circuit, they
 
 Xlil 
 
 were not learned in many tongues, and had no 
 common one. But the Jews travelled every- 
 where ; they frequented the uttermost parts of 
 the East, before the virish of discovei-ing the 
 East had arisen in Europe; and they found 
 their own language spoken in every part of the 
 world, where wealth was to be obtained by 
 industry. This subject cannot be pursued here ; 
 1 shall enlarge upon it hereafter, in a work of 
 more importance; it is now sufficient to express 
 a decided opinion, that in the great literary 
 interchange, which at an early time certainly 
 took place, between Europe and the eastern 
 world, the Jews were the brokers. 
 
 V. The classification of our Poets into schools 
 is to be objected to, because it implies that we 
 have no school of our own; a confession not to 
 be admitted, till the prototypes and masters of 
 Chaucer, Shakspeare, and Milton, are pro- 
 duced. We have had foreign fashions in lite- 
 rature, as well as in dress^ but have at all times 
 preserved in both, a costume and character of 
 our own. The poems anteriour to Chaucrr, are, 
 without exception all, of thpse kinds which are
 
 XIT 
 
 indigenous everywhere ; legends, hymns, verse- 
 chronicles and romances. The first imported 
 fashion was the Proy.encal, or Lemosin. Chaucer 
 composed his complimentary poems in this 
 style; for such things it is well adapted, because 
 its dreams and its allegories throw an obscurity 
 over what in itself is mean and insignificant^ 
 The Romance of the Rose, which is the great 
 work of this school, he must have translated 
 for its reputation, and not for its merit. At 
 that time any contribution to the quantity of 
 vernacular verse was useful ; but it is impossible 
 not to regret, that the time bestowed upon this 
 long and wearying rigmarole, had not been 
 employed upon the Canterbury Tales. 
 
 Most of the poems before his time were 
 composed in short lines, as, I believe it will be 
 found that, the early poems of every country 
 are, because they were designed for recita- 
 tion; short lines were preferred, because they 
 facilitated recollection, and these lines would 
 be either echoingly alliterative, or have a 
 strong cadence, like the Latin Adonics, or be 
 connected by a quick recurrence of rhymes. 
 4
 
 XV 
 
 It is not easy to understand Chaucer's system 
 of versification, whether it was metrical or 
 rhythmical ; to speak plainer, whether he in- 
 tended that his verses should consist of a 
 certain number of feet, or like the modern 
 Improvisatori was satisfied, so they were me- 
 lodious, without restricting himself to any laws, 
 either of length or cadence. lam inclined to 
 think that this was his system, because upon 
 this system, he is more melodious, and the pro- 
 nunciation which other\vise is required is so 
 variable, that it seems as if it must always have 
 appeared ridiculous. Be that as it may, it i 
 evident that he had well weighed the subject 
 of versification. Avoiding the harshness and 
 obscurity of alliterative rhythm on the one 
 hand, and on the other the frequent recurrence 
 and intricate intertexture of rhymes which are 
 found in some of the romances ; he preferred 
 forms less rude than the one, less artificial 
 than the other ; less difficult, and therefore 
 more favourable to perspicuity than either. 
 Chaucer, therefore, became the model of suc- 
 ceeding Toets J the ten-syllable couplet, in which
 
 XVI 
 
 his best poems are composed, has become our 
 most usual measure ; and even when rhyme is 
 disused, that length of line which he considered 
 as best adapted for narrative, is still preferred 
 for it. 
 
 Petrarca, Dante, and Chaucer, are the only 
 Poets of the dark ages whose celebrity has re- 
 mained uninjured by the total change of man- 
 ners in Europe. The fame of Chaucer has not, 
 indeed, extended so widely as theirs, because 
 English literature has never obtained the same 
 European circulation, as that of the easier 
 languages of the South, and also because our 
 language since his days has undergone a greater 
 alteration than the Italian. To attempt any 
 comparison between three writers, who have so 
 little in common, would be ridiculous ; but it may 
 be remarked that Chaucer displays a versatility 
 of talents, which neither of the others seem to 
 have possessed : in which only Ariosto has 
 approached, and only Shakspeare equalled 
 him. Few> indeed, have been so eminently 
 gifted, with all the qualifications of a Poet, 
 essential or accidental. He was well versed
 
 XVll 
 
 in all the learning of his age, evn of the 
 abstrusest kind ; he had an eye and an ear, 
 for all the sights and sounds of nature; humour 
 to display human folUes, and feeling to under- 
 stand, and to deHneate human passions. As a 
 painterofmanners,he is accurate as llichfirdson ; 
 as a painter of character, true to the life and 
 spirit as Hogarth. It is impossible that he 
 can ever regain his popularity, because his 
 language has become obsolete ; but his fame 
 will stand. The more he is examined the 
 
 liiffher he will rise in estimation. Old Poets 
 o 
 
 in general arc only valuable for their anti- 
 quity; Chaucer, on the contrary, is prevented 
 only by his antiquity from being ranked among 
 the greatest Poets of England ; far indeed be- 
 low Shakspeare and Milton, perhaps below 
 Spenser, for his mind was less pure, and his 
 beauties are scattered over a wider and more 
 unequal surface, but far above all others. 
 
 VI. The ornate style originated in Chaucer ; 
 
 he has ju'jt left specimens enough to shew that 
 
 he had tried the expciiment, and did not like it. 
 
 Occleve, and others of his followers, however. 
 
 b
 
 XVIU 
 
 vere loud in their commendations ; they copied 
 the pecuHarities of their master, and thought 
 they were imitating his beauties. The verses 
 of Stephen H awes are as full of barbarous ses- 
 quipedalian Latinisms, as the prose of the 
 Rambler ; but the mixture was too maccaronick 
 for English e<irs, and never became fashionable. 
 It succeeded better in Scotland ; there it disfi- 
 arured the verses of Sir David Lindsay, and the 
 poems of Gavain Douglas, and continued as 
 late as the days of James I, who, in his 
 Essat/es of a Prentice hi the Divine Art ofPoesie, 
 among the Peulis and Cautdis to be ohserxit 
 and eschewit in Scottis Foesie, especially warns 
 the aspirant .to beware of rhyming in termis, 
 quhilk is to say, that your first or hindmost zvord 
 in the lyne exceed yiot trca or thre syllahis 
 at the maist, using thre als seindill as ye can. 
 He assigns as a reason, that all long words 
 have a syllable in them so very long, that the 
 lcna;th thereof eats up the other syllables in the 
 same word which should be long by position, 
 and so spoils the flowing of the line. Solomon 
 tlie Second was right in his rule, and not wrong
 
 in the reason which he assigned for it; but he 
 might have found a more valid one. Poetry 
 sever can become popular unless it be perspi- 
 cuous, and these long Latinisms were unin- 
 telligible to the people. The ornate stj-le has 
 been tried in most modern languages, and fallen 
 wherever it has been tried, first into ridicule, 
 and then into disuse. 
 
 Vir. From Chaucer to the days of Henry 
 VIII, no progress was made in literature; in those 
 days it could not flourish without patronage, 
 and the men of rank who should have pa- 
 tronized it perished by the sword, or by the 
 axe. Lydgate and Barclay did nothing but 
 contribute largely to the quantity of English 
 verse; but it must be remembered that this was 
 .doing much. No improvement was made, no 
 innovation attempted; tlie several species of 
 poetry in use continued, without alteration, be- 
 ing either such Jis were common to all countries, 
 and borrowed from the IVench, or dull moral 
 ballads, virelays, and roundelays, perhaps bor- 
 rowed from tlie Spaniards. Under Henry Vllf, 
 it is wonderful to boholri the progress of fii\c 
 I) 2
 
 XX 
 
 literature^ amidst an age of theological contro- 
 versy and incessant persecution. As to the ne- 
 cessity and propriety of intolerance both parties 
 were agreed, and it would be difficult to say 
 which was the most sincere in its bloody practice. 
 But those accursed opinions, which represent 
 the Creator as a malignant principle, and by a 
 consistent system of morals and of worship tend 
 to deaden and debase the human intellect, bad 
 not yet gained ground; and Literature,, by the 
 first controversies of the Reformation, gained 
 more than it lost. Poetry^ however, owes less to 
 it than Prose. Skelton, in his strange style, first 
 attacked the Reformers, and then aided them; 
 the Church of Rome was ridiculed in mysteries 
 and songs, and the school of Sternhold and 
 Hopkins was established a school in which 
 the succession of masters has been uninter- 
 Tupted; the fanaticks of our own days being 
 as much edified as the Psalm-singers of King 
 Edward's, with' godly songs, and the sorrow- 
 ful sobs of simple sinners. Poetry gained no- 
 thing by these efforts, but happily it lost 
 nothin'i^. In Scotland, where fanaticism even-
 
 XXI 
 
 tually triumphed, the fine arts were extir- 
 pated ; John Knox was the Heberl of the 
 Reformation. 
 
 During this reign the Italian forms of poetry 
 were introduced by Wyatt and Surry; blank- 
 Terse was invented; Tragedy and Comedy were 
 brought to a regular shape ; and the Mirror of 
 Magistrates led the way to our historical dramas. 
 The reign of Mary checked all these buddings', 
 like an Bast-wind in May; but under Elizabeth 
 they burst into full blossom with the sudden 
 luxuriance of an Arctick summer. 
 
 VIII. There is here no room to speak of the 
 great Poets of Elizabeth's age; let it suliice to 
 mention Spenser,, whom none of the chival- 
 rous Poets have surpassed, and Shakspearo, 
 who remains, and perhaps is for ever to re- 
 main, unequalled. Experiments in versification 
 were made more generally than they have been 
 in anv subsequent times. Sidney's scheme ol 
 introducing the iloman metres has been oiic-n 
 ridiculed; they however who ridicule the failure 
 of this attempt have not considered its cause. 
 He, and his associates, proceeded upon th(,'' im-
 
 XXI I 
 
 practicable project i)( reducing the English 
 language to the rules of Latin prosody ; which 
 was nothing less than changing the national 
 system of pronunciation. That many classical 
 metres, and the hexameter in particular, 
 may advantageously be naturalized, if accent 
 be substituted for quantity, I am perfectly con- 
 vinced ; Goldsmith was of the same opinion, 
 and the fact has been proved in Germany. 
 The, experiments in the Arcadia, the Drama 
 and Eclogues of Abraham Fraunce, and above 
 all the four books of the ^neid by Stanihurst, 
 could excite nothing but wonder, ridicule, and 
 disgust, and accordingly the scheme seems to 
 have died away with its great patron a man of 
 whom, mistaken as he was in this single in- 
 stance, it is not possible to speak in terms of 
 higher admiration, than his great and various 
 excellencies deserve. 
 
 The ten syllable couplet was now generally 
 rejected in narrative. Stanzas were either 
 adopted in its place, as by Daniel; by Drayton 
 in his Barons' Wars, and by Spenser, the 
 great master of English versification ; the long 
 3
 
 xxui 
 
 ballad line of fourteen syllables, as by Warner 
 and by most of the translators; or the Alex- 
 andrine, as in the Polyolbion. Chalkhill's Frag- 
 ment, and the Odyssey of Chapman, are the 
 onl}' instances of the common measure which 
 I recollect. 
 
 The poetry of this, our golden age, is usually 
 said to have been formed upon the Italian 
 school. Sonnets, it is true, swarmed ; but 
 there is little other reason for the assertion, 
 lor romance and allegory did not originate in 
 Italy, and the Faery Queen therefore is not of 
 the Italian school; but of the same school as 
 the Italians. Never, in any age, was the li- 
 terary intercourse of Europe so rapid as in this; 
 whatever works of real value appeared in 
 France or Italy, Spain or Portugal, were im- 
 mediately made our own, whether prose or 
 verse, history or travels, science, or the mis- 
 cellanies of omnifarious scraps which abound- 
 ed in every country, and contained so much 
 knowledge with so much errour. The industry 
 of our good old translators, (let me not be 
 understood as using the epithet good cont( mp-
 
 XXIV 
 
 tuously,) is truly wonderful ; in our days the 
 author, who should be rash enotigh to publish 
 one such volume, as the many which Edward 
 Grimeston and Philemon Holland sent into the 
 ^^orld, would, in all probability, be punished for 
 his folly by imprisonment for life at the suit of 
 his printer. How is it that the purchasers of 
 books were so much more numerous then than 
 now ? 
 
 TX. From the time of Shakspeare to that 
 of Milton, our taste was rather retrograde 
 than progressive. The metaphysical poetry, 
 as it has not very happily been termed, gained 
 ground, and seduced many men whose quick 
 and shaping fancy might else have produced 
 works worthy of immortality. Donne could 
 never have become a Poet, unless Apollo, tak- 
 ing his ears under his divine care, would have 
 wrought as miraculous a change in their inter- 
 nal structure, as of old he wrought in the 
 external of those of Midas. The power of 
 versifying is a distinct talent, and a metrical 
 ear has little more connexion with intellect 
 than a musical one. Of this, Donne is a suffi-
 
 xxy 
 
 cient example. In Cowley, the metaphysical 
 style arrived at perfection, and with him it may 
 be said to have ended. Butler is to be classed 
 with these Poets, and he has the single merit 
 of having applied happily and appropriately a 
 style so monstrous. 
 
 In the liigher departments of poetry, no suc- 
 cessful effort was made during half a century. 
 Beaumont's Psyche, and Henry More's Song 
 of the Soul, the two longest and most laborious 
 productions, are unreadably dull. Sandy's 
 translation of Ovid is less musical than Gold- 
 ing's; and May, though more truly a Poet than 
 Daniel, and perhaps than Drayton, counterba- 
 lanced the advantage which Nature had given 
 him, by writing in couplets, the very worst pos- 
 sible measure for narrative, but which was now 
 insensibly gaining ground. The Drama was ex- 
 tinguished: that raceof dramatick writers which 
 no other age and no other country has yet 
 e({u ailed, had past away, and there was no en- 
 couragement to raise up successors. The nation 
 was too busy to be amused, and we had now 
 imbibed the barbarizing superstition of Scotland. 
 Far be it from me to speak of the l^irilans
 
 XXVI 
 
 without respect, but their religious tenets as 
 they regard discipline I think bad;, and as they 
 regard doctrinals worse. Fanaticism, in what- 
 ever shape it appears, is fatal to intellectual ad- 
 vancement. 
 
 The minor kinds of poetry flourished ; froui 
 no writers can so beautiful an anthology be 
 formed, as from those of this age. ^Vitller and 
 Quarles deserve especial mention, notwith- 
 standing the frequent oddities of the one, and 
 the long fits of dullness of the other. 
 
 X. After the Restoration the people had lei- 
 sure for fine literature, but the return of Charles 
 had nearly proved more fatal to it than all the 
 preceding troubles. Milton was excepted from 
 the act of amnesty ; and the mercy which 
 induced the worst of a bad race to spare 
 him, was so capricious, and apparently so 
 motiveless, that it may almost be considered as 
 providential. A French school uas now csta- 
 blisiied in the country of Chaucer, of Spenser, 
 and of Shakspeare, in that country wherein 
 *Milton still flourished ; that is to say, where in 
 age,' blindness, poverty and disgrace, he })rn- 
 duccd the Paradise Lost ; hut Jfoiitislicd is the
 
 xxxn 
 
 word which historians and biographers use 
 when they speak of learned men, whose Hves 
 are usually past in difficulty and distress, and 
 1 preserve it because it is so excellently inap- 
 plicable. In an age of such , shameless pro- 
 fligacy, the Paradise Lost could not be duly 
 appreciated. Andrew Marvel indeed praised it, 
 and praise from such a man must have been 
 gratifying even to Milton ; Dryden turned 
 an epigram in its commendation ; but if Dry- 
 den had had any real feeling of the excellence 
 of what he commended, he could never have 
 debased its subject by his abominable drama. 
 Tbis was all the contemporary praise which 
 it received. It was impossible that any work 
 of Milton's could become fashionable under 
 the Stuarts. His fame, says Winstanlcy, is 
 gone out, and stinkcth like the snuff of a can- 
 dle, because he was a most notorious traitor, 
 and did belie the memory of that blessed 
 inartvr Kins; Charles I. 13ut though !Miltun 
 himself had laboured under no political odium, 
 his wonderful work was of too high a character 
 to become popular, till the people were iii- 
 ;-Uncte(l to admire it. . '1 he opitiion ofthu lew
 
 X3LVU4 
 
 was at length transmitted to the many, aided by 
 the story of the poem which gave it a sort of 
 rehgious authority ; and now every-body be- 
 lieves in the merit of Paradise Lost, as they 
 believe in their Creed, and in ninety-nine in- 
 stances out of a hundred, with as little compre- 
 hension of the mysteries of the one as of the 
 other. 
 
 XI. The Drama revived but what a re- 
 vival! It was like Samson waking in the lap 
 of Dalilah, after he had been shorn of his 
 strength. Tragedy was rant and rhyme ; 
 Comedy absurdity and obscenity At no 
 time was the public taste (dim enough at 
 all times) so utterly darkened ; for Settle 
 divided the suffrages of the people with 
 Dryden. 
 
 The writers of this and the succeeding ge- 
 neration, understood their own character better 
 than it has been understood by their succes- 
 sors ; they called themselves Wits instead of 
 Poets, and Wits they were ; the difference is 
 not in degree, but in kind. They succeeded 
 in what they aimed at, in satire and in pane- 
 gyric, in ridiculing an enemy, and in flattering
 
 xxtx 
 
 a friend ; in turning a song, and in complimenf- 
 ing a lady ; in pointing an epigram, and in tell- 
 ing a lewd tale; in these branches of literary 
 art, the Birmingham trade of verse, they have 
 rareiy been surpassed. ^V^hatever praise may 
 be given to them as versifiers, as wiis, as rca- 
 soners, they may deserve; but versification, 
 and wit, and reason, do not constitute poetry. 
 The time which elai)sed from the days of 
 Uryden to those of Pope, is the dark age of 
 English poetry. 
 
 XII. To Dryden and Pope the honour of 
 having perfected our versification is commonly 
 attributed; it is true only with respect to the 
 couplet, the best example of which is assuredly 
 to be found in Drj'den, from whom it has been 
 handed down to us as the prescriptive form of 
 metre for all long poems, whatever be their 
 tone or temper. He wrote it with less negli- 
 gence than his predecessors, and with more 
 vigour than his followers; more variously than 
 the latter, more melodiously than the former. 
 Por improving this measure, too much has been 
 ascribed to Waller, and not enough to J'rior.
 
 XXX 
 
 From Prior, Pope adopted some of the most 
 conspicuous artifices of his verse. 
 
 PUis la pome est devenii'e dijjicile, plus elle 
 est belle, is the sa^'ing of Vohaire; and since 
 the davs of Boileau. who communicated to 
 Racine that notable receipt of making the se- 
 cond Une of a couplet first, it has been the fun- 
 damental article of critical belief in France. 
 Pope was completely a Frenchman in his taste ; 
 he imported /' art de parler toujours convena- 
 blement, the etiquette and bienseance, the couft 
 language and full-dress c6stame of verse. 
 However, that there is any difficulty in ail this, 
 experience has sufiiciently disproved. What 
 Lord Holland has so well said of Lope de Vega, 
 may be applied with the same strict propriety 
 to Pope. * The beneficial influence of his 
 works on the taste and literature of the nation 
 may be questioned. He so familiarized his 
 countrymen with the mechanism of verse ; he 
 supplied them with such a store of common- 
 place images and epithets; he coined such a 
 variety, of convenient expressions, that the 
 very facility of versification seems to have pre-
 
 XXXI 
 
 tented the effusions of genius, and the redun- 
 dancy of poetical phrases to have superseded 
 alt originality of language.' 
 
 Pope, though he imitated Boileau, is, in fact, 
 as much superiour to him, as the English lan- 
 guage is, in the opinion of an Englishman, 
 superiour to the French. There is in him a bot- 
 tom of sound sense, not to be found amid all 
 the wit of his master. He is the iirst of his 
 kind; but to class him with great Poets, to say 
 that he is a writer of the same kind as Milton and 
 Shakspeare, is as absurd asit would be to class 
 the ^^neid with the Propria qua mnribus; verse 
 is common to them, and verse is all which they 
 hav^ in common. 
 
 XIII. The Anglo-Gallican School, which 
 Pope had perfected, died with him. The tune, 
 indeed, which he set, every poetizer, whether 
 man, woman, or child, has been singing ever 
 since; and we are still referred to him as the per- 
 fect Poet, by those who hold that poetry is an ac- 
 quirable art, the materialists of fine literature ; 
 but not one writer since his days, who has ac- 
 quired the slightest popularity, has been fornjod 
 upon this school. Even in his own days the
 
 XXXll 
 
 Reformation began. Thomson recalled th 
 iialion to the study of nature, which, since 
 Milton, luid been utterly negleeted. Young's 
 manner is unique; a compound of wit and 
 religious madness ; but that madness is the 
 madness of a man of genius. Glover imitated 
 t})e Greeks; Gilbert VV- est began a. school half 
 Oreek, half Gothick, which vvas followed 
 by Mason, Gray, and .VVarton, and is to be 
 traced in Akenside and Collins. 
 
 Meantime tiic growing taste for Shaksptare 
 gradually brought our old writers into notice. 
 Warton aided in this good work, which wag 
 forwarded more effectually by the publication 
 of the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, the great 
 literary epocha of the present reign, which will 
 prove to English poetry, what the discovery of 
 the Pandects did to jurisprudence. Of my con- 
 temporaries 1 am not required to speak ; they 
 do not fell within the limits of this series; there 
 are many among them of whom it would have 
 given me pleasure to speak in praise, and this 
 I say, that silence miiy not be interpreted as 
 implying censure.
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF POETS, 
 
 FROM WHOSE WORKS EXTRACTS HAVE BEEN 
 GIVEN IN THESE VOLUMES. 
 
 Ai in many instances it has not been possible to ascertaia 
 the precise year of an author's birth or death, the reader is 
 requested to observe, that when the word about precedes 
 the date, it must be understood to be correct within two 
 or three years ; where a mark of interrogation is annexed, the 
 date is only offered as an approximation deduced from the 
 author's earliest compositions. 
 
 Bom Died 
 
 1 Thomas, Otway - - - - i65l l685 
 
 3 Anne Killigrew, - - - 1660 1685 
 
 3 Edmund Waller, - - - 1605 16^7 
 
 4 George Villers, Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, 1628 1667 
 
 5 Sir George Etherege, - - 1636 I688 
 
 6 Charles Cotton, - - - - J630 1687 
 
 7 Aphra Behn, ----- I689 
 
 6 Walter Scott, I6l3 iQ^ 
 
 c
 
 XXXI V 
 
 " 
 
 Born 
 
 Dlrd 
 
 9 Nathaniel Lee, - - - - 
 
 
 1691 
 
 10 Thomas Shadwell, - - - 
 
 1640 
 
 1692 
 
 11 William Mountford, - - 
 
 1659 
 
 1692 
 
 12 Sir William Killigrew, - - 
 
 1605 
 
 1593 
 
 13 Sir Robert Howard, ~ - 
 
 
 1698 
 
 14 Charles Hopkins, - - - 
 
 1664 
 
 I7CO 
 
 15 John Dryden, - - - - 
 
 1631 
 
 1701 
 
 l6 Sir Charles Sedley, - - - 
 
 1639 
 
 1701 
 
 1 7 John Pomfret, - - - - 
 
 1677 
 
 1703 
 
 18 John Crowne, - - - - 
 
 abt 
 
 . 1704 
 
 19 Charles Sackville, Earl of 
 
 
 
 Dorset, _-.._-- 
 
 1637 
 
 1704 
 
 20 George Stepney, - - , 
 
 1663 
 
 1707 
 
 21 George Farquhar, - - - 
 
 1678 
 
 1707 
 
 22 John Phillips,- - > . 
 
 1676 
 
 170s 
 
 23 William Walsh, - - - - 
 
 1663 
 
 1702 
 
 24 Thomas Betterton, - - - 
 
 1635 
 
 1710 
 
 25 Lady Chudleigh, - - - 
 
 1656 
 
 1710 
 
 26 Richard Duke, - - - - 
 
 
 1710 
 
 27 Edmund Smilh, - - - - 
 
 1668 
 
 1710 
 
 28 William King, - - - - 
 
 1668 
 
 1712 
 
 29 Arthur Maynwaring, - - 
 
 1668 
 
 1712 
 
 30 William Harrison, - - - 
 
 
 1713 
 
 .31 Thomas Sprat, - - _ - 
 
 1656 
 
 1713 
 
 ^2 William Wycherley, - - 
 
 1640 
 
 1715
 
 XXXV 
 
 
 
 Bom 
 
 r>ied 
 
 S3 Mary Monk, - - - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1715 
 
 34 Charles Montague, Earl 
 
 of 
 
 
 
 Halifax, - - - - - 
 
 
 166] 
 
 1715 
 1717 
 
 35 Sir Samuel Garth, - - 
 
 _ 
 
 X\J\J 1. 
 
 36 Thomas Parnell, - - 
 
 
 1679 
 
 1717 
 
 37 Peter Antony Motteaux, 
 
 - 
 
 1669 
 
 1718 
 
 38 Nicholas Rowe, - - - 
 
 - 
 
 1673 
 
 1718 
 
 39 Henry Needier, - - 
 
 - 
 
 1690 
 
 1718 
 
 40 Joseph Addison, - - - 
 
 - 
 
 1672 
 
 1719 
 
 41 John Hughes, - - - 
 
 - 
 
 1677 
 
 1719 
 
 42 John Sheffield, Duke of 
 
 
 
 "Rnf^lcinorKam * _ 
 
 
 1649 
 
 1720 
 
 MJ K*\,r^ iltp. Hall* f 
 
 
 43 Anne, Countess of Winchelsea, 
 
 
 1720 
 
 44 Matthew Prior, - - . 
 
 - 
 
 1664 
 
 1721 
 
 45 Thomas D'Urfey, - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 1723 
 
 46 Charles Gildon, - - - 
 
 . 
 
 1665 
 
 1723 
 
 47 De La Rivierre Manly, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1724 
 
 48 Elkannah Settle, - - 
 
 - 
 
 1666 
 
 1724 
 
 49 George Sewell, - - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1726 
 
 50 Nicholas Brady, - - - 
 
 - 
 
 1659 
 
 1726 
 
 51 Sir John Vanbrugh, - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1726 
 
 52 William Pattisou, - - 
 
 - 
 
 1706 
 
 1727 
 
 53 Richardson Pack, - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1728 
 
 54 William Congreve, - - 
 
 - 
 
 1763 
 
 1728 
 
 *5 Sir Richard Blackmore, 
 
 - 
 
 
 1/^9
 
 XXXVl 
 
 
 
 Bom 
 
 Died 
 
 56 Laurence Eusden, 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1730 
 
 57 Elijah Fenton, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1730 
 
 58 Daniel De Foe, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1670 
 
 1731 
 
 5g Jabez Hughes, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1685 
 
 1731 
 
 60 John Gray, - - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1688 
 
 1732 
 
 6l John Biennis, - - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1647 
 
 1733 
 
 62 Constantia Grierson, 
 
 - - 
 
 1706 
 
 1733 
 
 63 George Granville, Lord Lans- 
 
 
 
 rJr^M/riA _ > 
 
 
 1667 
 
 1735 
 1734 
 
 UUWAIC^ - - 
 
 64 Samuel Wesley, 1st. 
 
 . 
 
 65 Mary Barber, - 
 
 - - 
 
 
 .1735 
 
 66 Thomas Yalden, 
 
 - - 
 
 1669 
 
 1736 
 
 67 Eustace Budgell, 
 
 - - 
 
 1685 
 
 1735 
 
 fi<? TT Prirp _ _ 
 
 
 
 .1736 
 
 \J*J J J* Xll\^C^, - 
 
 " 
 
 pub 
 
 69 Elizabeth Rowe, 
 
 - - 
 
 1674 
 
 1737 
 
 70 Matthew Green, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1696 
 
 1737 
 
 71 Thomas Sheridan, 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1737 
 
 72 Joseph Mitchell, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1684 
 
 173a 
 
 73 Samuel "Wesley, 2d. 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1739 
 
 74 John Oldmixon, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1742 
 
 75 Thomas Tickell, 
 
 - - 
 
 1686 
 
 1740 
 
 76 Jane Brereton, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 1685 
 
 1740 
 
 77 Nicholas Amhurst, - 
 
 - - 
 
 
 1742 
 
 78 William Hinchcliffe, 
 
 - - 
 
 1692 
 
 l74^ 
 
 79 William SomervUle, 
 1 
 
 - - 
 
 1692 
 
 1743
 
 xxxvn 
 
 
 
 
 Born 
 
 Died 
 
 SO James Hammond, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1710 
 
 1/42 
 
 81 Lord Paget, - - 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1742 
 
 82 Richard West, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1716 
 
 1742 
 
 S3 Josiah Relph, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1712 
 
 1748 
 
 84 Samuel Say, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1743 
 
 85 Henry Carey, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1748 
 
 86 Richard Savage, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1697 
 
 1743 
 
 87 Lord Harvey, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 1743 
 
 88 Lewis Theobald, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1744 
 
 89 Alexander Pope, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1688 
 
 1744 
 
 90 James Miller, - 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1703 
 
 1744 
 
 91 William Broome, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1745 
 
 92 John Whaley, - 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 
 1745 
 
 93 Jonathan Swift, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1667 
 
 1745 
 
 94 Mary Chandler, - 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1687 
 
 1745 
 
 g5 Thomas Warton, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1687 
 
 1745 
 
 96 William Meston, 
 
 - about 
 
 1688 
 
 1745 
 
 97 Robert Langley, 
 
 uncertain 
 
 
 
 
 98 Thomas Southern 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1660 
 
 1746 
 
 99 Robert Blair, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1694 
 
 1746 
 
 100 Mary Leapor, - 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1722 
 
 1746 
 
 101 Isaac Watts, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1674 
 
 1748 
 
 102 Christopher Pitt, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1699 
 
 1741 
 
 103 James Thomson, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1700 
 
 1748 
 
 104 Ambrose Phillips, 
 
 - - 
 
 - 
 
 1671 
 
 J 749
 
 XXXVIU 
 
 Horn Died 
 
 105 Catharine Cockburne, - 1679 1749 
 
 105 Leonard Welstead, - - . 1688 1749 
 
 107 Samuel Boyse, - - - - 1708 1749 
 
 108 Matthew Concanen, - - 1742 
 
 109 T. S. Desaguliers, - - - 1749 
 
 110 A-aroii Hill, - - - - i684 1750 
 
 111 Laetitia Pilkington, - . - 1712 1750 
 
 112 Saaiue! Croxall, - - - 1751 
 
 113 John Bancks, - - - - 1709 1751 
 
 114 Thomas -Fitzgerald, - - 1645 1752 
 
 115 Elizabeth ToUett, - - - 1694 1754 
 
 116 William Hamilton, - - 1704 1754 
 
 117 George JefFeries, - - - 1678 1755 
 
 118 William Hay, -> - - - 1695 1755 
 
 119 Stephen Duck, - - - 1756 
 
 120 Gilbert West, - - - - 1706 1756 
 
 121 William Collins, - - - 1721 1756 
 
 122 Colley Cibber, - - - 1621 1757 
 
 123 Edward Moore, - - - 171I 1757 
 
 124 Moses Mendez, - - - - 1757 
 
 125 Richard Leveridge, - - 1670 1758 
 
 126 John Dyer, : - - - - 170O 1758 
 
 127 Sir Charles Hanbury Wil- 
 liams, 1709 1759 
 
 128 James Cawthorne, . - - 1721 1761
 
 xx'xix 
 
 Born Died 
 
 lag James Ralph, - - - - 1/62 
 
 130 Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
 tague, ------ 1762 
 
 131 George Bubb Doddington, 
 
 Lord Melcombe, - - - 1691 1763 
 
 132 John Byrom, - - - - 1691 17G3 
 
 133 William Shenstone, - - 1/14 1/63 
 
 134 Robert Dodsley, - - - 1/03 1764 
 
 135 Charles Churchill, - - - 1731 17^4 
 
 136 Robert Lloyd, - - - - 1733 1764 
 
 137 Edward Young, - - - 168I 1765 
 
 138 David Mallet, - - - - 1709 1765 
 
 139 John Brown, - - - - 1715 1766 
 
 140 Frances Sheridan, - - - 1724 1767 
 
 141 James Grainger, - - - 1724 1/67 
 
 142 Nathaniel Evans, - - - 1742 1767 
 
 143 Michael Bruce, - - - - 1746 1767 
 
 144 Leonard Howard, - - - 1767 
 
 J 45 John Gilbert Cooper, - - 1723 4769 
 
 146 Samuel Derrick, - - 1J69 
 
 147 James Merrick, - - - 1719 1762 
 
 148 William Falconer - - - 177O 
 
 149 Henry Jones, - - - - 177O 
 
 150 William Thompson, abt, 1712abt. 1770 
 
 151 Mark Akcnside, - - - 1721 1770
 
 xl 
 
 
 Born 
 
 Died 
 
 152 "thomas Chatterton, - - 
 
 1752 
 
 1770 
 
 153 Thomas Gray, - - . . 
 
 i7i6 
 
 1771 
 
 154 Thomas Smollett, - - . 
 
 1720 
 
 1791 
 
 155 Christopher Smart, - - 
 
 1712 
 
 1771 
 
 156 Cuthbert Shaw, - - - 
 
 1/38 
 
 1771 
 
 157 George Canning, - - - 
 
 
 1771 
 
 158 William Wilkie, - ^ - 
 
 1731 
 
 1762 
 
 159 Jatnes Graeme, , - , 
 
 1739 
 
 1772 
 
 150 Walter Harte, - - . - 
 
 1700 
 
 1773 
 
 l6l Greorge Lord Lyttleton, 
 
 170a 
 
 1773 
 
 162 P. D. Stanhope, Earl of 
 
 
 
 Chesterfield, - - _ _ 
 
 1694 
 
 1773 
 
 163 John Cunningham, - - 
 
 1729 
 
 1773 
 
 164 James Dance, - , - - 
 
 
 
 1774 
 
 165 Charles Jenner, - _ - - 
 
 
 1774 
 
 166 Paul Whitehead, - - - 
 
 1710 
 
 1774 
 
 167 Oliver Goldsmith, - - - 
 
 1729 
 
 1774 
 
 168 Henry Baker, - - - - 
 
 
 1774 
 
 169 Edward Lovibond, - - 
 
 
 J 775 
 
 170 Daniel Bellamy, - - - 
 
 1687 
 
 1776 
 
 171 Evan Lloyd, - - _ . 
 
 1734 
 
 1776 
 
 172 Francis Fawkes, _ - - 
 
 1721 
 
 1777 
 
 1 73 Paul HifFerman, - - - 
 
 1719 
 
 1777 
 
 174 Thomas Denton, - - - 
 
 . 
 
 ^777 
 
 175 WUUam Dodd, . - - - 
 
 1739 
 
 1777
 
 3fU 
 
 Bora Died 
 
 176 Hugh Kelly, - - - - 1739 1777 
 
 177 Benjamin Victor, - - - 1778 
 
 1/8 David Garrick, - - - 17 16 1779 
 
 179 John Langhorne, - - - 1779 
 
 180 William Kenrick, - - 1779 
 
 181 Thomas Penrose. - - - 1743 1779 
 
 182 Sir WiUiam Blackstone, - 1723 1780 
 
 183 James De La Cour, - - 1709 1781 
 
 184 Richard Jago, - - - .- 1715 178I 
 
 185 Phanuel Bacon, - - - - 170O 1783 
 
 186 John Scott, - - - - 173O 1783 
 
 187 Henry Brooke, - - - - 1706 1713 
 
 188 George Alexander Stephens, 7784 
 
 189 Samuel Johnson, - - - 1709 1784 
 
 190 Richard Glover, - - - 1712 1785 
 
 191 Myles Cooper, - - - - 1785 
 
 192 William Whitehead, - - 1741 1785 
 
 193 Moses Browne, - - - - 1703 1787 
 
 194 Edmund Rack, - - - - 1787 
 
 195 Soame Jenyns, _ - - 1740 1787 
 
 196 Robert Lowth, - - - 1710 1787 
 ig7 Nathaniel Cotton, - - - 1738 
 
 198 Robert Earl Nugent, - - 1709 1788 
 
 199 John Logan, - - - - 1748 1788 
 
 200 Henry Headley, - - - 17S8
 
 xlii 
 
 201 Thomas Day, - - - - 
 
 202 Thomas Warton, - - - 
 
 203 Samuel Rogers, - - - 
 
 204 John Eliis, 
 
 205 William Hayward Roberts, 
 
 206 John Free, - - - . - 
 
 207 Thomas Black] ock, - - 
 
 208 William Woty - - - - 
 
 209 James Marriott, - - - 
 
 210 Sir William Jones, - - - 
 
 211 James Boswell, - - . 
 
 212 George Butt, - . - . 
 
 213 Samuel Bishop, - - - 
 
 214 James Fordyce, - - - 
 
 215 Thomas Cole, - - - - 
 
 216 James Macpherson, - - 
 
 217 George Keate, - - - - 
 
 218 John Bampfylde, - - - 
 
 219 Horace Walpole, Earl of 
 Orford, 
 
 220 Robert Merry, - - - - 
 
 221 Thomas Browne, - - - 
 
 222 Joseph Warton, - - - 
 
 223 William Cowper, - - - 
 
 Born 
 
 DLd 
 
 1748 
 
 1789 
 
 3 723 
 
 1790 
 
 
 1700 
 
 1698 
 
 1791 
 
 1734 
 
 1791 
 
 
 
 1791 
 
 1721 
 
 1791 
 
 1731 
 
 1791 
 
 
 1723 
 
 1746 
 
 1794 
 
 
 1795 
 
 
 J795 
 
 1731 
 
 17a5 
 
 1721 
 
 1796 
 
 
 
 1796 
 
 1738 
 
 1796 
 
 1730 
 
 mi 
 
 
 1796 
 
 
 1797 
 
 1755 
 
 1798 
 
 1771 
 
 1798 
 
 1722 
 
 1800 
 
 1731 
 
 1800
 
 ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POETS, 
 
 FROM WHOSE WORKS BXTHACTS HAVE BEEU 
 
 GIVEX IX THESE VOLUMES: WITH THEIK 
 
 TITLES AND ACADEMICAL DEGKBBS. 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 
 Akensidc, Mark, 
 Amhurst, Nicholas, 
 Bacon, Phanucl, 
 Baker, Henry, 
 Bampfyldc, John, 
 Banckes, John, 
 Barber, Mary, 
 Bchn, Aphra, - 
 Bellamy, Daniel, 
 Bctterton, Thomas, 
 Bishop, Samuel, 
 Blacklock, Thomas, - 
 Blackmore, Sir Richard, 
 Blackstonc, Sir William, 
 
 Vol. 
 
 P. 
 
 I. 
 
 206 
 
 II. 
 
 416 
 
 I. 
 
 394 
 
 III. 
 
 203 
 
 III. 
 
 83 
 
 III. 
 
 434 
 
 II. 
 
 170 
 
 I. 
 
 329 
 
 I. 
 
 48 
 
 III. 
 
 93 
 
 I. 
 
 129 
 
 III. 
 
 410 
 
 III. 
 
 357 
 
 I. 
 
 273 
 
 III. 
 
 188
 
 \liv 
 
 Blair, Robert, 
 Boswell, James, 
 Boyse, Samuel, 
 Brady, Nicholas, 
 Brereton, Jane, 
 Brooke, Henry,' 
 Broome, William, 
 Browne, Moses, 
 Browne, John, - 
 Browne, Thomas, 
 Bruce, Michael, 
 Budgell, Eustace, 
 Butt, George, 
 Byrom, John, 
 Canning, George, 
 Carey, Henry, 
 Cawthorne, James, 
 Chatterton, Thomas, 
 Chandler, Marv, 
 Chudleigh, Lady, 
 Churchill, Charles, 
 Cibber, Colley, 
 Cockburne, Catherine, 
 Collins, William, 
 Concanen, Matthew, 
 
 Vol 
 
 P. 
 
 II. 
 
 87 
 
 III. 
 
 397 
 
 II. 
 
 130 
 
 I. 
 
 255 
 
 I. 
 
 386 
 
 III. 
 
 216 
 
 II. 
 
 35 
 
 in. 
 
 257 
 
 II. 
 
 346 
 
 in. 
 
 455 
 
 II. 
 
 368 
 
 I. 
 
 338 
 
 III. 
 
 402 
 
 II; 
 
 309 
 
 III. 
 
 6 
 
 I. 
 
 436 
 
 II. 
 
 284 
 
 II. 
 
 419 
 
 II. 
 
 h7 
 
 I. 
 
 135 
 
 11. 
 
 317 
 
 11. 
 
 255 
 
 II. 
 
 119 
 
 II. 
 
 248 
 
 II. 
 
 134
 
 Vo!. P. 
 
 Congreve, William, - - - I. 291 
 
 Coopef, John Gilbert, - - - IL 382 
 
 Cooper, Myles, ... - HI. 246 
 
 Cotton, Charles, - - - - I. 31 
 
 Cotton, Nathaniel, - - - - III. 285 
 
 Cowper, William, ... HI. 470 
 
 Coxall, Samuel, - - . - II. 159 
 
 Crowne, John, - - - - I. 98 
 
 Cunningham, John, - - - III. 57 
 
 Dance, James, - . - . m. 63 
 
 Day, Thomas, .... m, 308 
 
 Dc Foe, Daniel, . . _ . I. 289 
 
 Dc La Cour, James, ... m. 193 
 
 Dennis, John, - ... I. 306 
 
 Denton, Thomas . _ - . m, 1^5 
 
 Derrick, Samjcl, - - - - II. 385 
 
 Dcsaguliers, T. S II. 136 
 
 Dodd, William, D. D. - - - HI. 133 
 
 Doddington, George Bubb, Ld. Melcombe, II. 296 
 
 Dodsley, Robert, - - - . II. 311 
 
 Diyden, John, - - . I. 81 
 
 Duck, Stephen II. 234 
 
 Duke, Richard, - . . . I. 139 
 
 Durfcy, Thomas, . - - - I. 23? 
 
 Dyer, John, II. 275?
 
 xlvi 
 
 Ellis, Johti) . w _ . 
 
 Etherege, Sir George, 
 
 Eusden, Lawrence, - - 
 
 Evans, Nathaniel, - - _ 
 
 Falconer, William, - - - 
 
 Farquhar, George, - - 
 
 Fawkes, Francis, - . - 
 
 Fenton, Elijah, - - - 
 
 Fitzgerald, Thomas, 
 
 Ford)xe, James, - - - 
 
 Free, John, - - - - 
 
 Garrick, David, 
 
 Garth, Sir Samuel, - - - - I. 18S 
 
 Gay, John, I. 298 
 
 Gildon, Charles, _ - . 
 
 Glover, Richard, - . - 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, L. L. D. 
 
 Graeme, James, - - - 
 
 Granger, James, - - - 
 
 Granville, Geo. Lord Lansdowne, 
 
 Gray, Thomas, - , - 
 
 Green, Matthew, - - - 
 
 Gricrson, Constantia, - 
 
 Hamilton, William, 
 
 Hammond, James, - - - - I. ^OS 
 
 Vol. 
 
 P. 
 
 III. 
 
 311 
 
 I. 
 
 33 
 
 I. 
 
 280 
 
 IL 
 
 363 
 
 II. 
 
 367 
 
 I. 
 
 110 
 
 III. 
 
 712 
 
 I. 
 
 284 
 
 II. 
 
 184 
 
 III. 
 
 417 
 
 III. 
 
 351 
 
 III. 
 
 155 
 
 I. 
 
 243 
 
 III. 
 
 239 
 
 III. 
 
 7T 
 
 III. 
 
 31 
 
 II. 
 
 358 
 
 I. 
 
 318 
 
 II. 
 
 428 
 
 I. 
 
 352 
 
 I. 
 
 312 
 
 n. 
 
 230
 
 xlvii 
 
 Harrison, William, - - - 
 
 Uarte, Walter, - - - 
 
 Harvey, Lord, - - - 
 
 Hay William, 
 
 Headley, Henry, _ . _ 
 
 Hiffermaa, Paul, . - - 
 
 Hill, Aaron, - - - - 
 
 Hinchcliffic, William, 
 
 Hopkins, Charles, - - - 
 
 Howard, Sir Robert, 
 
 Howard, Leonard, D. D. - 
 
 Hughes, John, - - 
 
 Hughes, Jabez, 
 
 Jago, Richard, . - - 
 
 Jeffcrics, George, - - - 
 
 Jenner, Charles, - - 
 
 Jphnson, Samuel, L. L. O. 
 
 Jones, Henry, - . - 
 
 Jones, Sir William, 
 
 Jenyns, Soame, - - - 
 
 Keatc, George, . - - 
 
 Kelly, Hugh, - , - 
 
 Kenrick, William, 
 
 Killigrew, Anne, ... 
 
 Killigrew, Sir William, - - - I. 163 
 
 Vol. 
 
 P. 
 
 I. 
 
 163. 
 
 HI. 
 
 40 
 
 n. 
 
 1 
 
 n. 
 
 224 
 
 III. 
 
 333 
 
 III. 
 
 123 
 
 II. 
 
 141 
 
 I. 
 
 399 
 
 . I. 
 
 78 
 
 I. 
 
 73 
 
 II. 
 
 374 
 
 I. 
 
 213 
 
 I. 
 
 294 
 
 III. 
 
 199 
 
 II. 
 
 213 
 
 HI. 
 
 65 
 
 HI. 
 
 135 
 
 II. 
 
 401 
 
 III. 
 
 333 
 
 HI. 
 
 269 
 
 III. 
 
 429 
 
 HI. 
 
 144 
 
 HI. 
 
 176 
 
 I. 
 
 7
 
 xlviii 
 
 King, WiUlam, 
 Langhorne, John, 
 Langley, Robert, 
 Lcapor, Mary, 
 Lee, Nathaniel, 
 Lloyd, Robert, 
 Lloyd, Evan, 
 Lewis, Theobald, 
 Leveridgc, Richard, 
 Logan, John, 
 Lovibond, Edward, 
 Lowth, Robert, D. D. 
 Lyttleton, Lord George, 
 Macpherson, James, 
 Mallet, David, 
 Manly, La Rivierre, 
 Marriot, James, 
 Maynwaring, Arthur, 
 Mendez, Moses, 
 Merrick, James, 
 Merry, Robert, 
 Meston, William, 
 Miller, James, 
 Mitchell, Joseph, 
 Monk, Mary, 
 
 Vol. 
 
 p. 
 
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 153 
 
 in. 
 
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 xlif 
 
 Montague, Charles, Earl of Halifax, 
 Montague, Lady Mary Wortley, - 
 Moore, Edward, - . - 
 
 Mottcaux, Peter Anthony, 
 Mountford, William, 
 Needier, Henry, - - - 
 
 Nugent, Robert, Earl, 
 Oldmixon, John, - . - 
 
 Otway, Thomas, ... 
 
 Pack, Richardson, - - - 
 
 Paget, Lord, - - . 
 Pamcll, Thomas, - - - 
 
 Pattison, William, . - - 
 
 Penrose, Thomas, - - - 
 Philips, John, ... 
 
 Philips, Ambrose, - - - 
 
 Pilkington, Lstitia, 
 Pitt, Christopher, 
 Porafrct, John, ... 
 
 Pope, Alexander, ... 
 Price, Henry, - - - 
 
 Prior, Matthew, - . - 
 
 Rack, Edmund, ... 
 Ralph, James, ... 
 
 Vol. 
 
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 Rclph, Josiah, ^ - - 
 
 Roberts, Hayward William, 
 Rogers, Samuel, - . _ 
 
 Rowe, Nicholas, - - 
 
 Rowe, Elizabeth, - - - 
 
 Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset, 
 Savage, Richard, - - - 
 
 Say, Samuel, - - - - 
 
 Scott, Jolin, . - - - 
 
 Scott, Walter, - - . 
 
 Sedley, Sir Charles, 
 Settle, Elkanah, - - - 
 
 Sewell, George, - . - 
 
 Sbadwell, Thomas, - - - 
 
 Shaw, Cuthbert, - - - 
 
 Sheffield, John, Duke of Buckingham, 
 Shenstone, William, 
 Sheridan, Frances, - - - 
 
 Sheridan, Thomas, - - 
 Smart, Christopher, 
 Smith, Edmund, . - . 
 
 Smollett, Tobias, 
 Somervile, William, 
 JSouitcrnc, 1 bomas, 
 
 Vol. 
 
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 sprat, Thomas, 
 
 Sunhope, P. D., Earl of Chesterfield, 
 
 Stepney, George, . - - - 
 
 Stevens, George Alexander, 
 
 Swift, Jonathan, D, D. 
 
 Tate, Nahum, - - 
 
 Thomson, James, _ - 
 
 Thompson, William, - - - 
 
 Theobald, Lewis, ... 
 
 Tickell, Thomas, - - - 
 
 Toilet, Elizabeth, . . 
 
 V'anbrugh, Sir John, _ ^ . 
 
 Victor, Benjamin, - - - 
 
 Villiers, George, Duke of Buckingham, 
 
 Waller, Edmuml, . - - 
 
 Watts, Isaac, D. D. 
 
 Walpole, Horace, Earl of Orford, 
 
 Walsh, William, 
 
 Warton, Thomas, . , . 
 
 Warton, Joseph, - - . - 
 
 Welstcd, Leonard, _ . - 
 
 Wesley, Samuel, 1st, - 
 
 Wesley, Samuel, 2d, . - 
 
 West, Gilbcjt, .... 
 
 Vol. 
 
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 lii 
 
 West, Richard, 
 Whaley, John, 
 Whitehead, Paul, 
 Whitehead, William, 
 Wilkie, William, ' - 
 Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 
 Winchclsea, Anne, Countess of 
 Woty, William, 
 Wycherley, William, 
 Yalden, Thomas, 
 Young, Edward,' L. L. D. 
 
 Vol 
 
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 * There is no poetical volume, be it never so 
 small, but it requires some pains to bring it forth, or 
 else a notable fluent knack of rhyming or versifying. 
 And how small a matter is it for never so trivial a 
 work, before it comes to be condemned to the 
 drudgery of the chandler or tobacco-man, after the 
 double ex pence of brain to bring it forth, and of 
 pui-se to publish it to the world, to have this me- 
 morial, suck a one -wrote such a thing. Besides that 
 it will easily be imagined in works of this nature, 
 that we write as well to the inquisitive as the 
 judicious, to the curious as the critic. There are 
 many busy inquirers after books, not good books, 
 but books, what hath been written on such or such 
 a subject. For these men who would grudge the 
 slight mention of a book and its author ?' 
 
 Edward Phillips, the Nephcvs of Milton.
 
 
 .vs^ V*i?
 
 C 1 3 
 THOMAS OTWAY. 
 
 Trottin, Sussex, 16511685. 
 
 After experiencing several reverses of fortune in other walks 
 of life, Otway took to writing for the stage. The age of 
 Charles II. abounded in wit and licentiousness, and Ot- 
 wajr was not deficient in either ; bis tragedies are how. 
 ever peculiarly tender, and forcible. Put Otway's reward 
 is tobefoundinhisposthumou<> fame; his contemporaries 
 were blind to, or jealous of his merits, and be did not 
 always meet the success he ought to have commanded. 
 Poverty made his death more than commonly wretched ; 
 U is even said, that, in his extreme hunger, he was 
 choakrd with a piece of bread, which he was too e;iger in 
 devouring: A bitter reflection on those who knew, and 
 slighted his claims to protection. 
 
 The Poefs Complaint of /us Muse. 
 
 AN ODB. 
 
 *** 
 in. 
 
 I AM a wretch of honest race : 
 My parents not obscure, nor high in titles wei-e 
 They left me heir to no disgrace, 
 vol.. T.
 
 a THOMAS OTWAY. 
 
 My father was (a thing now rare) 
 Loyal and brave, my motlier chaste and fair : 
 The pledge of marriage-vows was only I ; 
 Alone I liv'd their much-loved fondled boy j 
 They gave me generous education ; high 
 They strove to raise my mind ; and with it grew 
 
 their joy. 
 The sages that instructed me in arts. 
 
 And knowledge, oft would praise my parts. 
 And cheer my parents' longing hearts. 
 When I was call'd to a dispute. 
 My fellow-pupils oft stood mute : 
 Yet never envy did disjoin 
 Their hearts from me, nor pride distemper mine. 
 'I'hus ray first years in happiness I past. 
 
 Nor any bitter cup did taste : 
 But, Oh ! a deadly portion came at last. 
 
 As I lay loosely on my bed, 
 A thousand pleasant thoughts triumphing in my 
 head, 
 And as my sense on the rich banquet fed, 
 A voice (it seem'd no more, so busy I 
 Was with myself, 1 saw not who was nigh) 
 Pierc'd through my ears j ' Arise, thy good Senan- 
 
 der's dead.* 
 It shook my brain, and from their feast my frighted 
 senses fled.
 
 THOMAS OTWAY. 9 
 
 IV. 
 
 From thence sad discontent, uneasy fears. 
 And anxious doubts of what I had to do. 
 Grew with succeeding years. 
 The world was wide, but whither should I go ? 
 I, whose blooming hopes all wither'd were. 
 Who 'd little fortupe, and a deal of care ? 
 To Britain's great metropolis I stray'd. 
 
 Where Fortune's general game is play'd ; 
 Where honesty and wit are often praised. 
 But fools and knaves are fortunate and raised ; 
 My forward spirit prompted me to find 
 A converse equal to my mind : 
 But by raw judgment easily misled, 
 (As giddy callow boys 
 Are very fond of toys) 
 I raiss'd the brave and wise, and in their stead 
 On every sort of vanity I fed. 
 Gay coxcombs, cowards, knaves, and prating fools. 
 Bullies of o'ergrown bulks and little souls. 
 Gamesters, half-wits, and spendthrifts (such as 
 
 think 
 Mischievous midnight frolics bred by drink 
 
 Are gallantry and wit. 
 Because to sheir lewd understandings fit) 
 b2
 
 4 THOMAS OTW.VY. 
 
 Were those wherewith two years at least I spent. 
 To all their fulsomii follies most incorrigibly bent j 
 Till at the lastj myself more to abuse, 
 I grew in love with a deceitful Muse. 
 
 V. 
 
 No fair deceiver ever used such charms, 
 T' ensnare a tender youth, and win his heart ; 
 Or when she had him in her arms. 
 Secured his love with greater art. 
 I fancy'd, or I dream'd (as poets always do) - 
 No beauty with my Muse's might compare. 
 Lofty she seem'd, and on her front sat a majestic 
 
 Awful, yet kindj severe, yet fair. .;. 
 
 Upon her head a crown she bore. 
 Of laurel, which she told me should be raine : 
 And round her ivory neck she wore 
 A rope of largest pearl. Each part of her did shine 
 With jewels and with gold. 
 Numberless to be told ^ s- / 
 
 Which in imagination I did behold. 
 
 And loved and wonder'd more and more. 
 Said she, these riches all, my darling, shall be thine. 
 
 Riches which never poet had before. 
 She promised me to raise my fortune and my name. 
 By royal favour, and by endless fame ;
 
 THOMAS OTWAY. 5 
 
 iBut never told 
 How hard they were to get, how difficult to hold. 
 
 Thus by the arts of this most sly 
 
 Deluder was I caught. 
 To her betwitching bondage brought. 
 
 Eternal constancy we swore, 
 A thousand times our vows were doubled o'er : 
 And as we did in our entrancements lie, 
 I thought no pleasure e'er was wrought so high. 
 No pair so happy as my Muse and I. 
 
 " "' "* " ir"' " >. 
 
 But in this most transporting height. 
 Whence I look'd down, and laught at fate. 
 All of a sudden I was alter'd grown; 
 I round me look'd, and found myself alone j 
 My faithless Muse, my faithless Muse, was 
 gone; 
 I try d if I a verse could frame : 
 Oft I in vain invoked my Clio's name. 
 
 The more I strove, the more I faild, 
 I chafed, I bit my pen, curst my dull skiill, and 
 rail'd, 
 Resolved to force m' untoward tliought, and at the 
 last prevail'd. 
 
 B 1
 
 8 THOMAS OTWAY. 
 
 A line came forth, but such a one. 
 No travelling matron in her child-birth pains. 
 Full of the joyful hopes to bear a son. 
 Was more astonish'd at th' unlook'd-for shape 
 Of some deform'd baboon, or ape. 
 Than I was at the hideous issue of my brains. 
 I tore my paper, stabb'd my pen. 
 And swore I'd never write again. 
 Resolved to be a doating fool no more ; 
 But when my reckoning I began to make, 
 I found too long I'd slept, and was too late awake ; 
 I found m' ungrateful Muse, for whose false sake 
 I did myself undo. 
 Has robb'd me of my dearest store. 
 My precious time, my friends, and reputation too j 
 And left me helpless, friendless, very proud, and 
 poor.
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 ANNE KILLEGREW. 
 
 London, iGGO 1635. 
 
 Dryden has immortalized this Lady. She was the daugh- 
 ter of Dr. Henry Killegrew, Master of the Savoy, and 
 Prebendary of Westminster. Her paintings promised as 
 much as her poetry ; her genius was acl^nowledged and 
 rewarded ^ but the small-pox early terminated a life of 
 industry, and virtue, and happiness. 
 
 The Complaint of a Lover. 
 
 oeest thou younder craggy rock. 
 
 Whose head o'erlooks the swelling main. 
 
 Where never shepherd fed his flock. 
 Or careful peasant sow'd his grain ? 
 
 No wholesome herb grows on the same. 
 
 Or bird of day will on it rest j 
 Tis barren as the hopeless flame. 
 
 That scorches my tormented breast. 
 b4
 
 8 ANNE KILLEGREW,^ 
 
 Deep underneath a cave does lie. 
 
 The entrance hid with disipal yew. 
 Where Phebus never shew'd his eye. 
 
 Or cheerful day yet pierced througli. 
 
 In that dark melancholy cell, , ,.fQ j,j ^,j.j 
 
 (Retreate and soUace to my woe) 
 Love, sad Despair, and I, do dwell. 
 
 The springs from whence my griefs do flow. 
 
 Treacherous love that did appear, 
 
 (When he at first approach't my heart), ^. 
 Drest in a garb far from severe. 
 
 Or threatening ought of future smart ^^, jjgjjy 
 
 So innocent those charms then seem'd. 
 
 When Rosalinda first I spy'd. 
 Ah ! who would them have deadly deem'd "' 
 
 But flowers do often serpents hide. 
 
 Beneath those sweets concealed lay 
 
 To Love tlie cruel ifoe Disdain, 
 Witli which alas ! she does repay. 
 
 My constant and deserving pain. 
 
 When I in tears have spent the night. 
 With sighs I usher in the sun.
 
 ANNK KILLEGl^EW. r^$ 
 
 Who never saw a sadder sight. 
 In all the courses he has run. 
 
 Sleep, which to others ease does prove. 
 
 Comes unto me, alas, in vain : 
 For in my dreams I am in love. 
 
 And in them too she does disdain. 
 
 Sometimes f amuse my BOrrow>"t^"80."T ''^ 
 
 Unto the hollow rocks repair. 
 And loudly to the echo cry. 
 
 Ah ! gentle nymph come ease my care. ' 
 
 Thou who, times past, a lover wert. 
 
 Ah ! pity me, who now am so. 
 And by a sense of thine own smart. 
 
 Alleviate my mighty woe. 
 
 Come flatter then, or chide my grief j 
 Catch my last words, and call me fool j 
 
 Or say, she loves, for my relief j j 
 
 My passion either sooth, or school. 
 
 /J
 
 10 ANNE KILLEGREW. 
 
 The Discontent. 
 
 Here take no care, take here no care, my Muse, 
 
 Nor aught of art or labour use : 
 But let thy lines rude and unpolish'd go. 
 Nor equal be their feet, nor num'rous 
 
 let them flow. 
 The ruggeder ray measures run when read. 
 They'll livelier paint th' unequal paths fond mortals 
 
 tread. 
 Who when th' are tempted by the smooth ascents. 
 
 Which flattering hope presents. 
 Briskly they clime, and great things undertake; 
 But fatal voyages, alas, they make : 
 For 'tis not long before their feet. 
 Inextricable mazes meet. 
 Perplexing doubts obstruct their way. 
 Mountains withstand them of dismay ; 
 Or to the brink of black despair them lead, 
 
 Where's nought their ruine to impede. 
 In vain for aide they then to reason call. 
 Their senses dazzle, and their heads turn round. 
 The sight does all their pow'rs confound. 
 And headlong down the horrid precipice they fall ;
 
 ANNE KILtEGREW. It 
 
 Where storms of sighs for ever blow. 
 Where rapid streams of tears do flow. 
 Which drown them in a briny floud. 
 My Muse pronounce aloudj there's nothing good. 
 Nought that the world can show. 
 Nought that it can bestow. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not boundless heaps of its admired day. 
 Ah ! too successful to betray. 
 When spread in our fraile vertue's way : 
 
 For few do run with so resolv'd a pace. 
 
 That for the golden apple will not loose the race. 
 
 And yet not all the gold the vain would spend. 
 Or greedy avarice would wish to save j 
 
 Which on the earth refulgent beams doth send. 
 Or in the sea has found a grave, 
 
 Joyn'd in one mass, can bribe sufficient be. 
 
 The body from a stem disease to free. 
 Or purchase for the mind's relief 
 
 One moment's sweet repose, when restless made by 
 grief. 
 
 But what may laughter, more than pity, move : 
 When some the price of what they dearest love 
 Are masters of, and hold it in their hand. 
 To part with it their hearts they can't command :
 
 12 ANNE KILLEGREW. 
 
 But choose to miss, what misst does them torment. 
 And that to hug, affords them no content. 
 Wise fools, to do them right, we these nSust hold. 
 Who Love depose, and homage pay to Gold. 
 
 ''' in. 
 
 Nor yet, if rightly understood, ' ^ ' 
 
 Does grandeur carry more of good ; 
 To be o' th' number of the great enroll'd, 
 A scepter o're a mighty realm to hold. 
 For what is this ? 
 If I not judge amiss. 
 But all th' afflicted of a land to take. 
 And of one single family to make 
 
 The wrong'd, tlie poor, th' opprest, the sad. 
 The ruin'd, malecontent, and mad ? 
 Which a great part of ev'ry empire frame. 
 And interest in the common father claime. 
 Again what is't, but always to abide 
 A gazing crowd ? upon a stage to spend ,^ 
 
 - A life that's vain, or evil without end ? 
 And which is yet nor safely held, nor laid aside ? 
 And then, if lesser titles carry less of care. 
 Yet none but fools ambitious are to share 
 Such a mock-good, of which 'tis said, 'tis best, "^ 
 When of the least of it men are possest.
 
 ATTNE KILLEGREW/ jftf 
 
 IV. 
 
 But, O, the laurel'd fool ! that doats on fame. 
 Whose hope's applause, whose fear's to want a name. 
 
 Who can accept for pay 
 
 Of what he does, what others say. 
 Exposes now to hostile arms his breast. 
 
 To toylsome study then betrays~his rest ; 
 Now to his soul denies a just content. 
 Then forces on it what it does resent j 
 And all for praise of fools ! for such are thos^ 
 Which most of the admiring crowd compose. 
 'O famisht soul, which such thin food can feed! 
 O wretched labour crown'd with such a meed ! 
 Too loud, O Fame ! thy truinpet is, too &brUl 
 
 To lull a mind to rest. 
 
 Or calme a stormy breast, ^ ' -' -<' 
 
 Which asks a musick soft and stiH. 
 
 "Twas not Amaleck's vanquisht cry. 
 
 Nor Israel's shouts of victory. 
 
 That could in Saul the rising passion lay, 
 Twas the soft strains of David's lyre the evil sphrit 
 chaced away. 
 
 ut friendship fain would yet itself defend, 
 Aad mighty things it does pretend.
 
 14 Anne killegrew. 
 
 To be of this sad journey, life, the baite. 
 The sweet reflection of our toylsome state. 
 But though true friendship a rich cordial be, 
 
 Alas, by most 'tis so allay'd. 
 
 Its good so mixt with ill we see. 
 
 That dross for gold is often paid. 
 And for one grain of friendship that is found. 
 Falsehood and interest do the mass compound. 
 Or coldness, worse than steel, the loyal heart 
 doth wound. 
 
 Love in no two was ever yet the same. 
 
 No happy two ere felt an equal flame. 
 
 VI, 
 
 Is there that earth by human footne're prest ? 
 
 That aire which never yet by humane breast 
 
 Respired, did life supply ? 
 Oh ! thither let me fly ! 
 Where from the world at such 3 distance set. 
 
 All that's past, present, and to come, I may forget : 
 The lover's sighs, and the afflicted's tears, 
 Whate'er may wound my eyes or ears. 
 The grating noise of private jars. 
 The horrid sound of public wars. 
 Of babling fame the idle stories, 
 The short-liv'd triumphs noysy glories.
 
 NK KI1.LECREW. 1* 
 
 The curious nets ihe subtile weave. 
 
 The word, the look that may deceive. 
 No mundane care shall more affect my breast. 
 
 My profound peace shake or molest : 
 But stupor, like to death, ray senses bind. 
 
 That so I may anticipate that rest. 
 Which only in my grave 1 hope to find. 
 
 OV MY AUNT MBS. A. K. 
 
 Dnrmnd under London-Bridge in the 2ueens Bordge, 
 Anno 1641. 
 
 Tire darling of a father good and wise. 
 The vertue, which a vertuous age did prize ; 
 The beauty excellent even to those were faire. 
 Subscribed unto, by such as might compare ; 
 The star that 'bove her orb did always move. 
 And yet the noblest did not hate, but love j 
 And those who most on tiieir title "stood, 
 Vail'd also to, because she did more good. 
 To whom the wrong'd, and worthy did resort. 
 And held their sutes obtained, if only brought 3 
 The highest saint in all tlae heav'n of court. 
 So noble was her aire, so great her meen. 
 She seem'd a friend, not servant to the queen.
 
 16 Akl^t KiLLEGREV. 
 
 To sin, if known, she never did give way. 
 Vice could not storm her, could it not betray. 
 
 When angry Heav'n extinguisht her fair light. 
 It seera'd to say. Nought's precious in my sight; 
 j^s I in waves this paragon have drown d. 
 The nation next, and king I will confound.
 
 [ 17 ] 
 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 1605 1687- 
 
 Waller has perhaps received more than due praise for the 
 refinement of his native language ; it is well that it was 
 not lavished on his wit. He is often elegant, sometimes 
 tender, and not seldom dull; his conceits are often bril. 
 liant, and oftener far-fetched ; his political life was a 
 system of contradictions, and the effects of it are seen in 
 his poetry. In the editions of his works, the Piece next 
 in order to the Verses on the Death of Cromwell, is a 
 congratulation on the return of Charles II. 
 
 Upon His Majesty's repairing of St. PomVs, 
 
 That shipwreck'd vessel which th' apostle bore. 
 Scarce sufFer'd more upon Melita's shore. 
 Than did his temple in the sea of time ; 
 Our nation's glory, and our nation's crime. 
 When the * first Monarch of this happy isle, 
 Mov'd with the ruin of so brave a pile, 
 
 King James I. 
 VOT, I. c
 
 18 EDMUND WALLEXU 
 
 This work of cost and piety begun. 
 To be accomplish'd by his glorious son : 
 Who all that came within the ample thought 
 Of his wise Sire, has to perfection brought. 
 He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap 
 Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap : 
 For in his art of regiment is found 
 A power, like that of harmony in sound. 
 
 Those antique minstrels sure were Charles- 
 like kings. 
 Cities their lutes, and subjects hearts their strings j 
 On which, wltli so divine a hand they shook. 
 Consent of motion from their breath they took : 
 So, all our minds witli his conspire to grace 
 The Gentile's great apostle j and deface 
 Those state-obscuring sheds, that like a chain 
 Seem'd to confine, and fetter him again : 
 "Which the glad saint shakes off at his command. 
 As once the viper from his sacred hand. 
 So joys the aged oak, when we divide 
 The creeping ivy from his injur'd side. 
 
 Ambition rather would affect the fame 
 Of some new structure, to have borne her name : 
 Two distant virtues in one act we find. 
 The modesty, and greatness of his mind 
 Which, not content to be above the rage. 
 And injury of all-pairing image.
 
 EDMUND WALLER. ^ t 
 
 In its own worth secure, doth higher climb. 
 And things half swallow'd from the jaws of time 
 Reduce : an earnest of his grand design, 
 To frame no new church, but the old refine : 
 Which, spouse-like, may with comely grace com- 
 mand. 
 More than by force of argument, or hand. 
 For, doubtful reason few can apprehend j 
 And war brings ruin, where it should amend : 
 But beauty, with a bloodless conquest, finds 
 A welcome sov'reignty in rudest minds. 
 
 Not ought which Sheba's wond'ring queen 
 beheld 
 Amongst the works of Solomon, excell'd 
 His ships, and building; emblems of a heart 
 Large both in magnanimity, and art. 
 
 While the propitious heav'ns this work attend. 
 Long- wanted showers they forget to send : 
 As if they meant to make it understood 
 Of more importance than our vital food. 
 The sun, which riseth to salute the Quire 
 Already finish'd, setting shall admire 
 How private bounty cou'd so far extend : 
 The Kino built all; but Charles, the western end. 
 So proud a fabrick to devotion giv'n. 
 At once it threatens, and obliges, heav'n ! 
 c2
 
 90 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 Laomdon, that had the Gods in pay, 
 Neptune, with him * that rules the sacred day, 
 Cou'd no such structure raise : I'roy wall'd so high, 
 Th' Atrides might as well have forc'd the sky. 
 
 Glad, though amazed, are our neighbour kings. 
 To see such pow'rs employ'd in peaceful things : 
 They list, not urge it to the dreadful field ; 
 The task is easier to destroy, than build. 
 
 Of my Lady Isabella playing on the Flute, 
 
 Such moving sounds, from such a careless touch 1 
 So unconcern'd herself, and we so much ! 
 What art is this, that with so little pains 
 Transports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns ? 
 The trembling strings about her fingers crow'd. 
 And tell tlieir joy for ev'ry kiss aloud : 
 Small force there needs to make them tremble so? 
 Touch'd by that hand who wou'd not tremble too ? 
 Here Love takes standi and while she charms the 
 
 ear. 
 Empties his quiver on the list'ning deer : 
 
 * Sic gratia Regum 
 
 Pieriis tentata niodis * * * Horat.
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 21 
 
 Music SO softens, and disarms the mind^ 
 That not an arrow does resistance find. 
 Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize. 
 And acts herself the triumph of her eyes : 
 So Nero once, with harp in hand survey'd 
 His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd. 
 
 Upon the Death of the Lord Protector. 
 
 We must resign ! heav'n his great soul does claim 
 
 In storms, as loud as his immortal fame : 
 
 His dying groans, his last breath shakes our isle; 
 
 And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile : 
 
 About his palace their broad roots are tost 
 
 Into the air So Romulus was lost ! 
 
 New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king. 
 
 And, from obeying, fell to worshipping. 
 
 On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead. 
 
 With ruin'd racks, and pines, about him spread. 
 
 The poplar too, whose bough he wont to wear 
 
 On his victorious head, lay prostrate there. 
 
 Those his last fury from the mountain sent ; 
 
 Our dying hero from tl>e continent. 
 
 Ravish'd whole towns j and forts from Spaniards 
 
 reft. 
 As his last legacy to Britain left. 
 C3
 
 if IDMUND WALLEK. 
 
 The ocean, which so long our hopes confined. 
 Could give no limits to his vaster mind. 
 Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil j 
 Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle : 
 Under the tropic is our language spoke : 
 And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke, 
 From civil broils he did us disengage ; 
 Found nobler objects for our martial rage : 
 And with wise conduct, to his country show'd 
 The antient way of conquering abroad. 
 
 Ungrateful then ! if we no tears allow 
 To him, that gave us peace, and empire too. 
 Princes that fear'd him, grieve ; concern'd to see 
 No pitch of glory from the grave is free. 
 Nature herself took notice of his death. 
 And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath, 
 Thatj to remotest shores her billows roll'd, 
 Th* approaching fate of tlieir great ruler told. 
 
 To the King, upon His Majesty's Happy Return. 
 
 Thb rising sun complies with our weak sight. 
 First gilds the clouds, then shews his globe of light 
 At such a distance from our eyes, as tho' 
 He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.
 
 KSMUN0 WALLEK^ SS 
 
 But your full majesty at once breaks forth 
 fo the meridian of your reign. Your worth. 
 Your youth, and all the splendor of your state, 
 (Wrap'd up, till now, in clouds of adverse Fate !) 
 With such a flood of light invade our eyes. 
 And our spread hearts with so great joy surprize j 
 That, if your grace incline that we should live. 
 You must not. Sir ! too hastily forgive. 
 Gur guilt preserves us from th' excess of joy. 
 Which scatters spirits, and would life destroy. 
 
 All are obnoxious ! and this faulty land. 
 Like fainting Esther, does before you stand. 
 Watching your sceptre : tlie revolted sea 
 Trembles to think she did your foes obey. 
 
 GreatBritain, tlie blind Polypheme, of late. 
 In a wild rage, became the scorn, and hate. 
 Of her proud neighbours ; who began to think. 
 She, witii the weight of her own force, would sink. 
 But you are come, and all their hopes are vain j 
 This giant-isle has got her eye again. 
 Now, she might spare the cccan ; and oppose 
 Your conduct to the fiercest of her foes. 
 Naked, the Graces guarded you from all 
 Dangers abroad ; and now, your thunder shall. 
 Princes that saw you different passions prove j 
 Fur now tliey dread the object of their love ; 
 c4
 
 a IDMUND WALLER. 
 
 Nor without envy can behold his height. 
 Whose conversation was their late delight. 
 So Semele, contented with the rape 
 Of Jove, disguised in a mortal shape ; 
 When she beheld his hand with light' ning fill'd. 
 And his bright rays", was with amazement kill'd. 
 
 And tho' it be our sorrow, and our crime. 
 To have accepted life so long a time 
 Without you here ; yet does this absence gain 
 No small advantage to your present reign. 
 For, having view'd the persons, and the things. 
 The councils, state, and strength of Europe's kings. 
 You know your work ; ambition to restrain. 
 And set them bounds, as heav'n does to the main. 
 We have you now with ruling wisdom fraught. 
 Not such as books, but such as practice, taught. 
 So the lost sun, while least by us enjoy'd. 
 Is the whole night, for our concern, employ'd : 
 He ripens spices, fruit, and precious gums. 
 Which, from remotest regions, hither comes. 
 
 This seal of yours (from th' otlier world remov'd) 
 Had Archimedes known, he might have prov'd 
 His engin's force, fix'd here : your pow'r and skill. 
 Makes the world's motion wait upon your will. 
 
 Much-sufF'ring Monarch ! the first English- 
 born. 
 That has the crown of these three nations worn !
 
 EDMUND WALLEK. 95 
 
 How has your patience, with the barb'rous rage 
 Of your own soil, contended half an age ? 
 Till (your tiy'd virtue, and your sacred word 
 At last preventing your unwilling sword) 
 Armies, and fleets which kept you out so long, 
 Own'd their great Sov'reign, and redress'd his 
 
 wrong. 
 When straight the people, by no force compell'd. 
 Nor longer from their inclinations held. 
 Break force at once, like powder set on fire j 
 And with a noble rage, their Kino require. 
 So th' jnjur'd sea, which, from hgr wonted 
 
 course. 
 To gain some acres, avarice did force. 
 If tlie new banfes, neglected once, decay. 
 No longer will from her old channel stay j 
 Raging, the late-got land she overflows. 
 And all that's built upon't to ruin goes. 
 
 Offenders now, the chiefest, do begin 
 To strive for grace, and expiate their sin : 
 All winds blow fair, that did the world embroil ; 
 Your vipers treacle yield, and scorpions oil. 
 
 If then such praise tlie Macedonian got. 
 For having rudely cut the Gordian knot; 
 What glory's due to him, that could divide 
 Such ravel'd int'rests, has the knot unty'd.
 
 36 EBMUND WA^&LER. 
 
 And without stroke so smooth a passage made. 
 Where craft, and malice, such impeachments laid ? 
 But while we praise you, you ascribe it all 
 To his high hand, which threw the untouch'd wall. 
 Of self-demolish 'd Jericho so low : 
 His angel 'twas that did before you go ; 
 Tam'd savage hearts, and made affection yield. 
 Like ears of corn when wind salutes the field. 
 
 Thus, patience crown'd, like Job's, your trouble 
 ends. 
 Having your foes to pardon, and your friends : 
 For, tho' your courage were so firm a rock, 
 "What private virtue could endure the shock ? 
 Like your great master, you the storm withstood,. 
 And pity'd those who love with frailty shew'd. 
 
 Rude Indians, tort'ring all the royal race. 
 Him with the throne, and dear-bought sceptre 
 
 grace. 
 That suffers best : what region could be found,. 
 Where your heroic head had not been crown'd ? 
 
 The next experience of your mighty mind. 
 Is, how to combat Fortune now she's kind : 
 And this way too, you are victorious found; 
 She flatters with the same success she frown'd. 
 While, to yourself severe, to others kind. 
 With pow'r unbounded, and a will confined.
 
 EDMUND -WrALLEB. 27 
 
 Of this vast empire you possess the care. 
 The softer parts fall to the people's share. 
 Safety, and equal government, are things 
 Which subjects make as happy as their kings. 
 
 Faith, law, and piety, (that banish'd train !) 
 Justice and truth with you return again : 
 The city's trade, and country's easy life. 
 Once more shall flourish, without fraud, or strife. 
 Your reign no less assures the ploughman's peace. 
 Than the warm sun advances his increase j 
 And does the shepherds as securely keep. 
 From all their fears, as they preserve their sheep. 
 
 But above all, the muse-inspired train 
 Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again : 
 Kind heav'n at once has, in your person, sent 
 Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument. 
 
 Nee magis express! vultus per ahenca signa, 
 Quam per vatis opus mores, aniraique, virorum 
 Claxorum apparent *. Ho rat. 
 
 Of a Tree cut in Paper. 
 
 Fair hand! that can on virgin- paper write. 
 Yet from the stain of ink, preserve it white :
 
 28 EDMUND WALLEK. 
 
 Whose travel o'er that silver field does show^ 
 Light track of leverets in morning-snow. 
 Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought^ 
 Without a spot, or blemish, to the thought. 
 Strange that your fingers should the pencil foiF, 
 Without the help of colours, or of oil ! 
 For, tho' a painter boughs and leaves can make, 
 'Tis you alone can make them bend or shake : 
 Whose breath salutes your new-created grove, ' 
 Like soutliem winds, and makes it gently move. 
 Orpheus could make the forest dance ; but you. 
 Can make the motion, and the forest too.
 
 C 29 ] 
 
 GEORGE VILLIERS, 
 
 OUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 16281687- 
 
 The Author of the Rehearsal, whose character has been de- 
 scribed by Dryden, and whose death by Pope, in lines 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 To his Mistress, 
 
 What a diUl fool was I, 
 To think so gross a lye. 
 
 As that I ver was in love before ! 
 I have, perhaps, known one or two. 
 
 With whom I was content to be 
 
 At that which they call keeping company j 
 But after all that they could do, 
 
 I still could be with more : ^ 
 
 Their absence never made me shed a teaxj 
 
 And I can truly swear, 
 That till my eyos first gazed on you, 
 
 I ne'er beheld that tiling I could adore.
 
 30 GEORGE VILLIERS. 
 
 A world of things must curiously be sought, 
 
 A world of things must be togeUier brought 
 
 To make up charms which have the power (o move. 
 
 Through a discerning eye, true love j 
 
 That is a master-piece above 
 
 What only looks and shape can do, 
 
 There must be wit and judgment too ; 
 
 Greatness of thought, and worth which draw 
 
 From the whole world, respect and awe. 
 
 She that would raise a noble love must find 
 
 Ways to beget a passion for her mind ; 
 
 She must be that, which she to be would seem ; 
 
 For all true love is grounded on esteem : 
 
 Plainness and truth gain more a generous heart 
 
 Than all the crooked subtellies of art. 
 
 She must be ^What, said I ? She must be you. 
 
 None but yourself that miracle can do ; 
 
 At least, I'm sure, thus much I plainly see. 
 
 None but yourself e'er did it upon me j 
 
 "Tis you alone that can my heart subdue. 
 
 To you alone it always shall be true ; 
 
 Your god-like soul is that which rules my fate. 
 
 It does in me new passions still create. 
 
 For love of you all women else 1 hate. 
 
 But oh ! your body too is so divine, 
 
 I kill myself with wishing you all mine.
 
 la paio and anguish night and day, 
 
 I faint, and melt away : 
 
 In vain against ray grief I strive. 
 
 My entertainment now is ciying. 
 And all the sense I have of being alive. 
 
 Is that I feel myself a dying. 
 
 HIOLOGUE TO PHILASTER. 
 
 Nothing is harder in the world to do. 
 Than to quit that our nature leads us to. 
 As this our friend here proves j who, having spent 
 His time, and wealth, for other folks content. 
 Though he so much as thanks could never get. 
 Can't, for his life, quite give it over yet ; 
 But, striving still to please you, hopes he may. 
 Without a grievance, try to mend a Play. 
 Perhaps, he wish'd it might have been his fate 
 To lend a helping hand to mend the State; 
 Though he conceives, as things have lately run, 
 'Tis somewhat hard at present to be done. 
 Well, let that pass, the stars that rule the rout. 
 Do what we can, I see, must whirl about :
 
 32 GEORGE VILLIEKS. 
 
 But here's die Devil on't ; that, come what wUl^ 
 His stars are sure to make him loser still. 
 When all the Polls together made a din. 
 Some to put out, and others to put in. 
 And every where his fellows got, and got, > 
 
 From being nothing, to be God knows what : 
 He, for the Publick, needs would play a game. 
 For which, he has been trounced by publick fame j 
 And, to speak truth, so he deserved to be. 
 For his dull, clownish singularity : 
 For, when the fashion is to break one's trust, 
 Tis rudeness then to offer to be just.
 
 C 33 ] 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 
 
 16S6 1688. 
 
 Gentle George, and Easy Etherege, were the titles he ob- 
 tained in an age of courtesy (to use a wohI capable of 
 a better meaning, in its worst sense). He was a 
 thorough libertine in speculation and in practice ; and 
 his few dramatick Pieces, notwithstanding their excellent 
 wit, are justly and for ever banished from the stage. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Ye happy Swains, "whose hearts are free 
 
 From Love's imperial chain, 
 Tdke warning, and be taught by me, 
 
 T avoid th' enchanting pain. 
 Fatal, the wolves to trembling flocks. 
 
 Fierce winds to blossoms, prove. 
 To careless seamen hidden rocks. 
 
 To human quiet love. 
 
 vox.. I. D
 
 34 SIR OEOflGE ETHEREGE, 
 
 Ply the fair sex, if bliss you prize j 
 
 The snake's beneath the flow'r : 
 Who ever gaz'd on beauteous eyes. 
 
 That tasted quiet more ? 
 How faithless is the Lover's joy ! 
 
 How constant is their care ! 
 The kind with falshood to destroy. 
 
 The cruel with despair.
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
 CHxYRLES COTTON. 
 
 16301687. 
 
 He was the Author of Virgil Travertic, in which a single 
 joke cust him dearly ; his sacrilegious wit could not 
 spare the sacred character of his Grandmother's Rttff, 
 which he ridiculed in a couplet of that poem. 
 
 A stroke of the old Lady's pen, however, revenged her own 
 wrongs and those of the Bard of Mantua at once, for she 
 struck Cotton out of an estate of four hundred a year, 
 which she had bequeathed to him in het will 
 
 The works of this poet were Once so popular, that the 
 thirteenth edition of them was printed in 1751. 
 
 Song. Montross. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ask not, why sorrow shades my brow; 
 
 Nor why my sprightly looks decay ? 
 Alas ! what need I beauty now, 
 
 Shice he, that loved it, dy'd to day. 
 D 2
 
 36 CHARLES COTTON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Can ye have ears, and yet not know 
 MirtillOj brave Mirtillo's slain ? 
 
 Can ye have eyes, and they not flow. 
 Or hearts, that do not share my pain ? 
 
 HI. 
 
 He's gone ! he's gone! and I will go; 
 
 For in my breast, such wars I have. 
 And thoughts of him perplex me so 
 
 That the whole world appears my grave. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But I'le go to him, though he lie 
 
 Wrapt in the cold, cold ai'ms of death : 
 
 And under yon sad cypress-tree, 
 
 I'le mourn, I'le mourn away my breath. 
 
 The Litany. 
 
 Fjiom a ruler that's a curse. 
 And a government that's worse j 
 From a prince that rules by awe. 
 Whose tyrannick will's his law ;
 
 GEORGE COTTON, 37 
 
 \ 
 
 From an armed council board. 
 And a sceptre that's a sword. 
 
 Libera nos, Sec. 
 
 II. 
 
 From a kingdom, that from health 
 Sickens to a common-wealth j 
 From such peers as stain their blood. 
 And are neither wise ; nor good j 
 From a gentry steept in pots. 
 From unkennellers of plots. 
 
 Libera nos. Sec. 
 
 III. 
 
 From a church without Divines, 
 And a Presbyter that whines j 
 From John Calvin, and his pupils. 
 From a sentence without scruples. 
 From a clergy without letters, 
 And a free state bound in fetters, 
 
 Libera noy, &c. 
 
 From the bustle of the town. 
 And the knavish tribe o' th' gown. 
 From long bills wliere we are debtors. 
 From bum-bailifl's, and their setters, 
 D 3 
 f "^ ','.<> ( >
 
 38 CHARLES COTTON. 
 
 From tlie tedious city lectures. 
 And thanksgivings for protectors. 
 
 Libera noy. Sec. 
 
 From ill victuals when we dine. 
 And a tavern with ill wine ; 
 From vile smoke in a short pipe. 
 And a landlord that will gripe ; 
 From long reck'nings, and a wench 
 That claps in English ; or in French, 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 From demeans, whose barren soil 
 Ne'er produc'd the barley oyl j 
 From a friend for nothing fit. 
 That nor courage has, nor wit,- 
 From all lyars, and from those 
 Who write nonsense, verse, or prose. 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 VII. 
 
 From a virgin thnt's no maid ; 
 From a kicking, stumbling jade ; 
 From false servants, and a scold ; 
 From all women that are old.
 
 CHARLES COTTON. 3^ 
 
 From loud tongues that never \yc, 
 And from a domestic spy. 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 From a domineering spouse ; 
 From a smoky, dirty house ; 
 From foul linnen, and the noise 
 Of young children, girls, or boys; 
 From ill beds, and full of fleas j 
 From a wife with essenses. 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 From trapans of wicked men j 
 From the interest of ten ; 
 From rebellion, and the sense 
 Of a wounded conscience ; 
 Lastly, from the poets evil, 
 From * his highness, and the devil. 
 
 Libera nos, &c, 
 
 Oliver Cromwetl.
 
 CHARLES COTTOV, 
 
 THE RETIREMENT, 
 
 Stanzas irreguliers. 
 
 TO MR. ISAAC WAtTOK. 
 
 FAiEwt;LL thou busy world, and may 
 
 We never meet again : 
 Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray. 
 And do more good in one short day/ 
 Than he who his whole age out-wears 
 Upon the most conspicuous theatres. 
 
 Where nought but vanity and vice do reign. 
 
 II. 
 
 Good God ! how sweet are all things here ! 
 How beautiful the fields appear ! 
 
 How cleanly do we feed and We ! 
 Lord ! what good hours do we keep ! 
 How quietly we sleep ! 
 
 What peace ! what unanimity ! 
 How innocent from the lend fashion 
 Is all our business, all our conversation I
 
 CHARLES COTTOK. ^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 O solitude ! the soul's best friend. 
 
 That man acquainted with himself dost make. 
 And all his Maker's wonders to intend ; 
 With thee I here converse at will. 
 And would be glad to do so still j 
 For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake* 
 
 VI. 
 
 O my beloved nymph, fair dove. 
 Princess of rivers ! How I love 
 
 Upon thy flowery banks to lie. 
 And view thy silver stream. 
 When gilded by a summer's beam. 
 
 And in it all thy wanton fry 
 
 Playing at liberty. 
 And with my angle upon them. 
 
 The all of treachery, 
 
 I ever leam'd, to practice and to try ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh my beloved caves ! from dog-star heats 
 And hotter persecution, safe retreats.
 
 4* CHARLES COTTOW. 
 
 What safety, privacy, what true delight 
 
 In the artificial night. 
 
 Your gloomy entrails make. 
 
 Have I taken, do I take ! 
 How oft, when grief has made me fly. 
 To hide me from society. 
 Even of my dearest friends, have I 
 In your recess's friendly shade 
 All my sorrows open laid. 
 And my most secret woes entrusted to your privacy ! 
 
 Lord ! would men let me alone. 
 What an over-happy one 
 
 Should I think myself to be. 
 Might I in this desart place. 
 Which most men by their voice disgrace. 
 
 Live but undisturb'd and free. 
 Here, in this despised recess. 
 
 Would I, maugre winter's cold. 
 And the summer's worst excess. 
 
 Try to live out to sixty full years old. 
 And all the while, 
 
 Without an envious eye 
 ' On any thriving under fortune's smile. 
 Contented live, and then contented die.
 
 CHARLEt COTTON. 43 
 
 The Morning Quatrcuns. 
 
 The cock has crow'd an hour ago, 
 'Tis time we now dullsleep forego j 
 Tir'd natiire is by sleep redrest. 
 And labour's overcome by rest. 
 
 II. 
 
 We have out-done the work of night, 
 "Tis time we rise t' attend the light. 
 And e'er he shall his beams display. 
 To plot new business for the day. 
 
 V. 
 
 The morning curtains now are drawn. 
 And now appears the blushing dawn-j 
 Aurora has her roses shed. 
 To strew the way Sol's steeds must tread. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Xanthus and CEthon harnest are 
 To roll away tlie burning car j 
 And, snorting flame, impatient bear 
 The dressing of the charioteer.
 
 44 CHARtlS COTTOK. 
 
 vir. 
 The sable cheeks of sullen night 
 Are streak'd with rosy streams of light, 
 "While she retires away in fear, - 
 To shade the other hemisphere. 
 
 vm. 
 The merry lark now takes her wings. 
 And long'd-for day's loud welcome sings, 
 Mounting her body out of sight. 
 As if she meant to meet the light. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now doors and windows are unbarr'd. 
 Each where are chearful voices heard. 
 And round about good-morrows fly. 
 As if day taught humanity. 
 
 X. 
 
 The chimneys now to smoke begin. 
 And the old wife sits down to spin. 
 Whilst Kate, taking her pail, does trip 
 Mull's swoln and stradling paps to strip.
 
 CHARLES COTTON. 45 
 
 3. 
 
 Vulcan now makes his anvil ring, 
 Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth sing. 
 And Silvio, with his bugle horn. 
 Winds an ixuprime unto the morn. 
 
 Now through the morning doors behold 
 Phoebus array 'd in burning gold. 
 Lashing his fiery steeds, displays 
 His warm and all-enlight'ning rays. 
 
 \f* 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Now each one to his work prepares. 
 All that have hands are labourers. 
 And manufacturers of each trade. 
 By open'mg shops are open laid. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Hob yokes his oxen to the team. 
 The angler goes unto the stream. 
 The woodman to the purlieus hies. 
 And lab'ring bees to load their thighs. 
 
 *->%*iM Oo i
 
 - 46 CHAHLES COTTON. 
 
 Fair Amarillis drives her flocks. 
 All night safe folded from the fox. 
 To flow'ry downs, where Colin stays. 
 To court her with his roundelays. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The traveller now leaves his inn,. 
 A new day's journey to begin. 
 As he would post it with the day. 
 And early rising makes good way. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The slick-faced school-boy satchel takes. 
 And with slow pace small riddance makes j 
 For why, the haste we make, you know. 
 To knowledge and to virtue's slow. 
 
 XVIIl. 
 
 The fore-horse gingles on the road. 
 The waggoner lugs on his load. 
 The field with busy people snies. 
 And city rings with various cries.
 
 CHARLES COTTON. 47 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The world is now a busy swarm. 
 All doing good, or doing harm j 
 But let's take heed our acts be true. 
 For Heaven's eye sees all we do, 
 
 XX. 
 
 None can that piercing sight evade. 
 It penetrates the darkest shade. 
 And sin, though it could 'scape the eye. 
 Would be discover'd by the cry.
 
 ( 48 ) 
 APHRA BEHN. 
 
 1689. 
 
 Aphra Johnson, for such was her maiden name, was a woman 
 of rare talents, who has in latter times been too severely 
 condemned for the immorality of her writings, which 
 should be considered as more characteristic of her age 
 than their author. She was not rewarded for her state 
 services which were really important, and it was her 
 alternative to write or starve. Her faults weigh lightly 
 in the just balance with her virtues. She was equal 
 minded in a checquered life ; generous, " serviceable to 
 her friends to the utmost of her power, and could sooner 
 forgive an injury than do one." 
 
 ARMIDA: 
 Or, the Fair GilL 
 
 Not Circe nor Medea had such art. 
 Or pow'rful charms to captivate a heart j 
 Nor Syren's voices with so pleasing sound. 
 Lull those asleep whom they design to wound. 
 For a new conquest all her skill she tries. 
 But yet by different ways to gain the prize.
 
 APHRA BEHN. 49 
 
 As time andiiumours fit, her looks appear 
 Bashful sometimes, and full of Virgin fear. 
 Then, earnest and lascivious, as she finds 
 Her beauty work upon her lover's minds. 
 When e're the bashful youth fears his success : 
 She gives the trembler hopes by soft address. 
 Advances with more sweetness in her face. 
 And fires him with some kind peculiar grace. 
 Sooths his fond heart, and dissipates his fear. 
 And thaws the ice her scorns had gather'd there. 
 But if the God of Love infuse his dart. 
 And captivate a bold and forward heart. 
 Her eyes assume their state, and her neglect 
 Creates a doubtfial fear raixt with respect. > 
 
 Yet lest too much of scorn produce despair, 
 Some glance of kindness in her eyes appear. 
 While hardly gain'd she makes the blessing dear. 
 But still the cloud she cunningly declines. 
 And fits her looks to second her designs. 
 Sometimes she seems to smother sighs with pain . 
 And calls up tears, then turns 'em back again. 
 As if the softning tide she wou'd not shew. 
 But that in spite of all her pride, they flow. 
 And all to make a tliousand easie hearts 
 To weep in earnest by her coz'ning arts. 
 And with the flames of Pity tempers so 
 The darts of Lo\e, none can resist the blosr. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 010 APIIRA BEHN. 
 
 And when she finds a lover coming on. 
 Yet not so fast to be too soon undone. 
 There all her arts of languishment she tries. 
 Sweetens her whispering voice, softens her eyes. 
 Touches his hand as if it were by chance. 
 And yields herself to every kind advance. 
 Looks on his eyes, then strait declines her own. 
 And seems to love, as not to have it shewn. 
 And having thus proceeded in her art. 
 Breaks forth, as if she cou'd not guard her heart. 
 Too long, she cries, I have supprest my fire. 
 Take all my heart, and all Love can desire. 
 Thus while she softly speaks, and sweetly smiles. 
 And doubly charms the senses by these wiles. 
 She does a faith in strongest souls create. 
 And gains a conquest in despite of faith. 
 
 Ah cruel Love ! the honey and the gall. 
 
 Which thou afFord'st, do equally enthral ; 
 
 And all our ills, and all our cures from thee. 
 
 Are mortal to us in the same degree : 
 
 If any of Inconstancy complain. 
 
 Of broken vows and her unjust disdain. 
 
 She fains herself unpractis'd in Love's arts. 
 
 And that she wants the charms should vanquish 
 
 hearts. 
 And looks witli such a blushing modesty. 
 As undeceives your fancy 'd injury.
 
 APURA BEHir. SI 
 
 And thus the thorne lies hid that she does bear 
 Under the roses wliich her beauties wear. 
 So in the earliest rise of day, we spy 
 The ruddy morning mingled with the sky. 
 "While shame and anger in her looks appear> 
 Both seem confiisedly mixt together there. 
 
 Thus in delusive dream the time being spent, 
 "Weary with cozenage and discontent. 
 Even hope itself he scarcely now retaines. 
 But like a hunter at the last remaines. 
 Who having to no purpose spent the day. 
 At last loses the track of the lost prey. 
 
 ^uch were the practices and such the arts. 
 By which she can ensnare ten thousand heartf; 
 Or rather such the pow'rful armes do prove. 
 By which she conquers and makes slavet to Lortf . 
 
 To my Heart. 
 
 What ail'st thou, oh thou trembling thing 
 To pant and languish in my breast, 
 
 ^ike birds that fain wou'd try the callow wing 
 And leave the downy nest ? 
 B 2
 
 52 APHRA BEIIM. 
 
 Why hast thou fill'd thyself with thought 
 Strange, new, fantastick as the air ? 
 "Why to thy peaceful empire hast thou brought 
 That restless tyrant. Care ? 
 But>oh alas, I ask in vain 
 Thou answer'st nothing back again. 
 But in soft sighs Amintofs name. 
 
 Oh thou betrayer of my liberty. 
 Thou fond deceiver, what's tlie youth to thee ! 
 What has he done, what has he said 
 That tlius has conquer'd or betray'd ? 
 He came and saw but 'twas by such a light. 
 As scarce distinguish'd day from night 3 
 Such as in thick-grown shades is found. 
 Where here and there a piercing beam 
 Scatters faint spangled sun-shine on the ground 
 And casts about a melancholy gleam. 
 But so obscure 1 could not see 
 The charming eyes that wounded thee. 
 But they, like gems, by their own light 
 Betray'd their value through the gloom of night. 
 
 I felt thee heave at every look. 
 And stop my language as I spoke.
 
 ARRA tETtni JS 
 
 I telt thy blood fly upward to my face. 
 
 While thou unguarded lay 
 Yielding to every word, to every grace. 
 
 Fond to be made a prey. 
 I left thee watching in my eyes 
 And list'Twng in my eare. 
 Discovering weakness in thy sighs 
 
 Uneasy with thy fear. 
 Suffering Imagination to deceive, 
 
 I found thee willing to believe 
 
 And with the treacherous shade conspire. 
 To let into thyself a dangerous fire. 
 
 Ah foolish wanderer, say, what would'st thou do. 
 If thou shouldst find at second view. 
 That all thou fanciest now were true. 
 If thou shouldst find by day those charms. 
 
 Which thus obserA'ed threaten'd undoing harms. 
 If thou shouldst find that awful mien. 
 Not the effects of first address. 
 
 Nor of my conversation disesteem,. 
 But noble native sullenness ; 
 
 If thou shouldst find that soft good-natured voice 
 
 . (Unused to insolence and noise), 
 Still thus adorn'd witli modesty. 
 
 And his mind's virtues with his wit agree, 
 S3
 
 S4 APHRA BEHN. 
 
 Tell me, thou forward lavish fool, 
 What reason cou'd thy fate controul. 
 Or save the ruin of thy soul > 
 Cease then to languish for the coming day. 
 That may direct his wandering steps that way. 
 When I again shall the loved form survey. 
 
 'SON6. 
 
 Break, break, sad heart, unload thy grief,. 
 
 Give, give, thy sorrows way : 
 Seek out thy only last relief. 
 
 And thy hard stars obey : 
 Those stars that doom thee to revere 
 
 What do's themselves outshine. 
 And placed her too in such a sphere 
 
 That she can ne'er be mine. 
 
 Because Endjrmion once did move 
 Nights' Goddess to come down. 
 And listen to his tale of love. 
 
 Aim not thou idly at the moon. 
 Be it thy pleasure and. thy pride 
 
 That, wreck'd on stretch'd desire. 
 Thou canst thy fiercest torments hjde^ 
 
 And silently expire.
 
 [ 55 J 
 WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 lei's 1690. 
 
 An old Souldier and no SchoUcr j 
 And one that can write none 
 But just the letters of his name. 
 
 Thus be describes bimse'f in the title page of his "True History 
 of several Honourable Families of the Right Honourable 
 name of Scott, in the Shires of Roxburgh and Selkirke, 
 and others adjacent ; gathered out of Ancient Chroni. 
 cics, Histories, andlraditions of our Fathers." Ediuburgli 
 1688; reprinted 1776. 
 
 On the death of his grandfather. Sir Robert Scott of ThirL. 
 stone, his father having no means to bring up his chil- 
 dren, put this Walter to attend beasts in the field ; * but," 
 says he, " I gave them the short cut at last, and left the 
 kine in the earn, and cvet since that time I have con-^ 
 tinued a souldier abroad and at home,"&c. 
 
 There is so great a diflFerence in the style of the specimen 
 subjoined, tliat it is hardly possible to suppose it all 
 comes from the same hand. There is so much of the 
 whimsical solemnity of nothing in it, that wlthough it 
 does not much illustrate the character of its age, it 
 would not be fair to withhold it from the reader. But 
 be it remembered, that it was written at fcventy-thiee. 
 4
 
 56 WAtTER SCOTT. 
 
 Dedicated to the very worshipful and viuch honoured 
 generous Getntleman, Hugh Scott, of Gallow- 
 shiells, and Walter Scott j of Wauchop. 
 
 \j\ for a quill of that Arabian wing. 
 
 That's hatch'd in embers of some kindred fire. 
 
 Who to herself, herself doth issue bring. 
 
 And, three in one, is young, and dame and sier : 
 
 O ! tliat I could to Virgil's vein aspire. 
 
 Or Homer's verse, the golden language Greek, 
 
 With polish'd phrases, I my lines would tire. 
 
 Into the deep of art my muse should seek j 
 
 Meantime amongst the vulgar she must throng, 
 
 Because she hath no help from my unlearned 
 
 tongue ; 
 Great is the glory of tlie noble mind. 
 Where life and deatJi are equal in respect, 
 If fates be good or bad, unkind, or kind ; 
 Not proud in freedom, nor in thrall deject ; 
 With courage scorning fortune's worst effect. 
 And spitting in fond envie'scanker'd face. 
 True honour thus doth baser thoughts dejecf ; 
 Esteeming life a slave tbat serves disgrace, 
 Foul abject thoughts become the mind that's base. 
 That deems there is no better life nor this. 
 Or after death dotli fear a worser place. 
 Where guilt is paid the guerdon of a miss ;
 
 WALTElt SCOTT. 57 
 
 But let swoln envy swell until she burst. 
 
 The noble mind defies her, do her worst ; 
 
 If Homer's work in Greek did merit praise. 
 
 If Naso in the Latine won the bayes. 
 
 If Maro amongst the Romans did excel. 
 
 If Tosa in theTestine tongue wrote well> 
 
 A souldier that could never lead a pen. 
 
 Shows to the eighth or ninth generation. 
 
 Although I him enrol, and call him shepherd^ 
 
 swain. 
 Yet hereby I approve he is a gentleman,. 
 The son of Adam, who was by lot. 
 The brother of the worthy Colonel Scott, 
 Who died with honour at Dumbar's fight, '" 
 
 In maintenance of king and country's rights 
 He was the son, I know it for truth. 
 Of William Scott, laird of Whitehaugh ; i 
 
 And William Scott was the eldest son \ 
 
 Of Walter Scott, stiled of the same j '' 
 
 Walter Scott was Robert's son. 
 And Robert he was Walter's son ; 
 llie first of Whitehaugh that from Bortliwick 
 
 sprung, 
 That Wat of Whitehaugh was cousin-germaiv 
 To John of Borthwick, who fasted so long.
 
 58 WAI.TEtt SCOTT. 
 
 Three sundry times he did perform 
 
 To fast fourty days I do aver ; 
 
 Bishop Spotswood, my author is he, 
 
 A profound learn'd prelat, that would not lie:- 
 
 When James the Fifth, he was Scotland's king. 
 
 In the castle of Edinburgh he incarcer'd him. 
 
 And would not believe the country says. 
 
 That any mortal could fast fourty days ; 
 
 Bare bread and water tlie king allow'd for his aieat , 
 
 But John Scott refused and would not eat : 
 
 * When the fourty days were come and gone, 
 
 * He was a great deal lustier than when he began.*' 
 Then of the king he did presume. 
 
 To beg recommendation to the Pope of Rome,. 
 
 * Where there he fasted fourty days more, 
 
 * And was neither hungry, sick, nor sore j' 
 From Rome he did hastily return. 
 
 And arrived in Erittain at London ; 
 Where Henry the Eighth, he got notice. 
 That John Scott had fasted twice fourty days ; 
 The king would not believe he could do such thing 
 For which he commanded to incarcerate him ; 
 Fourty days expired, he said he had no pain. 
 That his fast had been but ten hours time ; 
 Here Walter Scott I'll draw near an end, 
 from John of Borthwick thy fathers did descend y
 
 "WAtTER SeOTT. 59 
 
 He was the son of Walter, I have said enough. 
 
 Their original is fromBuckcleugh.^ 
 
 In the fourscore psalm we read, 
 
 Ttat like a flock our God did Joseph lead^ 
 
 And ev'ry day we do confess almost. 
 
 That we have err'd, and stray 'd, like sheep that's 
 
 lost. 
 For oaths, and passing words, and joining hands. 
 Is like assurance written in tlie sands. 
 The silly sheeps-skin tum'd to parchment thin 
 Shews that Jason's golden fleece with thee remains^ 
 
 ' Begone my book, stretch forth thy 
 
 wings and fly. 
 Amongst the nobles and gentility : 
 Thou'rt not to sell to scavingers and clowns. 
 But given to worthy persons of renown. 
 The number's few, I've printed In regard. 
 My charges have been great, and I hope reward ; 
 I caused not print many above twelve score. 
 And the printers are engag'd that they shall print 
 
 no more.
 
 - r 60 I 
 
 NATHANIEL LEE, 
 
 Comtfyonlj/ called the Mad Poet. 
 
 169 1. 
 
 He had, however, the good sense to relinquish the chase 
 after church preferment, and the vain pursuit of court 
 favour. He has left little besides his plays, from one of 
 which the subjoined specimen is taken. Lee was con-- 
 fined during four years of his short life in Bedlam, where, 
 
 . when sane idiot of a scribbler mocked his calamity, 
 and observed, that it was easy to write like a madman. 
 Lee answered, " No, Sir, it is not easy to write like a 
 madman, but very easy to write like a fool." If all the 
 patients could make such answers, one might well sus- 
 pect that the hospital were the Temple of Reason. Lee 
 died in 1691, aged about five and thirty. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hail to the mirtle shade ! 
 All hail to the nymphs of the fields I 
 Kings would not here invade 
 Those pleasures that Virtue yields.
 
 M ATU ANl EL LEE . 6 1 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Beauty here opens her charms 
 To soften tlie languishing mind ; 
 And Phillis unlocks her charms } 
 Ah ! Phillis, oh why so kind ! 
 
 Phillis, thou soul of love. 
 Thou joy of the neighb'ring swains ; 
 Phillis that crowns the groves. 
 And Phillis that gilds the plains. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Phillis, that ne'er had the skill. 
 To paint, to patch, and be fine. 
 Yet Phillis, whose eyes can kill. 
 Whom nature hath made divine. 
 
 Phillis, whose charming song. 
 Makes labour and pains a delight ; 
 Phillis, that makes the day young. 
 And shortens the live-long night. 
 
 CUORUS. 
 
 Phillis, whose lips like May, 
 Still laugh at the s\veets they bring ; 
 Where love never knows decay. 
 But sett with eternal spring.
 
 [ 62 1 
 
 THOMAS SHADWELL. 
 
 Morn at Lauton Hill, Norfolk, 1640 160. 
 
 Shadwell was a popular dramatist when he wrote some 
 political remarks upon Dryden's Duke of Guise, in con- 
 sequence of which he was compelled to fly into Holland. 
 What share Dryden may have had in this persecution 
 cannot now be known ; but on the revolution Dryden 
 was deposed from the Laureatship, and Shadwell crown- 
 ed in his stead, a reward more due to his principles than 
 his poetry. He was also appointed Royal Historiographer. 
 
 His Comedies have been highly praised by dramatick criticks. 
 In indecency they may vie with any of his own times, 
 and in absurdity and gross caricature with any of ours. 
 Of his only rhymed tragedy, he says, ** In all the words 
 which are sung, I do not so much take care of the wit 
 or fancy of them, as the making of them proper for 
 musick. ' 
 
 This gentleman had themodesty to alter Timon of Athens, 
 and; to say of it, " it has the inimitable hand of Shakes- 
 peare in it, which never made more masterly strokes 
 than in this. Yet I can truly say, I have made it into 
 a play.'
 
 His portrait is prefixed to his draroatick works ; the face i 
 so perfectly free from all traces of thought or feeling, 
 that it should be engraved to accompany Mac Fleckno, 
 and justify the severity of Dryden. 
 
 From the Woman Captain, 
 
 Let some great joys pretefid to find 
 In empty whimsies of the mind; 
 But nothing to the soul can come. 
 Till the ushering senses make it room : 
 Nor can the mind be e'er at ease. 
 Unless you first the body please. 
 Life is, whate'er vain'man may doubt. 
 But taking in and putting out. 
 
 Since life's but a span. 
 
 Live as much as you can, 
 Let none of it pass without pleasure ; 
 
 But push on your strength. 
 
 Of what life wants in length. 
 In the breadth you must make up the measure. 
 
 All solid pleasure fops lay by. 
 
 And seek tliey know not what, nor why :
 
 64 THOMAS SHADWEI/I/^ 
 
 Imperfect images they enjoy. 
 Which fancy makes^ and can destroy. 
 Who in immaterial things delight. 
 Dream in the day as well as night : 
 In that how can they pleasure take. 
 Of which no image thought can make ! 
 In vain no moment tlien be spent. 
 Fill up the little life that's lent ; 
 Feasts, musick, wine the day possess. 
 The night, love, youth and beauty bless. 
 The senses now in parcels treat. 
 Then altogether by the great j 
 No empty space in life be found. 
 But one continued joy go round.
 
 C 63 1 
 WILLIAM MOUNTFORD. 
 
 16591692. 
 
 All actor of great eminence, who was murdered by Cap- 
 tain Hill and Lord Mohun. He wrote six Dramatick 
 Pieces, and many Songs, Prologues, and Epilogues, 
 which are scattered in Dryden's Miscellanies. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 In '* The Injured Lovers'* 
 
 LuciNDA close or veil your eye. 
 Where thousand loves in ambush lye ; 
 Where darts are pointed with such skill. 
 They're svu'e to hurt, if not to kill. 
 Let pity move thee to seem blind. 
 Lest seeing, thou destroy mankind. 
 
 II. 
 
 Lucinda, hide that swelling breast, 
 llie Phoenix else will change her nest : 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 66 WILLIAM MOUNTFORD, 
 
 Yet do not, for, when she expires. 
 Her heat may light in the soft fires 
 Of love and pity, so that I 
 By this one way may thee enjoy.
 
 [ <57 ] 
 
 SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 
 
 Hanworth, Middlesex, ]605 I69S. 
 
 Sir William suffered in his fortanes for his attachment to 
 Charles I. and was one of the few sufferers whom Charles 
 II. recompenced ; for that worthless monarch seems to 
 have imagined that a supererogation of vengeance would 
 atone for his deficiency of gratitude. 
 
 He wrote five Plays and two volumes, which were the pro- 
 ductions of a more serioos age, when he had retired from 
 Court. 
 
 1. The Artless Midnight Thoughts of a Gentleman at 
 Court ; who, for many years, built on sand, which 
 every blast of cross fortune has defaced ; but now he has 
 laid new foundations on the rock of his salvation, l684. 
 
 Of this Cibber says, that besides 233 thoughts in it, there 
 are some small pieces of poetry. If he has really given 
 us two hundred and thirty three thoughts in one volume, 
 we may recommend Sir William as a worthy object of 
 imitation ; or rather admire the improvement introduced 
 into the book manufactory, of making volumes without 
 any thoughts at all. 
 
 2. Midnight and Daily Thoughts in Verse and Prote. l69>t. 
 This was printed after his death. 
 
 r 2
 
 68 SIR WILLIAM EILLXGREW. 
 
 On the Fear of Death. 
 
 Why dost thou shrink, my soul, what terrour see. 
 
 To cause such high impiety. 
 That thus from age to age thou would'st endure "* 
 
 Pray'st thou for this, for such a cure. 
 As may more time in vanity mis-spend ? 
 
 To what doth tliis averseness tend. 
 
 That thus thou still enamour'd art 
 
 Of thy disease and smart ? 
 
 Or dost thou grudge the dirty grave 
 
 Should thy dead carcase have ? 
 
 This giant death that hath so long contioll'd 
 
 The world, submits unto the bold j 
 His threatening dart, nor point nor sharpness hath 
 
 To men of piety and faith. 
 Thou know' St all this, my soul, yet still dost cry. 
 
 Thou would'st not die, and know'st not why. 
 
 If thou be'st frighted by a name. 
 
 Then thou art much to blame. 
 And poorly weak, if terrour-struck 
 
 By a fantastick look. 
 
 Women and children teach thee a disdain. 
 To fear the passage, or the pain :
 
 SIR WILLIAM KILLEGREW.; 60 
 
 The ancient heathens courted death to be 
 
 Remembered by posterity j 
 And shall those heathens then more courage show^ 
 
 Than thou that dost thy Maker know ? 
 
 The misbelieving christian may 
 
 Shake at his latter day j 
 Till then, not mindful of his sin. 
 
 Nor the danger he is in. 
 
 But thou that hast conversed with God and death. 
 
 In speculation, shall thy breath 
 Unwillingly expire into his hand. 
 
 That comes to fetch it by command ? 
 From Gk)d that made thee, art thou loth to be, 
 
 Possess'd of thy felicity. 
 Because thy guide looks pale, and must 
 
 Convey thy flesh to dust ? 
 Though \ha.t to worms converted be 
 
 What is all this to tbee ? 
 
 Thou shalt not feel death's sting, but instant have 
 Full joys and triumph o'er the grave. 
 
 Where thy long-loved companion flesh shall rest, 
 Until it be refined, new drest 
 
 For thy next wearing, in tliat holy place, 
 
 ITiat heaven, where thou shalt face to fACf 
 r :3
 
 70 ME WILLIAM KILLEGREW^ 
 
 With saints, and angels daily see 
 
 Thy God, and ever be 
 Replenish'd with celestial bliss. 
 
 Oh my soul, think on this. 
 
 On Prayer. 
 
 IThe Lord regards not words, we may 
 
 Be silent and yet pray : 
 'Tis the intention of the heart. 
 
 That doth our zeal impart. 
 Tho' vocal prayers be daily used. 
 
 Our sighs are not refused j 
 And our good deeds for prayers do g 
 
 'Cause God esteems them so. 
 Our charity and mercy shown. 
 
 Will plead our cause alone : 
 Such acts of our obedience. 
 
 Is.the best eloquence. 
 And does in heaven gain more regard. 
 
 For pardon and reward. 
 Than a whole age was ever known 
 
 To get by words alone.
 
 SIR WILLIAM KILLECRE^r. ft 
 
 Our alms, do double use obtain. 
 
 And multiply our gain } 
 When penitence does plead for sin. 
 
 And gratitude steps in. 
 Acknowledging the grace we have. 
 
 Must raise us from the grave. 
 And put us in a decent frame 
 
 To call upon God's name ; 
 There practick prayers will do the deed. 
 
 And help us at our need ; 
 Much better than a story told 
 
 In language rude aad bold j 
 Such as rash fancies do throw out. 
 
 From wants, from fears, or doubt 
 Of our condition, which may be 
 
 Words without modesty. 
 When pious works fail not to bring 
 
 Us blessings from the king 
 Of Heaven, the searcher of our hearts. 
 
 Beyond the reach of arts 
 In language, by him all disguised. 
 
 Formalities despised, 
 And the poor holy ignorant 
 
 Will sooner get a grant 
 Of his desire, than thou or I, 
 
 With all our orai'ry.
 
 7T SIB WILLIAM KILLGREW. 
 
 When our good works and words agree. 
 They both accepted be. 
 
 On it, good Man's desire to be in Heaven. 
 
 Those who dare shake the hour glass in Death's 
 
 hand. 
 To make the quicker passage for the sand. 
 Have mounting souls, with a serene delight. 
 To hasten us to God's beatick sight. 
 And surely may a better welcome gain. 
 Than those that longer would on earth remain.
 
 [ 73 ] 
 SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 
 
 1698. 
 
 Sir R. Howard distinguished himself by serving Charles I. 
 in the field, and Charles II. in the parliament ; and 
 by persecuting the Nonjurors under William. Bucking- 
 hum satirized him well in the Rehearsal, and Shadwell 
 clumsily in the Impertinents. He has been undervalued. 
 His committee is a comedy' of sterling merit, and his 
 little historical Essay on the reigns of the three first Ed- 
 wards, and Richard II. certainly discovers considerable 
 talents. 
 
 TO AMARANTA. 
 
 The Fate of Scorn. 
 
 If you the world could conquer one by one. 
 You'd then want trophies for your boundless mind ; 
 Like that arabitioUs * prince, who wanted room, 
 in the strait circuit of the world confin'd. 
 
 Alexander the Great, of whom Juven. X. 
 .stuat infelix angusto limite mundi.
 
 74 SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 
 
 Then like the tyrant * Nero you must fall 
 Such fate's as his due to such cruelty, 
 Unpitied and vmminded too of all. 
 At once without a friend or enemy. 
 
 The souldier that joins conquest to his name 
 By victories, when overcome with years, 
 (As you must one day be) preserves his fame. 
 Not by those wounds he gave, but those he bears. 
 
 So when your charms in age's furrows lie 
 Lost, and forgotten, that had once so moved ; 
 One wound amidst your heaps of victory 
 Would better tell, that you had been belov'd. ' 
 
 Then like a tyrant ravish'd from his throne. 
 You'll wish, that you had gentler used your own. 
 
 Suetonius, in the Life of Nero, reports, that in his last 
 extremit}', when he sought for Specilius the fencer, or any, 
 to dispatch him : and equally wanting friends and enemies 
 toaflbrd him that last favour ; Ergo ego (inquit) nee Ami- 
 eum h&beo, oec Inimicum ?
 
 Sm ROBEET HOWARD- 7* 
 
 To the uncortiiant 'Cynthia. 
 
 A SO MO. 
 
 Tell me once, dear, how it does prore 
 
 That I so much forsworn could be ? 
 
 I never swore always to love, 
 
 I onely vow'd still to love thee : 
 
 And art thou now what thou wert then. 
 Unsworn unto by other men ? 
 
 n 
 
 In thy fair breast, and once-fair soul, jrj 
 
 I thought my vows were writ alone ; i 
 
 But others oaths so blurr'd the scrole, ,g 
 
 That I no more could read my own. . , 
 And am I still obliged to pay. 
 When you had thrown the bond away ? 
 
 !Nor must we onely part in joy. 
 Our tears as well must be unkind : ' a 
 
 llVeep you, that could such truth destroy, ^ 
 
 ^nd I, tliat could such falseness find. ^' 
 
 Tims we must unconcem'd remain 
 
 Jn our divided joys and pain.
 
 76 SIR ROBERT HOUfARI*. 
 
 Yet we may love, but on this difF'rent score. 
 You what I am, I what you were before. 
 
 AMARANTA, ^ 
 To tfte God of Love. 
 
 Ah, mighty Love, what power unknown. 
 Hast thou now used more than thy own ! 
 It was thy conduct and designe. 
 But not thy power that vanquish'd mine. 
 As a great captain to his name. 
 Of every conquest joynes the fame j 
 Though 'twas not by his power got. 
 But armys by his conduct brought : 
 So when thou could'st not do't alone. 
 Thou lead'st his troops of vertues on. 
 And I now feel by my 'surprise, 
 T?hou hast not only darts but eyes ; 
 
 Just god ! now take again tliy arms. 
 And rally all I have of charms. 
 What pow'r and conduct cannot do. 
 Make his beliefe contribute to. 
 So, when the earth some promise shows, 
 Tixat she does greater wealth inclose ;
 
 SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 77 
 
 Believing men search her rich veins. 
 
 And crown their hopes with unknown gains j 
 
 May he, but at the first, incline to love. 
 Then to my faith, and time, 
 His justice, after the surprize. 
 Shall be more fetter'd than his eyes !
 
 178 ] 
 
 CHARLES HOPKINS. 
 
 Devonshire, 16641700. 
 
 This writer enjoyed the favour of the great, and the praise 
 of his contemporary poets. Dryden in particular esteem- 
 ed him. He died a victim to drunkenness and da- 
 bauchery. 
 
 To Walter Mmjle, Esq. 
 
 To you, dear youth, in these unpolish'd strains 
 And rural notes, your exiled friend complains. 
 With pain, this tedious banishment I bear 
 From the dear town, and you, the dearest there. 
 Hourly, my thoughts present before my view. 
 Those charming joys, which once, alas ! I knew. 
 In wine, in love, in friendship, and in you. 
 Now Fortune has wididrawn that pleasing scene. 
 We must not for a while appear again. 
 Here, in its stead, unusual prospects rise. 
 That dull the fancy, and disgust the eyes.
 
 eHARLBS HOPKINS. 79 
 
 Black groves of trees, shook by the northera 
 
 winds. 
 And heavy aspects of unthinking hinds. 
 No beauteous nymph to fire the youthful heart. 
 No swain instructed in the Muses art. 
 Hammond alone, is from thy censure free, 
 Hamniond, who makes the same complaint with 
 
 me : 
 Alike on both, the want of you does strike, 
 "Which both repine at, and lament alike j 
 While here I stay, condemn'd to desart fields, 
 Deny'd the pleasures which the city yields. 
 My fortunes, by the chance of war deprest. 
 Lost at these years, when I might use them best. 
 To crown your youth, conspiring graces join. 
 Honour, and bounty, wealth and wit, are thine. 
 With charms united, every heart you move. 
 Esteem in men, in vanquish'd virgins, love. 
 Tho' clog'd with cares, I drag my restless hours, 
 I envy not the flowing ease of yours ; 
 Still may they roul with circling pleasures on j 
 Nor you neglect to seize them, as they run. 
 Time hastes away with an impetuous flight. 
 And all its joys soon vanish from our sight. 
 Which we shall mourn, we used not, while we 
 
 might.
 
 80 CHARLES HOPKINS. 
 
 In full delights, let sprightly Southern live. 
 With all that women, and that wine, can give. 
 May generous Wycherly, all sufferings past. 
 Enjoy a well-deserved estate, at last. 
 Fortune, with merit, and with wit, be friends. 
 And sure, the' slowly, make a large amends. 
 Late, very late, may the great Dryden dye. 
 But when deceased, may Congreve rise as high. 
 To him my service, and my love commend. 
 The greatest wit, and yet the truest friend. 
 Accept, dear Moyle, a letter writ in haste,. 
 Which my impatient friendship dictates fast. 
 Friendship, like love, imperfectly exprest. 
 Yet by their being so, they're both shown best. 
 Each, no cold leisure for our thoughts affords. 
 But at a heat, strikes out our eager words. 
 The soul's emotici, most her truth assures,. 
 Such as I feel, while I subscribe me 
 
 YotTRS^
 
 [ 81 ] 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 16311701. 
 
 Of Dryden it can hardly be necessary to say more than to 
 quote the Epitaph which John Sheffield, Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, intended for his tomb. 
 
 " This Sheffield raised : the sacred dust below 
 Was Dr)'dcn once : the rest who does not know .'" 
 
 Congrcve said of him " What he has done in any one 
 species or distinct kind of poetry, would have been suf- 
 ficient to have acquired him a very great name; if he 
 had written nothing but his Prefaces, or nothing but his 
 Songs and his Dialogues, each of them would have en- 
 titled him to the preference and distinction of excelling 
 in its kind." 
 
 The pecimens are selected from these minor poems. 
 
 Feni Creator Spiritus, 
 
 PARAPHRASED. 
 
 C^REATOR spirit, by, whose aid 
 The world's foundations first were laid, 
 Come visit every pious mind ; 
 Come pour tliy joys on human k'uid ; 
 VOL. 1. r.
 
 82 JOHN JDRTDEN. 
 
 From sin and sorrow set us free, 
 A.nd make thy temples worthy thee. 
 
 O source of uncreated light. 
 The father's promised paraclete ! 
 Thrice holy founts thrice holy fire. 
 Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ^ 
 Come, and thy sacred vmction bring 
 To sanctify us while we sing. 
 Plenteous of grace, descend from high. 
 Rich in tliy sevenfold energy ! 
 Thou strength of his Almighty hand. 
 Whose power does heaven and earth command. 
 Proceeding spirit^ our defence^ 
 Who do'st the gifts of tongues dispense. 
 And crown'st thy gift with eloquence! " 
 
 Refine and purge our earthly parts j 
 But, ah, inflame and fire our hearts ! 
 Our frailties help, our vice controul. 
 Submit tlie senses to the soul ; 
 And when rebellious they are grown. 
 Then lay tliy hand, and hold 'em down. 
 
 Chace from our minds th' infernal foe. 
 And peace, tlie fruit of love, bestow j 
 And lest our feet should step astray. 
 Protect and guide us in tlie way.
 
 JOHN DRYnEX- -#3 
 
 Make us eternal truths receive. 
 And practice all that we believe : 
 Give us thyself, that we may see 
 Tlie Father, and the Son, by thee. 
 
 Immortal honour, endless fame. 
 Attend th' Almighty Father's name : 
 The Saviour Son be glorify'd. 
 Who for lost man's redemption dy'd : 
 And equal adoration be. 
 Eternal paraclete, to thee. 
 
 On the Monument of the Marquis of JPlnchcsterf 
 
 He who in impious times undaunted stood, 
 And midst rebellion durst be just and good, 
 Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more^ 
 Confirm'd the cause for which he fought before,^ 
 Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince j *'' 
 For what his earthly could not recompence. 
 Pray, reader, that such times no more appear. 
 Or, if they happen, learn true honour here. 
 Ask of this age's faith and loyalty, 
 Which, to preserve them, heaven confined in th*. 
 Few subjects covdd a king like thine deserw,. ' - 
 And fewer, such a king, so well could servf.
 
 84 JOilN DRYDEN. 
 
 Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state 
 By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate. 
 Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns givea 
 To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven. 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Spoken at Oxford, 2)y Mrs. Marshall, 
 
 Oft has our poet wish'd, this happy ^eat 
 Might prove his fading Muse^'s last retreat 5 
 I wonder'd at his wish, but novf I find 
 He sought for quiet and content of mind ; 
 Which noisefiil towns and courts can never know. 
 And only in the shades like laurels grow. 
 Youth ere it sees the world, here studies rest. 
 And age returning thence concludes it best. 
 What wonder if we court lliat happiness 
 Yearly to share, which hourly you possess. 
 Teaching e'en you, while the vext world we show. 
 Your peace to value more, and better know ? 
 *Tis all we can return for favours past. 
 Whose holy memory shall ever last. 
 For patronage from him whose care presides 
 O'er every noble art, and every science guides.
 
 JOBi* RYDEN, 85 
 
 Bathurst, a name tlie learn 'd with reverence know. 
 
 And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe ; 
 
 Whose age enjoys but what his youth desened. 
 
 To rule those Muses whom before he served. 
 
 His learning, and untainted manners too. 
 
 We find, Athenians, are derived to you : 
 
 Such antient hospitality there rests 
 
 In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breasts, 
 
 Whose kindness was religion to their guests. 
 
 Such modesty did to our sex appear. 
 
 As, had there been no laws, we need not fear. 
 
 Since each of you was our protector here. 
 
 Oanverse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown. 
 
 As might Apollo with the Muses own. 
 
 Tdl our return we must despair to find 
 
 Judges so just^ 80 knowing, and so kind. 
 
 o3
 
 C 86 ] 
 Slli CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 T 639 1701. 
 
 In an age of wit, courtesy, and vice, Scdiey was pre-eminent 
 for debauchery, politeness, and laleiits ; he had his reward, 
 or his punishment in seeing his daughter promoted to 
 the rank of a Royal Concubine, and her evenged himself 
 by actively contributing to the Revolution, saying with 
 bitter pleasantry, that he " hated ingratitude, and as the 
 King had made his daughter a Countess, he would in re- 
 turn labour to make the King's daughter a Queen." 
 
 His Poems and Plays were collected in two small volumes. 
 1719. 
 
 Answer to CeVia. 
 
 J HYRsis, I wish as well as you. 
 To honour there were nothing due : 
 Then would I pay my debt of love 
 In the same coin that you approve : 
 Which now you must in friendship take, 
 'Tis all the payment I can make ; 
 Friendship so high, that I must say, 
 'Tis rather Love with some allay.
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. W 
 
 And rest contented, since that I 
 As well myself as you deny. 
 Learn then of me bravely to bear 
 The want of what you hold most dear j 
 And that which honour does in me. 
 Let my example work on thee. 
 
 To Celia. 
 
 As in those nations where they yet adore 
 Marble and cedar, and tlieir aid implore, 
 'Tis not the workman, nor the precious wood. 
 But 'tis the worshipper that makes the god : 
 So, cruel Fair, tho* heaven has given thee all 
 We mortals Virtue, or can Beauty call, 
 'Tis we that give the thunder to your frowns. 
 Darts to your eyes, and to ourselves the wounds. 
 Without our love, which proudly you deride. 
 Vain were your beauty, and more vain your pride. 
 AUenvy'd beings that the world can shew. 
 Still to some meaner thing their greatness owe : 
 Subjects make kings, and we (the numerous train 
 Of humble lovers) constitute thy reign. 
 o4
 
 88 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 This diiFerence only beauties realm may boast. 
 Where most it favours, it enslaves tlie most. 
 And they to whom it is indulgent found ; 
 Are ever in the nidest fetters bound. 
 What tyrant yet, but thee, was ever known 
 Cmel to those that served to make him one ? 
 Valour's a vice., if not with honour joyn'd. 
 And beauty a disease, when 'tis not kind. 
 
 When Amelia first became 
 The mistress of his heart. 
 So mild and gentle was her reign, 
 Thyrsis, in hers, had part. 
 
 Reserves and care he laid aside. 
 And gave his love the reins ; 
 The headlong course he now must bide;, 
 No other way remains. 
 
 At first her cruelty he fear'd. 
 But that being overcome. 
 No second for a while appear'd. 
 And he thought all his own.
 
 SIR CHARLES 8EDLEY. 89 
 
 He call'd himself a happier man 
 Than ever loved before j. 
 Her favours still his hopes out-ran. 
 What mortal can have more ? 
 
 Love smiled at first, tlien looking grave. 
 Said, Thyrsis, Leave to boast ; 
 More joy than all her kindness gave. 
 Her fickleness will cost. 
 
 He spoke ; and from that fatal time. 
 All Thyrsis did, or said, 
 Appear'd unwelcome, or a crime. 
 To the ungrateful maid. 
 
 Then he despairing of her heart. 
 Would fain have had his own. 
 Love answered, such a nymph could part. 
 With nothing she had won. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AuRELiA, art thou mad 
 To let the world in me j 
 Envy joys I never had. 
 And censure them in th(je.
 
 90 SIR CHARLES SEDLST. 
 
 Fill'd with grief for what is past. 
 Let us at length be wise. 
 And the banquet boldly taste. 
 Since we have paid the price. 
 
 Love does easie souls despise. 
 Who lose themselves for toys. 
 And escape for those devise. 
 Who taste his utmost joys. 
 
 To be tlius for trifles blamed. 
 Like theirs, a folly is. 
 Who are for vain swearing damn'd. 
 And know no higher bliss. 
 
 Love should like the year be cro>i\'n'd 
 With sweet variety ; 
 Hope should in the spring be found 
 Kind fears, and jealousie. 
 
 In the summer flowers should rise. 
 And in tlie autumn fruit ; 
 His spring doth else but mock our eyes. 
 And in a scoff salute.
 
 [ 91 ] 
 JOHN POMFRET. 
 
 Luton, Bedfordshire, 16771703. 
 
 Why is Pomfret the most popular of the English Poets ? 
 the fact is certain, and the solution would be useful. 
 
 The Choice. 
 If Heaven the grateful liberty would give. 
 That I might choose my method how to live : 
 And all those hours propitious Fate should lend. 
 In blissful ease, and satisfaction spend j 
 Near some fair town I'd have a private seat. 
 Built uniform, not little nor too great ; 
 Better if on a rising ground it stood ; 
 On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood. 
 It should within no other things contain. 
 But what are useful, necessary, plain : 
 Methinks 'tis nauseous j and I'd ne'er endure 
 The needless pomp of gaudy furniture. 
 A little garden grateful to the eye ; 
 And a cool rivulet run murmuring by :
 
 82 JOHN POTWFRET. 
 
 On whose delicious banks a stately row 
 Of shady limes, or sycamore, should grow. 
 At th' end of which a silent study placed. 
 Should be with all the noblest authors graced : 
 Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines 
 Immortal wit, and solid learning shines ; 
 Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too. 
 Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew : 
 He that with judgment reads his charming line9> 
 In which strong art with stronger nature joins. 
 Must grant his fancy does the best excel ; 
 His thoughts so tender, and' espress'd so well: 
 With all those moderns, men of steady sense/ 
 Esteem'd for learning, and for eloquence. 
 In some of these, as fancy should advise, 
 I'd always take my morning exercise : 
 For sure no minutes bring us more content^. 
 Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent. 
 
 I'd have a clear and competent estate. 
 That I might live genteelly, but not great : 
 As much as I could moderately spend j 
 A little sometimes t' oblige a friend. 
 Nor should the sons of poverty repine 
 Too much at fortune ; they should taste of mine ; 
 And all that objects of true pity were. 
 Should be reliev'd with what my wants could spare j
 
 JOHN POMFRET. " t)3 
 
 For that our Maker has too largely gi\6n. 
 Should be return'd in gratitude to Heaven. 
 A frugal plenty should my table spread j 
 Wkh healthy, not luxurious, dishes spread ; 
 Enough to satisfy, and something more. 
 To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor. 
 Strong meat indulges vice, ^nd pampering food 
 Creates diseases, and inflames the blood. 
 But what's sufficient to make nature strong, 
 Aiad the bright lamp of life continue long, 
 I'd freely take ; and, as I did possess. 
 The bounteous Author of my plenty bleSs. 
 I'd have a little vault, but always stored. 
 With the best wines each vintage could afford, 
 "Wine whets the wit, improves its native force. 
 And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse : 
 By making all our spirits debonair, 
 Throws off the lees, the sediment of care. 
 But ^s the greatest blessing Heaven lends 
 May be debauch'd, and serve ignoble ends 5 -^ 
 So, but too oft, the grape's refreshing juice ^ 
 
 Does many mischievous effects produce. 
 My house should no such rude disorders know. 
 As from high drinking consequently flow ; 
 Nor would I use what was so kindly given. 
 To the dishonour of indulgent Heaven.
 
 94 JOHN POMFRKT. 
 
 If any neighbour came, he should be free. 
 
 Used with respect, and not uneasy be 
 
 In my retreat, or to himself or me. 
 
 What freedom, prudence, and right reason give. 
 
 All men may, with impunity, receive : 
 
 But the least swerving from their rule's too much ; 
 
 For what's forbidden us, *tis death to touch. 
 
 That life may be more comfortable yet. 
 And all my joys refined, sincere, and great ; 
 I'd choose two friends, whose company would be 
 A great advance to my felicity : 
 Well-born, of humours suited to my own. 
 Discreet, and men as well as books have known : 
 Brave, generous, witty, and exactly free 
 From loose behaviour or formality : 
 Airy and prudent ; merry, but not light ; 
 Quick in discerning, and in judging right : 
 Secret they should be, faithfol to their trust ; 
 In reasoning cool, strong, temperate, and just j 
 Obliging, open, without huffing, brave ; 
 Brisk in gay talking, and in sober grave : 
 Close in dispute, but not tenacious ; try'd 
 By solid reason, and let tliat decide : 
 Not prone to lust, revenge, or envious hate ; 
 Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state : 
 Strangers to slander, and sworn foes to spite ; 
 Not quarrelsome, but stout enough to fight ;
 
 JOHN POMFRCT. 95 
 
 Loyal, and pious, friends to Caesar ; true 
 As dying martyrs, to their Maker too. 
 In their society I could not miss 
 A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss. 
 
 Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, 
 I'd choose 
 (For who would so much satisfaction lose. 
 As. witty nymphs in conversation give) 
 Near some obliging modest fair to live : 
 For there's that sweetnsss in a female mind, 
 "Which in a man's we cannot hope to find ; 
 That, by a secret, but a powerful art. 
 Winds up the spring of life, and does impart 
 Fresh vitjd heat to the transported heart. 
 
 I'd have her reason all her passion sway ; 
 Easy in company, in private gay ; 
 Coy to a fop, to the deserving free ; 
 Still constant to herself, and just to me, 
 A soul she should have for great actions lit } 
 Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit j 
 Courage to look bold danger in the face ; 
 No fear, but only to be proud, or base ; 
 Quick to advise, by an emergence prest 
 To give good counsel, or to take the best. 
 I'd have th' expression of her tiioughts be such. 
 She might not seem reserved, nor talk too much :
 
 VO JOHN POMFRET. 
 
 Tliat shews a want of judgment, and of sense j 
 More than enough is but impertinence. 
 Her conduct regular, her mirth refined j 
 Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind : 
 Averse to vanity, revenge, and pride ; 
 In all the methods of deceit untry'd : 
 So faithful to her friend, and good to all, 
 No censure niight upon her actions fall : 
 Then would e'en envy be compell'd to say. 
 She goes the least of womankind astray. 
 
 To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire } 
 Her conversatfon would new joys inspire j 
 Give life and edge so keen, no surly care 
 Would venture to assault my soul, or dare, 
 Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare. 
 But so divine, so noble a repast 
 I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste ; 
 For highest cordials all their virtues lose. 
 By a too frequent and too bold a use ; 
 And what would cheer the spirits in distress. 
 Ruins our health, when taken to excess, 
 
 I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar, 
 Belov'd by all, not vainly popular. 
 Whate'er assistance I had power to bring, 
 T* oblige my country, or to serve my king. 
 Whene'er they call, I'd readily afford 
 My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword.
 
 JOHN POMFRET. f7 
 
 Law suits I'd shun^ with as much studious care^ 
 
 As I would dens where hungry Uons are j 
 
 And rather put up injuries, than be 
 
 A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me. 
 
 I value quiet at a price too great. 
 
 To give for my revenge so dear a rate : 
 
 For what do we by all our bustle gain. 
 
 But counterfeit delight for real pain ? 
 
 If Heaven a date of n^ny years would give,' 
 Thus I'd in pleasure, ease, and plenty live. 
 And as I near approach'd the verge of life. 
 Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife) 
 Should take upon him all my worldly care. 
 Whilst I did for a better state prepare. 
 Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd. 
 Nor have tlie evening of my days perplex'd ; 
 But by a silent and a peaceful death. 
 Without a sigh, resign my aged breath. 
 And when committed to tlie dust, I'd have 
 Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave. 
 Then would my exit so propitious be. 
 Ail men would wish to live and die like me. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 [ 98 ] 
 X4 
 
 JOHN CROWNE. 
 
 Nova Scotia, about 1704. 
 
 Rochester brought this writer forward as a rival to Dryden, 
 he was successful enough to make Rochester himself en- 
 vious. Charles l!. resolved to patronize, and gave him 
 the Spanish Comedy Ncn pucde ser to adapt to the Eng- 
 lish stage. On the very day fixed for its representation 
 the King was seized with his death sickness, and his 
 hopes and prospects were destroyed. 
 
 His plays are highly commended in the Biographia Drama. 
 
 . tica. His other works are an imitation of the Lutria 
 under the title of the Dicne'tJs, or the Noble Labours of 
 the Great Dean of Notre Dame in Paris, 4to. IC92 ; and 
 Pandion and Amphigenia, or the Coy Lady of Thessalia, 
 lQ6b. 
 
 The extract is from his poem on the death of Charles IL 
 1635 ; it is a noble specimen of loyal blasphemy. 
 
 From a Poem 
 
 ON THE 
 DEATH OF CHARLES THE SECOND. 
 
 Wh God ! some pity, I am turn'd to stone. 
 And yet have life^ give me all death or none.
 
 JOHN CROWNE. 99 
 
 Life is thy bounty, that thou may'st deny ; 
 Death we may claim, it is our right to dye : 
 Our father bought the curse at vast ex pence. 
 Though pain and misery, have improv'd it since 
 From curse to blessing, from their right the heirp^ 
 Shou'd not be kept 'cause better fruit it bears. 
 Ha ! thro' my cold dark frame, a voice does spread 
 To my numb'd ear, and say in Charles I'm dead. 
 I ? Three fair nations fall under the blow. 
 His subjects once, his monuments are now ; 
 Or not so well, some as they were remain, 
 Turn devils to statues, they advancement gain. 
 
 Three nations ? All tlie world is sunk so low. 
 The wise do not so much as scorn it now. 
 Strength, courage, wisdom, glory, wit, and power. 
 Had some false lustre till this fatal hour. 
 In Charles all joyn'd their force, and now his fall 
 Has to eternal shame expos'd 'em all. 
 
 In him all elements so strongly twined, 
 ITie royal ship by nature seem'd design' d, 
 To be in time's unbounded sea obey'd 
 With the same awe he his own channel sway'd. 
 Make every desease it's topsail lo're, # 
 
 To shoot unhurt the gulph of every hour j 
 h2
 
 100 JOHN CROWNE. 
 
 Sail on, and pay no customs to the grave. 
 And Death, the King of Terrors boldly brave. 
 
 And long he had both Time and Death defied. 
 If both despairing no false arts had tryed. 
 From his own table they in secret fed 
 That Traytor Malady that struck him dead. 
 Though cautious Temperance faithful centry stood 
 At his meals, it cou'd not guard his bloud. 
 The friends of Life he cherisht, life destroy 'd. 
 Oft were his favours to his hurt employ'd. 
 He Vigour and Digestion did maintain. 
 And they with secret Death fill'd every vein. 
 Under Ingratitude none suffered more ; 
 Too oft he rais'd his enemies to power. 
 Health boast no more, nor promise life and ease. 
 Your own guards beat you from your palaces. 
 You assemble dishes to support your crown j 
 And they too falsely pull your greatness down. 
 Pay taxes to maintain Intestine War, 
 One faithful Counsellor were better far : 
 
 Wit from his thoughts, as suddenly did flye 
 As lightning from a fiery southern sky, 
 Whene're god-like he sported with mankind. 
 The ready flash attended on his mind.
 
 JOHN CROWNE. 101 
 
 Scarce in his royal ear your words cou'd rest, 
 But the flame met, and melted 'em to jest : ; 
 
 Nay through tlie sturdy Oak of State affairs 
 It played, and guided o're the darkest aires. 
 The world was so much less than his great soul. 
 It only served him for his sporting fool. 
 He laugh' d at Fortune, Glory, Pomp and Fame, 
 And scom'd to hunt after such childish game : 
 Who toyles for glory, shews his spirit low. 
 For honours only from inferiors flow : 
 He's slave to slaves, and labours to be fed. 
 With vain applause, as peasants do for bread. 
 Pomp rather shews a Monarch weak, then great. 
 And only puts upon himself the cheat, 
 'Tis base-born greatness that from pomp does spring. 
 Forms almost bastardise a lawful king. 
 If to his glory outward forms impart. 
 Being and Life, 'tis the poor Child of Art. 
 Charles all his greatness in himself did place ; 
 He darted splendour from his awful face. 
 His brow aright to empire did evince. 
 His every look and motion was a prince. 
 No forms e're darken'd him 3 the expanded sky 
 Bow'd to all earth, and shone on every eye. 
 And had Heavens more bright and high then this. 
 His royal mind where dwelt eternal bliss. 
 h4
 
 102 JOMN CROWJJE. 
 
 Now let us leave these lower sphears and spring 
 To brighter visions with extended wing. 
 Never in men more god-like wisdom shone. 
 So great it was, that God seem'd jealous grown. 
 And from his brain a rivalship to fear. 
 Therefore he struck that potent Minister.
 
 [ J03 ] 
 
 CHARLES SACKVILLE, 
 
 EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 16371705. 
 
 A man distinguished for accomplisbmentSj wit, courage, 
 patriotism and beneEcence. 
 
 Written at Sea, in the first Dutch War, 1665, the 
 Night before the Engagement. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 o all you ladies now at land. 
 
 We men, at sea, indite j 
 But first would have you understand. 
 
 How hard it is to write ; 
 The Muses now, and Neptune too. 
 We must implore to write to you. 
 
 With a Fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 H 4
 
 104 SACKTILLi;, EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 II. 
 
 For though the Muses should prove kind. 
 And fill our empty brain j 
 
 Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind. 
 To wave the azure main, 
 
 Our paper, pen, and ink, and we. 
 
 Roll up and down our ships at sea. 
 With a Fa, &c. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then if we write not by each post. 
 Think not we are unkind ; 
 
 Nor yet conclude your ships are lost. 
 By Dutchmen, or by wind : 
 
 Our tears we'll send a speedier way, 
 
 '^'he tide shall bring them twice a day. 
 With a Fa, &c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The king with wonder and surprise. 
 Will swear the seas grow bold ; 
 
 Because the tides will higher rise. 
 Than e'er they used of old : 
 
 But let him know, it is our tears 
 
 Bring flood? of grief to Whitehall stairs. 
 With a Fa, &c.
 
 SACKVILLi:, EARL OF DORSET. 105 
 
 Should foggy Opdam chance to know 
 
 Our sad and dismal story j 
 The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe. 
 
 And 'quit their fort at Goree j 
 For what resistance can they find 
 From men who've left their hearts behind ! 
 
 With a Fa, &c. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Let wind and weather do its worsts 
 
 Be you to us but kind j 
 Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse. 
 
 No sorrow we shall find. 
 'Tis then no matter how things go. 
 Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. 
 
 With a Fa, &c. 
 
 To pass our tedious hours away. 
 We throw a merry main. 
 
 Or else at serious ombre play j 
 But, why should we in vain 
 
 Each other's ruin thus pursue ; 
 
 We were undone when we left you. 
 With a Fa, &c.
 
 106 SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 vin. 
 
 But now our fears tempestuous grow. 
 And cast our hopes away ; 
 
 Whilst you, regardless of our woe. 
 Sit careless at a play : 
 
 Perhaps, permit some happier man 
 
 To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan. 
 IVith a Fa, &c. 
 
 IX. 
 
 When any mournful tune you hear. 
 
 That dies in every note ; 
 As if it sigh'd with each man's care. 
 
 For being so remote ; 
 Think how often love we've made 
 To you when all those tunes were play'd. 
 
 With a Fa, &c. 
 
 X. 
 
 In justice you cannot refuse. 
 
 To think of our distress ; 
 When we for hopes of honour lose 
 
 Our certain happiness j 
 All those designs are but to prove 
 Ourselves more worthy of your love. 
 
 With a Fa, &c.
 
 SACKYILLE, EARL OT DORSET. 107 
 
 XI. 
 
 And now we've told you all our love* 
 
 And likewise all our fears 3 
 In hopes this declaration moves 
 
 Some pity from your tears j 
 Let's hear of no inconstancy. 
 We have too much of that at sea. 
 
 With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
 
 [ 108 ] 
 
 GEORGE STEPNEY. 
 
 Westminster, 16631707. 
 
 If Stepney's verses had been collected during his life, we 
 should have ascribed' it to his rank. But what motive 
 could have tempted an editor to print such trash forty. 
 years after the death of the author '. 
 
 On the University of Cambridge s burning the Duke of 
 Monmouth's Picture, 1685, who was formerly their 
 Chancellor. In answer to this ftuestion : 
 
 Sed quid 
 
 " Turba Remi ? sequitur fortunam, ut semper, 
 
 et odit 
 ' Damnatos " 
 
 Y Es, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true^ 
 Both from your rabble and your doctors too. 
 With what applause you once received his grace.. 
 And begg'd a copy of his god-like face j 
 But when the sage Vice-Chancellor was sure 
 The original in limbo lay secure.
 
 GEORGE STEPNEY. ' 109 
 
 As greasy as himself he sends a lictor. 
 To vent his royal malice on the picture. 
 The beadle's wife endeavours all she can 
 To save the image of the tall young man. 
 Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace. 
 That with strong thoughts she might improve her 
 
 race J 
 But all in vain, since the wise house conspire 
 To dam the canvas traitor to the fire. 
 Lest it, like bones of Scanderbeg", incite 
 Scythe-men next harvest to renew the fight. 
 Then in comes mayor Eagle,and does gravely alledge. 
 He'll subscribe, if he can, for a bundle of Sedge ; 
 But the man of Clare-hall that proffer refuses, 
 'Snigs he'll be beholden to none but the Muses j 
 And orders ten porters to bring the dull reams 
 On the death of good Charles, and crowning of 
 
 James ; 
 And swears he will borrow of the Provost more stuff 
 On the marriage of Anne, if that be n't enough. 
 The heads, lest he get all the profit t' himself. 
 Too greedy of honour, too lavish of pelf. 
 This motion deny, and vote that Tite Tillet, 
 Should gather from each noble doctor a billet. 
 The kindness was common, and so they'd return it ; 
 The gift was to all, all therefore would bum it :
 
 110 GEORGE STEPNEY. 
 
 Thus joining their stocks for a bonfire together. 
 As they club for a cheese in the parish of Chedder, 
 Confusedly crowd on the sophs and the doctors. 
 The hangman, the townsman, their wives, and the 
 
 proctoi-s J 
 While the troops from each part of the countries 
 
 in ale 
 Come to quaff his confusion in bumpers of stale : 
 But Rosalin never unkind to a duke. 
 Does by her absence their folly rebuke. 
 The tender creature could not see his fate. 
 With whom she 'ad danc'd a minuet so late. 
 The heads, who never could hope for such frames. 
 Out of envy condemn' d six score pounds to the 
 
 flames ; 
 Then his air was too proud, and his features amiss. 
 As if being a traitor had alter'd his phiz . 
 So the rabble of Rome, whose favour ne'er settles. 
 Melt down their Sejanus to pots and brass kettles.
 
 C 110 ] 
 GEORGE FARQUHAR. 
 
 Londonderry, 1678 1707. 
 
 A woman without fortune fell in love with Farquhar : let 
 him understand it, made him believe she was rich, and 
 married him. He never reproached her for the deceit, 
 but behaved to her with all the delicacy and tenderness 
 of an indulgent husband, though the embarrassments in 
 which this marriage involved him, reduced him to pover- 
 ty, and actually brought him to the grave. 
 
 His Poems, Letters, and Essays, were published 1702. As 
 a comic writer he has few equals, and perhaps no supe. 
 rior. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Iell me, AuRELiA, tell me praj, 
 
 How long must Damon sue. 
 Prefix the time, and 1*11 obey. 
 With patience wait the happy day 
 That makes me sure cf you.
 
 112 GEORGE FARQUHAH. 
 
 II. 
 
 The sails of time my sighs shall blovr. 
 And make the minutes glide j 
 
 My tears shall make the current flow. 
 And swell the hasting tide. 
 
 III. 
 The wings of love shall fly so fast. 
 
 My hopes mount so sublime. 
 The wings of love shall make more haste. 
 
 Than the swift wings of time. 
 
 The Assignation' 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 The minute's past appointed by my fair. 
 
 The minute's fled. 
 
 And leaves me dead,^ 
 With anguish and despair. 
 
 II. 
 
 My flatter'd hopes their flight did make 
 
 With the appointed hour ; 
 None can tlie minutes past o'ertake. 
 
 And nought my hopes restore.
 
 GEORGE FARQUHAR. 113 
 
 III. 
 
 Cease your plaints, and make no moan, ^ 
 
 Thou sad repining swain ; 
 Although the fleeting hour be gone. 
 
 The place does still remain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The place remains, and she may make 
 
 Amends for all your pain ; 
 Her presence can past time o'ertake, 
 
 Her love your hopes regain. 
 
 roL. I.
 
 I. 114 3 
 
 JOHN PHILIPS. 
 
 Hampton t Ojcfordshire, 1 676 1708. 
 
 1 here is no other excuse to be offered for inserting so well 
 known a poem as the Splendid Shilling among these 
 specimens, but that it is the only one among his works 
 short enough to be inserted. 
 
 The Splendid Shilling, 
 ' Sing, heavenly Muse ! 
 
 ** Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme," 
 A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire. 
 
 Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife. 
 In silken, or in leathern purse retains 
 A splendid shilling : he nor hears with pain 
 New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for chearful al&-j 
 But with his friends, when nightly mists arise. 
 To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall * repairs : 
 
 * Two noted alehouses in Oxford, 1700.
 
 J0H9 Pini.IP9. 115 
 
 Where, miDdful of the nymph, whose wanton eye, 
 Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, 
 Cloe or Phyllis, he each circling glass 
 Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. 
 Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale. 
 Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. 
 But I, whom griping penury surrounds. 
 And hunger, sure attendant upon want. 
 With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, 
 (Wretched repast ! ) my meagre corpse sustain : 
 Then solitary walk, or dose at home 
 In garret vile, and with a warming puff 
 Regale chill'd fingers ; or from tube as black 
 As winter-chimney, or well- jwlish'd jet. 
 Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent : 
 Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size. 
 Smokes Gambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree. 
 Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings 
 Full famous in romantick tnle) when he 
 O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff. 
 Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese. 
 High over-shadowing rides, with a design 
 To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, 
 Or Maridunum, or the ancient town 
 Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream 
 Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil ! 
 - 1 2
 
 118 JOHN PHIMPS. 
 
 Whence flow nectarious wines, that well may vie 
 With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern, 
 Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow. 
 With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, 
 Horrible monster ! hated by gods and men. 
 To my aerial citadel ascends, 
 Witli vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate. 
 With hideous accent thrice he calls ; I know 
 The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. 
 What should I do ? or whither turn ? Amazed, 
 Confounded, to ihe dark recess I fly 
 Of wood-hole ; straight my bristling hairs erect 
 Throi^h sudden fear, a chilly sweat bedews 
 My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell !) 
 My tongue forgets her faculty of speech ; 
 So horrible he seems ! His faded brow 
 Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard. 
 And spreading band, admired by modern saints. 
 Disastrous acts forbode j in his right hand 
 Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves. 
 With characters and figures dire inscrib'd. 
 Grievous to mortal eyes ; (ye gods, avert 
 Such plagues from righteous men !) behind him 
 
 stalks 
 Another monster, not unlike himself. 
 Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd
 
 JOHN PHILIPS. 117 
 
 A catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods 
 With force incredible, and magic charms. 
 First have indued : if he his ample palm 
 Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay 
 Of debtor, strait his body, to the touch 
 Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont) 
 To some enchanted castle is convey'd. 
 Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains. 
 In durance strict detain him, till, in form 
 Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. 
 
 Beware ye debtors ! when ye walk, beware. 
 Be circumspect ; oft witli insiduous ken 
 'I'he caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft 
 Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave. 
 Prompt to inchant some inadvertent wretch 
 With bis unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing) 
 Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn 
 An everlasting foe, with watchfiil eye 
 Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap. 
 Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mic 
 Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web 
 Arachne, in a hall or kitchen spreads 
 Obvious ta vagrant flies : she secret stands 
 Wjdiin her woven cell; the humming prey, 
 Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils 
 Inextricable, nor will ought avail 
 I 3
 
 118 JOHN PHILIPS. 
 
 Their arts, or nrms, or shapes of lovely hue ; 
 The wasp hisidious, and the buzzing drone. 
 And butterfly proud of expanded wings 
 Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares. 
 Useless resistance make : with eager strides. 
 She towering flies to her expected spoils ; 
 Tlaen with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood 
 Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave 
 Their bulky carcases triumphant drags. 
 
 So pass my days. But, when nocturnal shades 
 This world envelop, and th' inclement air 
 Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts 
 With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood 3 
 Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light 
 Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk 
 Of loving friend delights ; distress'd, forlorn. 
 Amidst the horrors of the tedious night. 
 Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts 
 My anxious mind ; or sometimes mournful verse 
 Indite, and sing of groves, and myrtle shades, 
 "Dr desperate lady near a purling stream. 
 Or lover pendant on a willow-tree. 
 Meanwhile I labour witli eternal drought. 
 And restless wish, and rave ; my parched throat 
 Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose : 
 But if a slumber haply does invade
 
 JOHN PHILIPS. 119 
 
 My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake. 
 Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dreata. 
 Tipples imaginary pots of ale. 
 In vain j awake I find the settled thirst 
 Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse. 
 Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd. 
 Nor taste the fruits tliat the sun's genial rays 
 Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach. 
 Nor walnut in rough- furrow'd coat secure. 
 Nor medlar fruit delicious in decay j 
 Afflictions great ! yet greater still remain : 
 My Galligaskins, tliat have long withstood 
 The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts. 
 By time subdued (what will not time subdue !) 
 An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice 
 Wide, discontinuous j at which the winds 
 Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force 
 Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves 
 Tumultuous enter with dire-chilling blasts. 
 Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship. 
 Long sails secure, or through the ^Egean deep. 
 Or the Ionian, till cruising near 
 The Lylebean shore, with hideous crush 
 On Sylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks ! ) 
 She strikes rebounding ; whence the shatter'd oak. 
 So fierce a shock, unable to withstand, 
 I 4
 
 120 JOHN pnitips. 
 
 Admits the sea ; in at the gaping side 
 
 The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage. 
 
 Resistless, overwhelming ; horrors seize 
 
 The mariners j death in their eyes appears, 
 
 yhey stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, 
 
 they pray : 
 (Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in. 
 Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam. 
 The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.
 
 C 121 1 
 
 WILLIAM WALSH. 
 
 Abberlti/t Worcestershire, \^i about I709. 
 
 The friend of Diydea and of Pope, who repaid his friend, 
 ship by more praise than his writings deserve, but pro- 
 bably not more than he was entitled to by his talents. 
 
 . 
 
 The Despairing Lover, 
 
 Distracted with care 
 For Phyllis the fair. 
 Since nothing could move her. 
 Poor Damon, her lover. 
 Resolves in despair. 
 No longer to languish. 
 Nor bear so much anguish j 
 But, mad with his love. 
 To a precipice goes. 
 Where a leap from above 
 Would soon finish bis woes.
 
 I9i \riLLlAM WALSH. 
 
 When in rage he came there. 
 Beholding how steep 
 The sides did appear. 
 And the bottom how deep j 
 His torments projecting. 
 And sadly reflecting. 
 That a lover forsaken 
 A new love may get. 
 But a neck when once brokers 
 Can never be set 5 
 And, that he could die 
 Whenever he would. 
 But, that he could live 
 But as long as he could r 
 How grievous soever 
 The torment might grow. 
 He scorn'd to endeavour 
 To finish it so. 
 But bold, unconcem'd 
 At thoughts of the pain. 
 He calmly return'd 
 To his cottage again
 
 irnxiAM WALSH. 123 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Of all the torments, all the cares, 
 
 Witli which our lives are curst j 
 Of all the plagues a lover bears. 
 
 Sure rivals are the worst ! 
 By partners, in each other kind. 
 
 Afflictions easier grow ; 
 In love alone we hate to find 
 
 Companions of our woe. 
 
 Sylvia, for all the pangs you ^ee 
 
 Are labouring in my breast, 
 I beg not you would favour me. 
 
 Would you but slight the rest I 
 How great soe'er your rigours are. 
 
 With them alone T\\ cope ; 
 I can endure my own despair. 
 
 But not another's hope.
 
 124 WILLIAM WALSH. 
 
 Horace, Ode III. Book III. 
 
 Imitated,. J705. 
 
 I. 
 
 The man that's resolute and just. 
 Firm to his principles and trust. 
 
 Nor hopes nor fears can blind : 
 No passions his designs control ; 
 Not Love, that tyrant of the soul; 
 
 Can shake his steady mind. 
 
 Not parties for revenge engaged. 
 Nor threatenings of a court enraged. 
 
 Nor storms where fleets despair 3. 
 Not thunder pointed at his head j 
 The shatter'd world may strike him dead. 
 
 Not touch his soul with fear, 
 
 rir.. 
 From this the Grecian glory rose;- 
 By this the Romans awed their foes : 
 
 Of this their poets sung. 
 These were the paths their heroes trod. 
 These acts made Hercules a god 3 
 
 And great Nassau a king.
 
 iriLLIAM WALSU. 125 
 
 IV. 
 
 Firm on the rolling deck he stood, 
 Unmoved,. beheld the breaking flood. 
 
 With blackening storms combined. 
 " Virtue," he cry'd, " will force its Avay j 
 ** The wind may for a while delay, 
 
 " Not alter our design. 
 
 V. 
 
 " The men whom selfish hopes inflame, 
 ** Or vanity allures to fame, 
 
 " May be to fears betray'd ; 
 " But here a church for succour flies, 
 " Insulted law expiring lies. 
 
 And loudly calls for aid. 
 
 VI. 
 
 *' Yes, Britons, yes, witli ardent zeal, 
 " I come, the wounded heart to heal, 
 
 " The wounding hand to 'bind : 
 " See tools of arbitrary sway, 
 " And priests, like locusts, scout away 
 
 " Before the western wind.
 
 126 >VIIX1AM WALSir. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Law shall again her voice resume ; 
 " Religion, clear'd from clouds of Rome, 
 
 ** With brighter rays advance. 
 " Tlie British fleet shall rule the deep, 
 " The British youtli, as roused from sleep, 
 
 " Strike terror into France. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Nor shall these promises of fate 
 " Be limited to my short date ; 
 
 " When I from cares withdraw, 
 " Still shall the British sceptre stand, 
 " Still flourish in a female hand, 
 
 " And to mankind give law. 
 
 rx. 
 
 ^ She shall domestick foes unite, 
 
 " Monarchs beneath her flags shall fight, 
 
 " Whole annics drag her chain : 
 *' She shall lost Italy restore. 
 *' Shall make th' Imperial Eagle soar, 
 
 " And give a king to Spain.
 
 WIIXIAM WALSH. 127 
 
 '* But know, tliese promises are given, 
 " These great rewards impartial heavea 
 
 " Does on these terms decree ; 
 " That strictly punishing men's faults, 
 " You let tlieir consciences and thought* 
 
 " Rest absolutely free. 
 
 XI. 
 
 '' Let no false politicks confine 
 
 " In narrow bounds, your vast design 
 
 " To make mankind unite j 
 " Nor think it a sufficient cause 
 " To punish men by penal laws, 
 
 " For not believ'uig right. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Rome, whose blind zeal destroys mankind ; 
 *' Rome's sons shall your compassion find, 
 
 " Who ne'er compassion knew. 
 " By nobler actions theirs condemn : 
 " For what has been reproach'd in them, 
 
 " Can ne'er be praised in you.
 
 lis * WILLIAM .WALSH. 
 
 XIIT. 
 
 *' These subjects suit not with the lyre j 
 "' Muse ! to what height dost thou aspire, 
 
 " Pretending to rehearse 
 ""The thoughts of gods, and godlike kings ? 
 ** Cease, cease to lessen lofty thiiigs 
 
 " By mean ignoble verse.
 
 c m ] 
 
 THOMAS BETTERTON. 
 
 Westminster, 16351710. 
 
 An actor of unequalled excellence in the best age of En- 
 glish actings and a man of real goodness. 
 
 Chaucer's Characters. 
 
 J WAS when the fields imbibe the vernal showers. 
 And Fenus paints her month with early flowers ; 
 When Sol, difliising genial warmth around. 
 Unbinds the frozen bosom of the ground ; 
 When gentle Zephyr with refreshing breatli 
 Revived each grain that in the womb of earth 
 All winter slept ; and th' all enlivening sun. 
 Thro' the bright ram had half his progress ron ; 
 When birds on every bough renew their songs. 
 And Philomel her evening note prolongs ; 
 Then nature smiles ; then Devotees engage. 
 Thro' the wide world to roam on pilgrimage, 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 THOMAS BETTEIlTO>f. 
 
 From eveiy shire the pious ramblers stray, 
 But most to Canterbury bend tlieir way. 
 There at the * Martyr s shrine a cure they fitid. 
 For each sick body, and each love-sick mind. 
 
 It so befel, that season, on a day. 
 In Southwark, at the Talhot-Inn I lay. 
 Resolved with zeal my journey to begin ; 
 With no small offering to St. Thomas' shrine. 
 For Priests with empty thanks are never shamm'd j 
 The rich buy heaven, and ragged rogues are 
 
 damn'd. 
 Full nine and twenty more, a jovial crew, 
 (Mine host was ravish'd at a sight so new) 
 That night, by fair adventure sought our inn ? 
 All pilgrims, fixt upon the same design. 
 When most with care had seen tlieir horses fed, 
 Happy were they who got a cleanly bed. 
 With each I talk'd, and each by name could caU, 
 So quickly grew familiar witli them all. 
 There we resolved ^^'ith speed to make our Way, 
 And all set forward at the break of day. 
 But hold a while ; 'twere requisite you knew. 
 Ere I proceed, each pilgi-im of the crew. 
 I'll here relate their characters, tlieir age. 
 Describe their persons, and their equipage, 
 * Thomas Becket.
 
 THOMAS BETTE&TON. 131 
 
 Tlieir sex, and wh^t condition they were in j 
 This rule observ'd, I with the knight begin. 
 
 T/ie Knisht. 
 
 A Knight there was, whose early youth had shown 
 His love to arms, and passion for renown. 
 Courteous and affable j of honour nice j 
 A friend to truth, a foe to every vice. 
 In many brave engagements had he been. 
 Known foreign courts, and men and manners seen ; 
 In Christendom much fame he had acquired j 
 In Turkey he was dreaded and admired. 
 When Alexandria was besieged and won. 
 He pass'd the trenches tirst, and scaled the town. 
 Granada's siege increas'd the warrior's fame j 
 And Jlgier trembled but to hear his name. 
 In fifteen battels deathless wreaths he got, 
 Three single combats with success he fought. 
 Much ground he travell'd o'er, for he had seen 
 Our Saviour's sepulchre in Palestine. 
 The barbarous infidels had felt his might. 
 Fierce in engagement, gentle after fight. 
 In council, as in conduct, wise, and staid ; 
 In conversation, modest as a maid. 
 
 K 2
 
 I3i THOMAS BETTEUTO^r. 
 
 Plain and sincere, observant of the right ; 
 
 In mien and manners, an accomplish'd knight. 
 
 A goodly horse he rode, well shaped, and strong ; 
 ^o gaudy saddle, nor no trappings long. 
 The arms he wore, were bright, and free from 
 
 stain ; 
 His habit serviceable, neat, and plain. 
 With grateful zeal devoutly he was come. 
 To thank the saint that brought him safely home. 
 
 The Monk. 
 
 Next these a merry Monk appears in place. 
 Who followed hunting, more than saying mass. 
 As bravely mounted, as a lord from court j 
 No. well-fed abbot bore a comelier port. 
 And when in state he ambled, all might hear 
 The gingling of his bridle, loud and clear. 
 As far, almost, as any chapel-bell. 
 
 This lordly monk, once keeper of a cell. 
 Held good St. Bennet's order too severe : 
 St. Maure to his nice judgment did appear
 
 THOMAS BETTERTOM. 133 
 
 Too strict, and rigid ; for old dotards fit. 
 But scorn'd by priests of spirit, and of wit. 
 One scripture text he blotted with his pen. 
 That say all hunters are ungodly men. 
 What shoals of converts would this doctrine rmse ? 
 Shall monks in study pass laborious days ? 
 Turn o'er dull fathers, and worm-eaten books. 
 With dazzled eyes, and melancholy looks ? 
 Toil with their hands to make the garden neat ! 
 Turn cooks, and baste the roast witli their own 
 
 sweat ? 
 This Austin humbly did : " Did he ? (saith he) 
 Austin may do the same again for me." 
 He lov'd the chase, the hounds melodious cry. 
 Hounds that run swiftly as the swallows fly. 
 His sleeves I saw, with furs all lin'd within. 
 From Russia brought, the finest squirrels skin j 
 {Hair-shirts, he said, provok'd the blood to sin.) 
 His hood beneath his double chin to hold, 
 'Twas fasten'd with acurious clasp of gold, 
 A love-knot at the greater end there was ; 
 His head close shaved, and smooth as any grass. 
 His strutting paunch was seldom disappointed j 
 His broad, full face, shone as it were anointed. 
 His eyes were sleepy, rolling in his head. 
 That stream'd like furnaces of molten lead 
 K 3
 
 rSI THOMAS BETTERTON. 
 
 Siipple his boots, his horse he proudly sate. 
 
 You'd take him for a bishop by his state. 
 
 Fasts had not made him meagre like a ghost. 
 
 But what he was, and goodly as mine host. 
 
 A fatj plump swan he loved, young, but full grown. 
 
 His horse was sleek, and as the berry brown.
 
 [ 135 3 
 LADY CHUDLEIGII. 
 
 16501710. 
 
 Daughter of Richard Lee, Esq. of Winslade, Devonshire : 
 She published a volume of Poems 1709, and Essays, in 
 prose and verse, 1710. 
 
 To Amystrea. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 BUM IT Marissa in an artless lay 
 To speak her wonder, and her thanks repay : 
 Her creeping Muse can ne'er like your's ascend j 
 She has not strength for such a touring flight. 
 Your wit, her humble fancy does transcend ; 
 She can but gaze at your exalted height : 
 Yet she believed it better to expose 
 Her failures tlvan ungrateful prove ', 
 
 And rather chose 
 To shew a want of sense then want of love : 
 But taught by you, she may at length improve, 
 k4
 
 136 LADY t'HUDLErGII. ^ 
 
 And imitate those virtues she admires. 
 Your briglit example leaves a track divine^, 
 Slie sees a beamy brightness in each line. 
 And with ambitious warmth aspires. 
 Attracted by the glory of your name. 
 To follow you in all the lofty roads of fame. 
 
 Merit, like yours, can no resistance find, 
 3ut like a deluge, overwhelms the mind ; 
 
 Gives full possession of each part. 
 Subdues the soul, and captivates the heart. 
 Let those whom wealth, or interest unite. 
 Whom avarice, or kindred sway,' 
 Who in the dregs of life delight j 
 And every dictate of their sense obey. 
 Learn here to love at a subliiner rate. 
 To wish for nothing but exchange of thoughts. 
 For intellectual joys, , 
 
 And pleasures more refined 
 Than eartli can give, or can create. 
 Let our vain sex be fond of gliit'ring toys. 
 Of pompous titles, and affected noise. 
 Let envious men by barbarous custom led 
 Descant on faults. 
 And in destruction find 
 Delights unknown to a brave generous mind.
 
 LADY CUUDLEIGU. 137 
 
 While we resolve a nobler path to tread. 
 
 And from tyrannick custom free. 
 View the dark mansions of the mighty dead. 
 
 And all their close recesses see ; 
 
 Then from tliose awful shades retire. 
 And take a tour above. 
 
 And there, the shining scenes admire. 
 
 The opera of eternal love ; 
 View the machines, on the bright actors gaze. 
 Then in a holy transport, blest amaze. 
 To the great Author our devotion raise. 
 And let our wonder terminate in praise. 
 
 T/te Reiolve. 
 
 For what the world admires I'll wish no more. 
 Nor court that airy nothing of a name ; 
 
 Such fleeting shadows let the proud adore. 
 Let them be suppliants for an empty fame. 
 
 If Reason rules within, and keeps the throne. 
 
 While the inferior faculty obey. 
 And all her laws without reluctance own. 
 
 Accounting none more fit, more just than they.
 
 138 LADY CHUfiLEICn. 
 
 III. 
 
 If Virtue my free sovd unsuUy'd keeps. 
 Exempting it from passion and from stain : 
 
 If no black guilty thoughts disturb my sleeps 
 And no past crimes my vext remembrance pain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 If, tho' I pleasure find in living here, 
 
 I yet can look on Death without surprise : 
 
 If I've a soul above the reach of Fear, 
 
 And which will notliing mean or sordid praise. 
 
 V. 
 
 A soul, which cannot be depressed by grief. 
 Nor too much raised by the sublimest joy ; 
 
 Which can^ when troubled, give itself relief. 
 And to advantage all its thoughts employ. 
 
 Then am I happy in my humbler state, 
 
 Altho' not crown'd with glory nor witli bays : 
 
 A mind, that triumphs over Vice and Fate, 
 Esteems it mean to court the world for praise.
 
 [ 139 3 
 
 RICHARD DUKE. 
 
 Died 1710. 
 
 It is to be hoped that no collection of the English Poets 
 will ever again be disgraced by the verses of this rhyme- 
 ster, who, notwithstanding Dr. Anderson's vindication of 
 his morals against the censure of Johnson, did not write 
 decently, in any sense of the phras^. 
 
 An Epistle* 
 TO MK. OTWAY. 
 
 Dear Tom how melancholy I am grown 
 Since thou hast left this learned dirty townf , 
 To thee by this dull letter be it known. 
 Whilst all my comfort, under all my care. 
 Are duns, and puns, and logick, and small beer. 
 Thou seest I'm dull as Shadwell's men of wit. 
 Or the top scene that Settle ever writ : 
 
 * In answer to one in Otways Poems, 
 t Mr. Duke was then in Cambridge.
 
 140 RICHARD DUKE. 
 
 The sprightly court that wander up and down 
 From gudgeons to a race, from town to town. 
 All, all are fled ; but them I well can spare. 
 For I'm so dull I have no business there. 
 1 have forgot whatever there I knew, 
 "Why men one stocking tye with ribbon blue ; 
 Why others medals wear, a fine gilt thing. 
 That at tlieir breasts hang dangling by a string; 
 (Yet stay, I think that I to mind recal. 
 For once * a squirt was raised by Windsor wall). 
 I know no officer of court ; nay more, 
 No dog of court, their favourite before. 
 Should Veny fawn, I should not understand her. 
 Nor who committed incest for Legander. 
 Unpolish'd thus, an errant scholar grown. 
 What should I do but sit^nd coo alone. 
 And thee my absent mate, for ever moan. 
 Thus 'tis sometimes, and sorrow plays its part. 
 Till other thoughts of thee revive my heart. 
 For whilst with wit, with women, and with wine. 
 Thy glad heart beats, and noble face does shine. 
 Thy joys we at this distance feel and know j 
 Thou kindly wishest it with us were so. 
 Then thee we name ; this heard,cried James,For him. 
 Leap up, thou sparkling wine and kiss the brim : 
 
 * Sir Samuel Moreland.
 
 RICHARD DUKE. 141 
 
 Crosses attend the man who dares to flinch, 
 Great as that man deserves who drinks not Finch. 
 But these are empty joys without you two. 
 We drink your names, alas ! but where are you ? 
 My dear^ whom I more cherish in my breast 
 Than by thy own soft muse can be exprest ; 
 True to thy word, afford one visit more. 
 Else I shall grow, from him thou loved'st before, 
 A greasy blockhead fellow in a gown, 
 (Such as is. Sir, a cousin of your own) ; 
 With my own hair, a band, and ten long nails. 
 And wit that at a quibble never fails.
 
 [ 142 ] 
 
 EDMUND SMITH. 
 
 Itanlei/, near Tenburi/, IG68 1710. 
 
 The author of Phaedra and Hippolitus. He has left but 
 two poeras in English. 
 
 A POEM 
 
 * TO THE MEMORY OF MR. JOHN PHILIPS. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 SIR, 
 
 oiNCE our Isis silently deplores' 
 The bard who spread her fame to distant shores 
 Since nobler pens their mournful lays suspend. 
 My honest zeal, if not my verse, commend. 
 Forgive the poet, and approve the friend. 
 Your care bad long his fleeting life restrained. 
 One table fed you, and one bed contained ; 
 For his dear sake long restless nights you bore. 
 While rattling coughs his heaving vessels tore ; 
 Much was his pain, but your affliction more.
 
 EDMUND SMITH. 143 
 
 Oh ! had no summons from the noisy gown 
 Call'd thee, unwilling, to the nauseous town. 
 Thy love had o'er the dull disease prevail'd. 
 Thy mirth had cured where bafSed physic fail'd ; 
 But since the will of Heaven his fate decreed. 
 To tliy kind care my worthless lines succeed ; 
 Fruitless our hopes, though pious our essays, 
 Your's to preserve a friend, and mine to praise. 
 
 Oh ! might I paint him in Miltonian verse. 
 With strains like those he sung on Glo'sters herse j 
 But with the meaner tribe I'm forc'd to chime. 
 And wanting strength to rise, descend to rhyme. 
 
 With other fire his glorious Blenheim shines. 
 And all the battle thunders in his lines : 
 His nervous verse great Boijcau's strength transcends, 
 'And France to PJiilips, as to Churchill, bends. 
 
 Oh ! various bard, you all our powers controul. 
 You now disturb, and now divert the soul : 
 Milton and Butler in thy muse combine j 
 Above the last thy manly beauties shine ; 
 For, as I've seen, when rival wits contend. 
 One gaily charge, one gravely wise defend ; 
 This on quick turns and points in vain relies. 
 This with a look demure, and steady eyes, 
 Witli dry rebukes, or sneering praise, replies.
 
 144 EDMUxND SMITH. 
 
 So thy grave lines extort a juster smile, 
 Reach Butler's fancy, but surpass his style ; 
 He speaks Scarron's low phrase in humble strains. 
 In thee the solemn air of great Cervantes reigns. 
 
 What sounding lines his abject themes express ! 
 What shining words the pompous shilling dress ! 
 There, there my cell, immortal made, outvies 
 The frailer piles which o'er its ruins rise. , 
 In her best light the Comic Muse appears. 
 When she, with borrowed pride, the buskin wears. 
 
 So when nurse Nokes, to act young Ammon tries. 
 With shambling legs, long chin, and foolish eyes. 
 With dangling hands he strokes the imperial robe. 
 And, with a cuckold's air, commands the globe ; 
 The pomp and sound the whole buffoon display'd. 
 And Ammon's son more mirth than Gomez made. 
 
 Forgive, dear shade, the scene my folly draws ; 
 Thy strains divert the grief thy ashes cause : 
 When Orpheus sings, the ghosts no more complain. 
 But, in his lulling music, lose their pain : 
 So charm the sallies of thy Georgic Muse, 
 So calm our sorrows, and our joys infuse :
 
 EDMUND SMITH. 145 
 
 Here rural notes a gentle mirth inspire. 
 Here lofty lines the kindling reader fire ; 
 Like that fair tree you praise, the poem charms. 
 Cools like the fruit, or like the juice it warms. 
 Blest clime, which Vaga's fruitful streams improve, 
 Etruria's envy, and her Cosmo's love ; 
 Redstreak he quaffs behind the Chian vine, 
 Gives Tuscan yearly for thy Scudmore's wine j 
 And ev'n his Tasso would exchange for thine. 
 Rise, rise, Roscommon, see the Blenheim Muse 
 The dull constraint of monkish rhyme refuse ; 
 See, o'er the Alps his towering pinions soar. 
 Where never English poet reach'd before : 
 See mighty Cosmo's counsellor and friend. 
 By turns on Cosmo and the Bard attend : 
 Rich in tlio coins and busts of ancient Rome, 
 In him he brings a nobler treasure home ; 
 In them he views her gods, and domes dcsign'd ; 
 In him the soul of Rome, and Virgil's mighty mind ; 
 To him for ease retires from toils of state. 
 Not half so proud to govern as translate. 
 
 Our Spencer, first by Pizan poets fauglxt. 
 To us their talcs, their style, and numbers brought. 
 To follow ours, now Tuscan bards descend. 
 From Philips borrow, tlaough to Spencer lend, 
 
 VOL. I . I,
 
 146 EDMUND SMITU. 
 
 Like Philips too the yoke of rhyme disdain; 
 They first on English bards imposed the chain. 
 First from an English bard from rhyme their free- 
 dom gain. 
 
 T)Tannic rhyme, that cramps to equal chime. 
 The gay, the soft, tlie florid and sublime : 
 Some say this chain the doubtful sense decides. 
 Confines the flmcy, and tlie judgment guides : 
 I'm sure in needless bonds it poets ties, 
 Procrustes like, the axe or wheel applies. 
 To lap the mangled sense, or stretch it into size : 
 At best a crutch, that lifts the weak along. 
 Supports the feeble, but retards the strong j 
 And tlie chance thoughts, when govern'd by the 
 
 close. 
 Oft rise to fustian, or descend to prose. 
 Your judgment. Philips, ruled with steady sway. 
 You used no curbing rhyme, the Muse to stay. 
 To stop her fury, or direct her way. 
 Thee on the wing thy uncheck'd vigour bore. 
 To wanton freely, or securely soar. 
 
 So the stretch'd cord the shackle-dancer tries. 
 As prone to fall, as impotent to rise : 
 When freed he moves, the sturdy cable bends. 
 He mounts with pleasure, and secure descends 5
 
 E6MUND SMitH. 147 
 
 Now dropping seems to strike the distant ground. 
 Now high in air his quivering feet rebound. 
 Rail on, ye triflers, who to Will's repair ; 
 For new lampoons, fresh cant, or modish air ; 
 Rail on at Milton's son, who wisely bold 
 Rejects new phrases, and resumes the old : 
 Thus Chaucer lives in younger Spencer's strains. 
 In Maro's page reviving Ennius reigns ; 
 The ancient words tlie ?^ajesty complete. 
 And make the poem venerably great : 
 So when the queen in royal habits drest. 
 Oft mystick emblems grace th' imperial vest. 
 And in Eliza's robes all Anne stands confest. 
 
 A haughty bard, to fame by volumes raised. 
 At Dick's, and Batson's, and through Smitlificld 
 
 praised. 
 Cries out aloud Bold Oxford bard, forbear 
 With rugged numbers to torment my ear ; 
 Yet not like thee the heavy critick soars. 
 But paints in fustian, or in t^m deplores; 
 With Bunyan's style profanes heroic songs. 
 To the Icnth page lean Homilies prolongs j 
 For farfetch'd rliymes makes puzzled angels strain, 
 And in low prose dull Lucifer complain : 
 L 2
 
 148 . EDMUND SMITH. 
 
 His envious Muse, by native dulness curst. 
 Damns the best poems, and contrives the worst. 
 Beyond his praise or blame thy works prevail 
 Complete where Dryden and thy Milton fail ; 
 Great Milton's wing on lower themes subsides. 
 And Dryden oft in rhyme his weakness hides j 
 You ne'er with jingling words deceive the ear. 
 And yet, on humble subjects, great appear. 
 Thrice happy youth, whom noble Isis crowns ! 
 Whom Blackmore censures, and Godolphin owns : 
 So on the tuneful Margarita's tongue 
 The listening nymphs and ravish'd heroes hung : 
 But cits and fops the heaven-born music blame. 
 And bawl, and hiss, and damn her into fame : 
 Like her sweet voice, is thy harmonious song. 
 As high as sweet, as easy, and as strong. 
 
 Oh ! had relenting Heaven prolong'd his days. 
 The towering bard had sung in nobler lays. 
 How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead. 
 How saints aloft the cross triumphant spread. 
 How opening heavens their happy regions shew. 
 And gnawing gulphs, with flaming vengeance glow. 
 And saints rejoice above, and sinners howl below ; 
 Well might he sing the day he could not fear. 
 And paint the glories he was sure to wear.
 
 EDMUND SMITH. 149 
 
 Oh best of friends, will ne'er the silent urn ^ 
 To our just vows the hapless youth return ? 
 Must he no more divert the tedious day ? 
 Nor sparkly thoughts in antique words convey ? 
 No more to harmless irony descend. 
 To noisy fools a grave attention lend. 
 Nor merry tales with learn'd quotations blend > 
 No more in false pathetick phrase complain 
 Of Delia's wit, her charms, and her disdain ? 
 Who now shall godlike Anna's fame diffuse ! 
 Must she, when most she merits, want a muse ? 
 Who now our Twisden's glorious fate shall tell ; 
 How loved he lived, and how deplored he fell ? 
 How, while the troubled elements around. 
 Earth, water, air, the stunning din resound. 
 Through streams of sncoke, and adverse fire, he 
 
 rides. 
 While every shot is levell'd at his sides? 
 How, while the fainting Dutch remotely fire 
 And the famed Eugene's iron troops retire. 
 In the first front, amidst a slaughtered pile. 
 High on the mound he dy'd near great Argyll. 
 
 Whom shall I find unbiass'd in dispute, 
 Eager to learn, unwilling to confute ? 
 L 3
 
 l^OS EDMUND SMITH. 
 
 To whom the labours of my soul disclose. 
 Reveal my pleasure, or discharge my woes ? 
 Oh ! in that heavenly youth for ever ends 
 The best of sons, of brothers, and of friends. 
 He sacred friendship's strictest laws obey'd. 
 Yet more by conscience than by friendship sway'd ; 
 Against himself his gratitude maintained. 
 By favours past, not future prospects gain'd ; 
 Not nicely choosing, though by all desir'd. 
 Though learn'd, not vain, and humble, though ad- 
 mired ; 
 Candid to all, but to himself severe,. 
 In humour pliant, as in life austere. 
 A wise content his even soul secured. 
 By want not shaken, nor by wealth allured : 
 To all sincere, though earnest to commend 
 Could praise a rival, or condemn a friend. 
 To him old Greece and Rome were fully known. 
 Their tongues, their spirits, and their styles his 
 
 own 5 
 Pleased the least steps of famous men to view ; 
 Our author's works, and lives, and souls, he knew ; 
 Paid to the learn'd and great the same esteem. 
 The one his pattern, and the one his theme : 
 "With equal judgment his capacious mind 
 Warm Pindar's rage, and Euclid's reason join'd.
 
 EDMUND SMITR. 151 
 
 Judicious physick's noble art to gain 
 All drugs and plants explored, alas, in vain ! 
 The drugs and plants their drooping master fail'd. 
 Nor goodness now, nor learning aught avail'd ; 
 Yet to the bard his Churchill's soul they gave. 
 And made him scorn the life they could not save : 
 Else could he bear unmoved, the fatal guest. 
 The weight that all his fainting limbs opprest. 
 The coughs that struggled from his weary breast ? 
 Could he unmoved approaching death sustain ? 
 Its slow advances, and its racking pain ? 
 Could he serene his weeping friends survey. 
 In his last hours his easy wit display. 
 Like the rich fruit he sings, delicious in decay ? 
 Once on thy friends look down, lamented 
 shade. 
 And view the honours to thy ashes paid : 
 Some tliy loved dust in Parian stones enshrine. 
 Others immortal epitaphs design. 
 With wit, and strength, that only yields to thine .- 
 Even I, though slow to touch the painful striiig. 
 Awake from slumber, and attempt to sing. 
 Thee, Philips, thee despairing Vaga mourns, 
 And gentle Isis soft complaints returns ; 
 Dormer laments amidst the war's alarms, 
 And Cecil weeps in beauteous Tufton's arms : 
 I, 4
 
 152 EDMUND SMltH. 
 
 Thee, on the Po, kind Somerset deplores. 
 
 And even that charming scene his grief restores : 
 
 He to thy loss each mournful air applies. 
 
 Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies. 
 
 But most at Virgil's tomb his swelling sorrows rise : 
 
 But you his darling friends, lament no more. 
 
 Display his fame, and not his fate deplore ; 
 
 And let no tears from erring pity flow. 
 
 For one tliat's blest above immortalized below.
 
 C 153 ] 
 WILLIAM KING. 
 
 London, 16631712. 
 
 The works of this singular writer were published by Mr. 
 Nichols in three volumes 1776. His poems in the gene- 
 ral collections fill some of those volumes on which the 
 dust may be permitted to lie lightly. 
 
 The Fisherman. 
 
 XoM Banks by native industry was taught 
 The various arts how fishes might be caught. 
 Sometinaes with trembling reed and single hair. 
 And bait conceal'd, he'd for their death prepare. 
 With melancholy thoughts and down -cast eyes. 
 Expecting till deceit had gain'd the prize. 
 Sometimes in rivulet quick and water clear, 
 Tliey'd meet a fate more generous from his spear. 
 To basket oft he'd pliant oziers turn. 
 Where they might entrance find, but no return. 
 His net well pois'd with lead he'd sometimes throw. 
 Encircling thus his captives all below.
 
 154 WILLIAM KING. 
 
 But, when he would a quick destruction make. 
 And from afar much larger booty take. 
 He'd through the stream, where most descending, set 
 From side to side his strong capacious net 3 
 And then his rustick crew with mighty poles 
 Would drive his prey out from their oozy holes. 
 And so pursue them down the rolling flood. 
 Gasping for breath and almost chok'd with mudj 
 Till they, of farther passage quite bereft 
 Were in the mash with gills entangled left. 
 
 Trot, who lived down the stream, ne'er thought 
 his beer 
 Was good, unless he had his water clear. 
 He goes to Banks, and tlius begins his tale : 
 ** Lord, if you knew but how the people rail ! 
 *' They cannot boil, nor wash, nor rinse they say, 
 " With water, sometimes ink, and sometimes whey, 
 " According as you meet with mud or clay. 
 " Besides my wife these six months could not brew, 
 " And now the blame of this all's laid on you : 
 " For it will be a dismal thing to think 
 " How we old Trots must live, and have no drink ; 
 " Therefore, I pray, some other method take 
 Of fishing, were it only for our sake." 
 Says Banks, " I'm sorry it should be my lot 
 ** Ever to disoblige my gossip Trot :
 
 WILLIAM KING. IM 
 
 ** Yet t'en't my fault ; but so 'tis fortune tries one, 
 " To make his meat become his neighbour's poison ; 
 " And so we pray for winds upon this coast, 
 " By which on't other navies may be lost. 
 " Therefore in patience rest, though I proceed : 
 " There's no ill-nature in the case, but need. 
 " Though for your use this water will not serve, 
 " I'd rather you should choke, than I should starve." 
 
 THE ABT OF MAKING PUDDINGS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hasty Pudding. 
 I SING of food by British nurse design'd. 
 To make the stripling brave, and maiden kind. 
 Delay not. Muse, in numbers to rehearse 
 The pleasures of our life, and sinews of our verse. 
 Let pudding's dish, most wholesome, be thy theme. 
 And dip the swelling plumes in fragrant cream. 
 
 Sing then that dish, so fitting to improve 
 A tender modesty and trembling love; 
 Swimming io butter of a golden hue, 
 Garnisb'd with dr(^ of rose's spicy dew.
 
 156 WILLIAM KING. 
 
 Sometimes the frugal matron seems in haste. 
 Nor cares to beat her pudding into paste : 
 Yet milk in proper skillet she would place. 
 And gently spice it with a blade of mace j 
 Then set some careful damsel to look to't. 
 And still to stir away the bishop's footj 
 For, if burnt milk should to the bottom stick. 
 Like over-heated zeal, 'twould make folks sick. 
 Into the milk her flour she gently throws. 
 As valets now would powder tender beaux : 
 The liquid forms in hasty mass unite 
 Forms equally delicious, as they're white. 
 In shining dish the hasty mass is thrown. 
 And seems to want no graces but its own. 
 Yet still the housewife brings in fresh supplies. 
 To gratify the taste, and please the eyes. 
 She on the surface lumps of butter lays. 
 Which melting with the heat, its beams displays ; 
 From whence it causes, wonderous to behold, 
 A silver soil bedeck'd with streams of gold ! 
 
 A Hedge-hog af.er a 2uaking-puddliig- 
 
 As Neptune, when the three-tongued fork he takes. 
 With strength divine the globe terrestrial shakes,
 
 WILLIAM KING. 157 
 
 The highest hills. Nature's stupendous piles. 
 
 Break witli the force, and quiver into isles j 
 
 Yet on the ruins grow the lofty pines. 
 
 And snow unmelted in the vallies shines ; 
 
 Thus when the dame her hedge-hog pudding breaks. 
 
 Her fork indents irreparable streaks. 
 
 The trembling lump, with butter all around. 
 
 Seems to perceive its fall, and then be drown'd j 
 
 And yet the tops appear, whilst almonds tliick 
 
 With bright loaf-sugar on the surface stick. 
 
 III. 
 
 Pudtlings of various Colours in a Dish. 
 You, painter-like, now variegate the shade. 
 And thus from puddings there's a landscape made. 
 A Wise and London, when they would depose 
 Their ever-gieens into well-ordered rows. 
 So mix their colours, that each different plant 
 Gives life and shadow as the otliers want. 
 
 Making of a good Pudding gels a good Husband- 
 
 Ye virgins, as these lines you kindly take. 
 So may you still such glorious pudding make. 
 That crowds of youth may ever be at strife. 
 To gain the sweet composer for his wife.
 
 158 WILLIAM KING. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sack and Sugar to Suaking Pudding. 
 Oh, Delicious I 
 But where must our confession begin. 
 If sack and sugar once be thought a sin ? 
 
 vr. 
 
 Broiled Pudding. 
 Hid in the dark, we mortals seldom know 
 From whence the source of happiness may flow : 
 Who to broil'd pudding would their tli oughts have 
 
 bent 
 From bright Pewteria's love- silk discontent ? 
 Yet so it was, Pev/teria felt Love's heat 
 In fiercer flames than those which roast her meat. 
 No puddings lost, but may with fresh delight 
 Be either fried next day, or broiled at night. 
 
 Mutton Pudding. 
 Bui- Mutton thou most nourishing of meat^ 
 Whose single joint may constitute a treat j 
 When made a pudding, you excel tl:e rest 
 As much as that of other food is best 1
 
 WUZ'IAM KING. 150 
 
 Oatmeal Pudding. 
 Of oats decorticated lake two pound. 
 And of new milk enough the same to drown j 
 Of raisins of the sua, stoned, ounces eight j 
 Of currants, cleanly pick'd, an equal weight ; 
 Of suet finely sliced an ounce at least j 
 And six eggs, newly taken from the nest : 
 Season this mixture well with salt and spice j 
 'Twill make a pudding far exceeding rice. 
 And you may safely feed on it like farmers. 
 For the receipt is learned Dr. Harmer's. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Sack-posset. 
 From far Barbadoes, on the Western Main, 
 Fetch sugar, half a pound j fetch sack from Spain, 
 A pint } then fetch, from India's fertile coast. 
 Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.
 
 [ 160 3 
 ARTHUR MAYNWARING. 
 
 16681712. 
 
 Like a house set upon a hill, this gentleman's talents were 
 made conspicuous by his rank in life. 
 
 An excellent New Song, called Mat's Peace, or the 
 Downfall of Trade. 
 
 To the good old Tune of Green Sleeves. 
 
 I. 
 
 The news from abroad does a secret reveal. 
 Which has been confirm'd both at Dover and Deal^ 
 That one Mr. Matthews, once called plain Mat, 
 Has been doing at Paris, the Lord knows what. 
 But sure what they talk of his negotiation. 
 Is only intended to banter the nation ; 
 For why have we spent so much treasure in vain. 
 If now at the last we must give up Spain ? 
 If now we must give up Spain ?
 
 ARTHUR MAYNWARING. 161 
 
 II. 
 
 Why so many batties did Marlborough win ? 
 So many strong towns why did he take in ? 
 Why did he his army to Germany lead. 
 The crown to preserve on the Emperor's head ? 
 Why does he tlie honour of E)ngland advance ? 
 Why has he humbled the monarch of France ? 
 By passing the lines, and taking Bouchain, 
 If now, &c. 
 
 Our stocks were so high, and our credit so good, 
 (I mean all the while our late ministry stood) 
 That foreigners hither their money did send. 
 And bankers abroad took a pleasure to lend. 
 But though all the service was duly supplyed. 
 And nought was embezzled or misapplyed ; 
 By all that wise management what shall we gain ? 
 If now, &c. 4, 
 
 IV. 
 
 We made this alliance, as well it is known. 
 That Austria's great house might recover tleirown 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 Id ARTHUR MAYNMARING. 
 
 King Charles is of part of his kingdom possest, 
 And Bouchain would quickly fright France from 
 
 rest. 
 For sure the whole nation by this time must know. 
 The way to Madrid is by Paris to go ; 
 But why have we made such a glorious campaign ? 
 If now, &a. 
 
 V. 
 
 All treaties with France may be sung or be said. 
 To morrow they'll break what to-day they have 
 
 made ; 
 And therefore our senate did wisely address. 
 That none should be made whilst Spain did possess. 
 The Queen too, to them, did last sessions declare. 
 That Spain ought to be their particular care j 
 But speeches, addresses, and senates are vain. 
 If now, &c. 
 
 VI. 
 
 By giving up Spain, we give up our trade ; 
 In vain would they tell us a treaty is made 
 For yielding us forts in the distant South Seas, 
 To manage our traffick with safety and ease.
 
 ARTHUR MAYNWARIMO. 163 
 
 No lies are too gross for such impudent fellows. 
 Of forts in the moon as well they might tell us ; 
 Since France at her pleasure may take them again. 
 If now, &c. 
 
 VII, 
 
 Some lords were impeached for a famous partition. 
 Which kept the allies in far better condition j 
 For then of raw silk we were only bereft. 
 But now neither silver nor gold will be left. 
 If that treaty then did impeachment require. 
 Surely this calls at least for the rope or the fire ; 
 Since Britain had never such cause to complain. 
 If now, &c. 
 
 When PetCcum to Paris did openly go, 
 What doubts and what jealousies did we not show ! 
 How loudly did we against Holland exclaim ! 
 Yet surely our statesmen are now more to blame. 
 For how can they not think our allies will not fire, 
 At privately sending that Machiavel Prior V 
 Who richly deserved to be whiped for his pain. 
 If now, &c.
 
 164 laXHUR MAYNWARING. 
 
 Since matters stand thus, I am sorely afraid. 
 Whenever this scandalous peace shall be made. 
 Our senate for Cato will quickly decree 
 Some punishment worse than a sting of a bee. 
 Poor Mat in the pillory soon will be seen. 
 
 For M r too, oh ! well had it been. 
 
 That he had been pleased in his hole to remain. 
 If now, &c.
 
 [ 165 3 
 
 WILLIAM HARRISON. 
 
 1713. 
 
 Secretary to the Congress at Utrecht, ^md Editor of the fifth 
 volume of the'Tatlcr. A little pretty fellow, Swift calls 
 him, with a great drtil of wit, good nature, and good 
 sense. The few of his poems which have been preserved 
 are in the collections of Dodsley and Nichols. 
 
 From Woodstock Park. 
 
 A POEr. 
 
 -, E'er the sun witli sickly ray 
 
 O'er doubtful shades maintains the dawning day. 
 The sprightly horn proclaims some danger near. 
 And hounds, harmonious to the sportsman's ear. 
 With deep-mouthed notes rouse up the tremblin<; 
 deer, 
 
 7(1 .'J
 
 166 VILLIAM HARRISON. 
 
 Startled he leaps aside, and list'ning round. 
 This way and that explores the hostile sound. 
 Armed for that fight, which he declines with shame. 
 Too fond of life, too negligent of fame -, 
 For nature, to display her various art. 
 Had fortified his head, but not his heart : 
 Those spears, which useless on his front appear'd 
 On any else had been adored nnd feared. 
 But honours disproportion'd are a load, 
 Grandeur a specious curse when ill bestowed. 
 
 Thus void of hope, and panting with surprize. 
 In vain he'd combate, and as vainly flies. 
 Of paths mysterious whether to pursue 
 The scented track, informs the lab'ring crew : 
 Witli speed redoubled, they the hint embrace. 
 Whilst animating musick warms the chace : 
 Flush'd are their hopes, and witli one general cry 
 They eccho through the woods, and sound their 
 
 conquest nigh. 
 Not so the prey, he now for safety bends 
 From enemies professed, to faithless friends. 
 Who to the wretched own no shelter due. 
 But fly more swiftly than his foes pursue. 
 This last disgrace with indignation fires 
 His drooping soul,, and generous rage inspires}-
 
 "WILLIAM HARRISON. 167 
 
 By all forsaken, he resolves at length 
 To try the poor remains of wasted strength j 
 With looks and mien majestick stands at bay. 
 And whets his horns for the approaching fray : 
 Too late, alas ! for, the first charge begun. 
 Soon he repents what cowardice had done. 
 Owns the mistake of his o'er-hasty flight. 
 And awkwardly maintains a languid fight : 
 Here, and there, aiming a successless blow. 
 And only seems to nod upon tlie foe. 
 
 So coward princes, who at war's alarm 
 Start from tlieir greatness, and themselves disarm, 
 Wii^h recollected forces strive in vain 
 Their empire, or their honour, to regain. 
 And turn to rally on some distant plain. 
 Whilst the fierce conqueror bravely urges on. 
 Improves the advantage, aod ascends the tlirone. 
 
 M 4
 
 [ 168 ] 
 THOMAS SPRAT, 
 
 BISHOP OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 TaUatoTif Devonshire, 1636 17 IS. 
 
 Aptly named Sprat, as being one of the least among the 
 Poets. Exempli gratiil. 
 
 On his Mistress Drowned. 
 
 Sweet stream, that dost with equal pace 
 Both thyself fly and thyself chase^ 
 
 Forbear awhile to flow. 
 
 And listen to my woe. 
 
 Then go and tell the sea that all its brine 
 Is fresh, compared to mine : 
 Inform it that the gentler dame 
 Who was the life of all my flame.
 
 SPRAT, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER. 169 
 
 I the glory of her bud. 
 
 Has passed the fatal flood. 
 
 Death by this only stroke triumphs above 
 
 The greatest power of love : 
 
 Alas, alas ! I must give o'er. 
 
 My sighs will let me add no more. 
 Go on, sweet stream, and henceforth rest 
 No more than does my troubled breast j 
 And if my sad complaints have made thee stay 
 These tears, tliese tears, shall mend thy way.
 
 c i;o ] 
 
 WILLIAM WYCHERLEY. 
 
 16401715. 
 
 Wycherley had lain seven years in prison when James IL 
 was so pleased at the representation of the Plain Dealer, 
 that he ordered his debts to be paid, and gave him a 
 pension of tzool. This anecdote should not be forgotten 
 for the honour of the unhappy King. 
 
 He published a volume of Poems, 1704, every way inferior 
 to his dramatick works. His posthumous Pieces were 
 edited by Theobald, 1728. The lines selected for the 
 present compilation have the rare merit of decency, for 
 of all the shameless rhymers of his age Whycherly is 
 the most shameless. 
 
 The Author to the Bookseller, who desired Itis Picture 
 before his Book, in Front of his Follies ; pleading 
 the Custom fot it. 
 
 As custom makes those, who are no great clerks. 
 Set to their acts and deeds, seals, hands, or marks.
 
 WILLIAM WYCHEBLEY* 171 
 
 To show this book, my writing, act, or deed. 
 
 You'd have me to it put my mark, or head. 
 
 Thus poets's wares, like others, great or smaU, 
 
 Must have their sign, to put 'em off to sale. 
 
 So much sophisticated wit, as wine. 
 
 The worse it is, have but the better sign. 
 
 That men, to swallow both, may more incline. 
 
 Each author puts the best face on his book. 
 
 That buyers might on both more kindly look ; 
 
 Spruce trader thus, at his shc^-door appears. 
 
 With his good looks, to tice in customers. 
 
 All lyers, cheats, historians, poets, quacks. 
 
 Divines, diviners, in their almanacks. 
 
 Or books, tho' but more to their own disgrace. 
 
 Look, in effigie, buyers in the face. 
 
 As who should say, they were no small fools there. 
 
 The world, nor yet the fiercest critick fear. 
 
 Stand up i' th' front, for book, and bookseller j 
 
 As who shou'd hint in the first leaf of the book. 
 
 They justifie their sense by their grave look. 
 
 As formal coxcombs would their nonsense pass 
 
 On the blind world, but by their grave grimace. 
 
 And oft for sense would make their nonsense go, 
 
 By setting their best faces on it so ; 
 
 Tho' gravity be rather folly's test. 
 
 By which each dull and mystick fool's known best. 
 
 For being more in earnest, more a jest :
 
 172 WILLIAM "WYCIIERLEY. 
 
 So, by your leave, each wit before his book, 
 "With looks in print, must like a coxcomb look ; 
 In the first leaf, yet (if you'll have it so). 
 His art at least let the bold graver show. 
 My shame but for your interest to grow j 
 For as good wine wants no good bush, or sign. 
 Were not my wit flat, you'd ne'er ask for mine r 
 So where there is but scanty furniture. 
 Bare walls to cover, pictures we procure ; 
 Yet when Dl ones must fill up the void space. 
 That place, by fiirnishing, we more disgrace j 
 So, with my senseless face, thoul't damn thy book. 
 Since man's sense suffers for his silly look. 
 Or bold one, which none for a wise one took ; 
 Then no man, in his book, can show his face. 
 But first, sure, he must borrow it from brass. 
 The wit then seeking praise to his disgrace. 
 Who vainly puts his looks in print, must seem 
 To those an ass, from whom he'd gain esteem j 
 As serious faces put on follies so. 
 But more the shame of their vain owners grow^ 
 As them but more, they to the public show.
 
 [ i73 3 
 
 NAHUM TATE. 
 
 Dudlin, 16521715. 
 
 The worthy successor of Shadwell as Court Poet, the worthy 
 accomplice of Nicholas Brady in berhyming the Psalms, 
 and the unworthy assistant of Dryden in Absalom and 
 Achitbophel. He was indeed a pitiful poet ; but, says 
 Oldys, he was a free, good-natured, fuddling companion. 
 His latter days were spent in the Mint, as a place of re- 
 fuge from his creditors. 
 
 The specimens are selected from his collection of Poems 
 by several hands and on several occasions. l685. As 
 they have no name af&zed to them they may be ascribed 
 to Nahum himself. 
 
 No, dearest! never fear j I'll always be 
 Faithful, as heav'n to dying saints, to thee : 
 
 No fate shall e'er divide 
 
 The sacred knot our souls have ty'd
 
 174 NAHUM TATE. 
 
 My heart shall prove as constant to my fair. 
 As others to their mistresses unconstant are. 
 
 Not all thy sex's charms shall tempt me more, 
 I'll ever thee, and Heaven for thee, adore j 
 Content with my bless'd fate. 
 Despise the world's vain pageant state ; 
 And since the Gods no greater bliss can send, 
 Like twins we'll both our lives together end. 
 
 Thy sex, alas ! is a false lottery, 
 
 "Where thousand blanks for one small prize we see : 
 Scarce can the unerring Gods 
 Direct our choice against such odds ; 
 
 And since kind Fate gave me so vast a lot. 
 
 Who'd hazard the rich gem, so hardly got ? 
 
 If e'er I should from thy bright charms remove. 
 From thy dear constancy, thy fervent love j 
 
 And feel the proud disdain. 
 
 With which your sex rewards our pain ; 
 Good Heavens ! what might avenging fury do ! 
 Curse thee, as well as them, for being woman too
 
 KAflUM "TATB. 175 
 
 The Convert. 
 
 "When first I saw Luanda's face. 
 
 And viewed the dazzling glories there ; 
 
 She seem'd of a diviner race. 
 
 Than that which nature planted here. 
 
 With sacred homage dov^ I fell. 
 
 Wondering wlience such a form could spring 
 
 Tell me, I cry'd, fair vision, tell 
 
 The dread commands from Heav'n you bring. 
 
 For if past sins may be forgiven j 
 By this bright evidence I know. 
 The careful Gods have made a Heaven, 
 That made such angels for it too.
 
 LJP..,J.. 
 
 MARY MONK. 
 
 X 
 
 Adout 1715. 
 
 Daughter of Robert, the first Viscount Molesworth, who, 
 after her death, published her poems in one volume, 
 called Marrnda, i7l6, and dedicated them to the Princess, 
 afterwards Queen Caroline. 
 
 Jn Elegit; on a Favourite Dog, 
 
 TO HER FATHER. 
 
 Who can forbid the Muses tears to flow ? 
 On such a subject to indulge her woe ? 
 "Where e'er fidelity and love are join'd. 
 They claim the tribute of a grateful mind. 
 Birds have had funeral rites, and with swoln eyes 
 Fair Lesbia graced her sparrow's obsequies ; 
 His warlike steed young Ammon did lament. 
 And raised a city for his monument.
 
 MART MONK. 177 
 
 That bright celestial dog that decks the skies. 
 
 Did by his merit to tliat honour rise : 
 
 And all the virtues by which men renowned 
 
 To heavenly seats have climb'd, in d'ogs are found. 
 
 None dare in glorious dangers farther go. 
 
 None are more watchful to repel the foe ; 
 
 Nor are those tenderer qualities of mind 
 
 That most endear us, strangers to thy kind. 
 
 In human race, alas ! we seldom prove 
 
 So firm a friendship, so unfeign'd a love. 
 
 Can any then, your grateful labours blame. 
 
 Or wonder, you should to your favourite's name 
 
 The last just honours pay ? it were not fit 
 
 So bright a merit should in darkness set. 
 
 That he who so distinguish'd lived, shou'd dye. 
 
 And in the common herd forgotten lye. 
 
 No ; let a monumental marble tell 
 
 How dear he Hved, and bow bewail'd he fell. 
 
 Press gently on him earth, and all around 
 
 Ye flowers spring up, and deck th' enamell'd 
 
 ground ; 
 Breathe forth your choicest odours, and perfume 
 With all your fragrant sweets his little tomb. 
 
 vol.. T. N
 
 178 MAUY MONK, 
 
 To her Husband. 
 Written on her death bed. 
 
 Thou who dost all my worldly thoughts employ^ 
 
 Thou pleasing source of all my earthly joy. 
 
 Thou tenderest husband, and tiiou dearest friend* 
 
 To thee thus fond, this last advice I send. 
 
 At length the conqueror Death asserts his right. 
 
 And will for ever veil me from thy sight. 
 
 He woos me to him with a chearful grace. 
 
 And not one sorrow clouds his aweful face : 
 
 He promises a lasting rest from pain. 
 
 And shows tliat all life's pleasing dreams are vain ; 
 
 The eternal joys of heaven he sets in view. 
 
 And tells me that no other joys are true. 
 
 But love, fond love, would fain resist his power. 
 
 And yet awhile defer the parting hour. 
 
 It brings thy mournful image to my eyes. 
 
 And would obstruct my journey to the skies. 
 
 But say thou dearest, thou unwearied friend. 
 
 Say wouldst thou mourn to see my sorrows end r 
 
 Thou know'st the painful pilgrimage I've past. 
 
 And would'st thou grieve tliat rest is come at last ? 
 
 Rather rejoice to see me shake off life. 
 
 And die, as I have lived, your faithful wife.
 
 [ 179 ] 
 CHARLES MONTAGUE, 
 
 EARL OF HALIFAX. 
 
 Hoxton, Northamptonshire, I66I 1715. 
 
 The Macenas of his age. 
 
 From the Man of H<Mour. 
 Occasioned by a Postscript of Peiin's Letter. 
 
 LiET Other nations boast their fruitful soil. 
 Their fragrant spices, their rich wine and oil ; 
 In breathing colours, and in living paint. 
 Let them excel ; their master}' we grant. 
 But to instruct the mind, to arm the soul 
 With virtue which no dangers can control ; 
 Exalt the thought, a speedy courage lend. 
 That horror cannot shake, or pleasure bend ; 
 V 2
 
 180 MONTAGUE, EARL OF HALIFAX. 
 
 These are the English arts, these we profess. 
 To be the same in misery and success j 
 To teach oppressors law, assist the good. 
 Relieve the wretched, and subdue the proud. 
 Such are our souls : but what dolh worth avail 
 When kings commit to hungry priests the scale "r 
 All merit's light when they dispose the weight, 
 Who either would embroil or rule the state. 
 Defame those heroes who their yoke refuse. 
 And blast that honesty they cannot use j 
 The strength and safety of the crown destroy, 
 And the king's power against himself employ ; 
 Affront his friends, deprive him of the brave ; 
 Bereft of these, he must become their slave. 
 Men, like our money, come the most in play. 
 For being base, and of a coarse allay. 
 The richest medals, and tlie purest gold. 
 Of native value, and exactest mould. 
 By worth conceal'd, in private closets shine, 
 Por vulgar use too precious and too fine ; 
 Whilst tin and copper with new stamping bright. 
 Coin of base metal, counterfeit and light. 
 Do all the business of the nation's turn. 
 Raised in contempt, used and employ'd in scorn ; 
 So shining virtues are for courts too bright. 
 Whose guilty actions fly the searching light :
 
 MONTAGUE, EARL OV HALIFAX. 181 
 
 Rich In themselves, disdaining to aspire 
 
 Great without pomp, they willingly retire ; 
 
 Give place to fools, whose rash misjudging sense 
 
 Increases the weak measures of their prince ; 
 
 They blindly and implicitly run on. 
 
 Nor see those dangers which the others shun ; 
 
 Who, slow to act, each business duly weigh. 
 
 Advise with freedom, and with care obey ; 
 
 With wisdom fatal to their interest, strive 
 
 To make their monarch loved, and nation thrive. 
 
 Such have no place where priests and women 
 
 reign, 
 Who love fierce drivers, and a looser rein. 
 
 V 3
 
 C 18^2 ] 
 
 SIR SAMUEL GARTH. 
 
 1717. 
 
 Garth was a respectable Poet, a skilful Physician, a steady 
 Whig, and a good man. His death, says Pope, was very 
 heroical, and yet unaffected enough to have made a naint 
 or a philosopher famous. But ill tongues and worse 
 hearts have branded his last moments, as wrongfully as 
 they did his life, with irreligion : if ever there was a good 
 Christian, without knowing himself to be so, it was Dr. 
 Garth. 
 
 On Her Majesty s Statue, in St. Paul's Church-j/ard. 
 
 N EAK the vast bulk of that stupendous frame. 
 Known by the Gentiles' great Apostles' name ; 
 With grace divine, great Anna's seen to rise. 
 An awful form that glads a nation's eyes ; 
 Beneath her feet four mighty realms appear. 
 And with due reverence pay their homage there. 
 Britain and Ireland seem to own her grace. 
 And even wild India wears a smiling face.
 
 IR SAMUEL GARTH. 183 
 
 But France alone with downcast eyes is seen. 
 
 The sad attendant of so good a queen : 
 
 Ungrateful country ! to forget so soon. 
 
 All that great Anna for thy sake has done : 
 
 When sworn the kind defender of thy cause. 
 
 Spite of her dear religion, spite of laws ; 
 
 For thee she sheath'd the terrors of her sword. 
 
 For thee she broke her general and her word : 
 
 For thee her mind in doubtful terms she told. 
 
 And learn'd to speak like oracles of old. 
 
 For thee, for thee alone, what could she more ? 
 
 She lost the honour she had gain'd before; 
 
 Lost all the trophies, which her arms had won, 
 
 (Such Caesar never knew, nor Philip's son 3) 
 
 Resign'd the glories of a ten year's reign. 
 
 And such as none but Marlborough's arm could 
 
 gain. 
 For thee in annals she's content to shine, 
 liike other monarchs of the Stuiirt line. 
 
 N 4
 
 [ 184 3 
 THOMAS PARNELL. 
 
 Dullhi, 16791717. 
 
 Parnell forsook the Whigs when the whig ministry were 
 displaced : if his conversion was sincere, he chose an un- 
 lucky time to avow it. He wanted strength of mind ; 
 upon the death of his wife he fled to society and to the 
 bottle for relief, and thus shortened his days. 
 
 Fopc was obliged to him for literary, and Gay for pecu- 
 niary assistance. His Hermit and his delightful Fairy 
 Tale are among the most popular poems in our language. 
 His Hesiod is written with equal skill. 
 
 HESIOD; 
 
 Or, the Rixe of Woman. 
 
 What ancient times (those times we fancy wise) 
 Have left on long records of woman's rise. 
 What morals teach it, and what fables hide. 
 What author wrote it, how that author dyed,
 
 THOMAS PARNELL. 185 
 
 All these I sing. In Greece they framed the tale. 
 (In Greece, 'twas thought, a woman might be 
 
 frail )) 
 Ye modern beauties ! where the poet drew 
 His softest pencil, tliink he dreamt of you; 
 And, warned by him, ye wanton pens beware 
 How heav'n's concem'd to vindicate tlie fair. 
 The case was Hesiod's j he the fable writ ; 
 Some tliink witli meaning, some with idle wit : 
 Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please ; 
 I wave the contest, and commence the lays. 
 
 In days of yore (no matter where or when, 
 'Twas ere the low creation swarmed with men) 
 That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth, 
 (Our author's song can witness) lived on earth : 
 He carved the turf to mould a manly frame. 
 And stole from Jove his animating flame. 
 The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, 
 "When thus the monarch of the stars began : 
 
 O versed in arts ! whose daring thoughts aspire, 
 To kindle clay with never-dying fire ! 
 Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine j 
 The next tiiy creature meets be fairly mine :
 
 1B6 THOMAS PANELL. 
 
 And sucTi a gift, a vengeance so designed. 
 As suits tlie counsel of a God to find ; 
 A pleasing bosom-cheat^ a specious ill. 
 Which fell the cause, yet covets still to feeL 
 
 He said, and Vulcan strait the Sire commands. 
 To temper mortar with aetherial hands j 
 In such a shape to mold a rising fair. 
 As virgin goddesses are proud to wearj 
 To make her eyes with diamond water shine. 
 And form her organs for a voice divine. 
 Twas thus the Sire ordained j the power obeyed 5 
 And -worked, and wondered at the work he made 5 
 The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath. 
 Now made to seem, now more than seem to 
 breatlie. 
 
 As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms 
 Clasped tlie new -panting creature in her amis : 
 From that embrace a fine complexion spread. 
 Where mingled whiteness glowed with softer red. 
 Then in a kiss she breathed her various arts. 
 Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts ; 
 A mind for love, but still a changing mind ; 
 The lisp affected, and the glance designed ;
 
 THOMAS PARWELL. 187 
 
 The sweet confusing blush, the secret Avink, 
 The gentle swimming walk, the courteous sink j' 
 The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frowti ; 
 For decent yielding, looks declining down } 
 The practised languish, where well feigned desire 
 Would own its melting in a mutual fire ; 
 Gay smiles to comfort j April showers to move j 
 And all the nature, all the art of love. 
 
 Gold sceptered Juno next exalts the fair j 
 Her touch endows her with imperious air. 
 Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride. 
 Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide j 
 For which an eloquence, that aims to vex. 
 With native tropes of anger, arms the sex. 
 Minerva, skilful goddess, trained the maid 
 To twirle the spindle by the twisting thread ; 
 To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part. 
 Cross the long weft, and close the web with art. 
 An useftil gift ; but what profuse expence. 
 What world of fashions, took its rise from hence ! 
 
 Young Hermes next, a close contriving god. 
 Her brows encircled with his serpent rod ; 
 Then plots and fair excuses filled her brain. 
 The views of breaking amorous vows for gain ;
 
 188 THOMAS PARNET.L. 
 
 The price of favours j the designing arts j 
 That aim at riches in contempt of hearts j 
 And, for a comfort in the marriage life. 
 The little pilfering temper of a wife. 
 
 Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, 
 And fond persuasion tipped her easy tongue ; 
 He gave her words, where oily flattery lays 
 The pleasing colours of the art of praise ; 
 And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone. 
 Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. 
 
 Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere. 
 Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness tliere, 
 To make her sense with double charms abound. 
 Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. 
 To dress the maid the decent Graces brought 
 A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought. 
 And placed their boxes o'er a rich brocade. 
 Where pictured loves on every cover played j 
 Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art 
 Had framed to merit Cytherea's heart ; 
 The wire to curl, the close indented comb 
 To call the locks, that lightly wander, home ; 
 And chief, the mirror, where the ravished maid 
 Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.
 
 THOMAS FARNELL. 189 
 
 Fair Flora lent her stores ; the purpled hours 
 Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers j 
 Within the wreath arose a radiant crown j 
 A veil pellucid hung depending down j 
 Back rolled her azure veil with serpent fold. 
 The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold. 
 Her robe (which closely by the girdle braced 
 Revealed the beauties of a slender waist) 
 Flowed to the feet, to copy Venus' air. 
 When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. 
 
 The new-sprung creature, finish'd thus for harms. 
 Adjusts her habit, practises her charms. 
 With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, 
 Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles : 
 Then conscious of her wortli with easy pace 
 Glides by the glass, and turning views her face. 
 
 A finer flax than what they wrought before. 
 Through time's deep cave, the sister fates explore. 
 Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave. 
 And thus tlieir toil prophetick songs deceive. 
 
 Flow from tlie rock, my flax ! and swiftly flow. 
 Pursue thy lliread j tlie spindle runs below.
 
 IdO THOMAS PARNLL> 
 
 A creature fond and changing, fair and vain. 
 The creature woman, rises now to reign. 
 New beauty blooms, a beauty formed to fly } 
 Now love begins, a love produced to die ; 
 New parts distress the troubled scenes of life. 
 The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. 
 
 Men born to labour, all with pains provide j 
 Women have time to sacrifice to pride : 
 They want tlie care of man, their want they know. 
 And dress to please with heart-alluring show ; 
 The show prevailing, for the sway contend. 
 And make a servant where they meet a friend. 
 
 Thus in a thousand war-erected forts 
 A loitering race the painful bee supports j 
 From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies j 
 With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs ; 
 Fly where he will, at home the race remain. 
 Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. 
 Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride. 
 Whose temper betters by the father's side ; 
 Unlike the rest that double human care. 
 Fond to relieve, or resolute to share : 
 Happy the man whom thus his stars advance j 
 The curse is general, but the blessing chance.
 
 THOMjtS PAaNEJLI.. 191 
 
 Thas sung the sisters, while the gods admire 
 Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire ; 
 The young Paqdora she, whom all contend 
 To make too perfect not to gain her end : 
 Then bid tlie winds, that fly to breathe the spring, 
 Retuin to bear her on a gentle wing ; 
 With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow. 
 And land the shining vengeance safe below. 
 A golden coffer in her hand she bore. 
 The present treacherous, but the bearer more j 
 Twas fraught with pangs ; for Jove ordained above>. 
 That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When ihy beauty appears 
 
 In its graces and airs. 
 All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky ; 
 
 At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, 
 So strangely you dazzle my eye !
 
 199 THOMAS FARNELIn 
 
 .But when without art. 
 Your kind thought you impart. 
 When your love runs in blushes through every 
 vein J 
 When it darts from your eyes, when it pants^ 
 in your heart. 
 Then I know you're a woman again. 
 
 There's a passion and pride 
 
 In our sex she replyed. 
 And thus, might I gratify both, I would do : 
 
 Still an angel appear to each lover beside. 
 But still be a woman to you.
 
 [ 193 ] 
 
 PETER AIsTHONY MOTTEAUX. 
 
 Rouen, 16GO 1718, 
 
 By the Revocation of the Edict of Xantz England gained 
 many useful and industrious subjects ; but it is extraor- 
 dinary that our country should have acquired a literary 
 artist. Motteaux translated Don Quixote well, was 
 tolerable versifyer and a successful dramatist. He ter- 
 minated a respectable life shamefully in a brothel. 
 
 The extract is the commencement of his poem in praise of 
 Ilea; printed separately 17 12. 
 
 A Poem in praise of Tea- 
 
 Last night my hours on friendship I bestowed^ 
 And wine and mirth awhile profiisely flowed. 
 Soon as some beauty's health had walk'd the round. 
 Another's health succeeding glasses crown'd. 
 But while these arts to raise our joys we use. 
 Our mirth, oiu* friends, and even ourselves we lose; 
 'Tis vain in wine to seek a solid joy } 
 All fierce enjoyments soon themselves destroy. 
 VOL. r. o
 
 194 PETER ANTHONY MOTTEAUX. 
 
 Wine fires the fancy to a dangerous height. 
 With smoaky flame, and with a cloudy hght. 
 From its excess even Wisdom's self grows madj 
 For an excess of good itself is bad. 
 All reason's in a storm, no light, nor skies. 
 But the Red Ocean rolls before our eyes. 
 Unhappy state ! the chaos of the brain. 
 The soul's eclipse, and exile of the man. 
 
 From boisterous wine I fled to gentle tea j 
 For, calms compose us after storms at sea. 
 In vain would coffee boast an equal good ; 
 The chrystal stream transcends the flowing mud. 
 Tea even the ills from coffee sprung repairs. 
 Disclaims its vices, and its virtue shares. 
 
 To bless me witli the juice two foes conspire. 
 The clearest water with the purest fire. 
 Wine's essence in a lamp to fuel turns. 
 Exhales its soul, and for a rival burns. 
 The leaf is moved, and the diffusive good. 
 Thus urged, resigns its spirits in the flood. 
 
 In curious cups the liquid blessing flows. 
 Cups fit alone the Nectar to enclose. 
 Dissembled groves and nymphs by tables placed 
 Adorn the sides, and tempt the sight and taste. 
 Yet more the gay, the lovely colour courts. 
 The flavour charms us, but the taste transports.
 
 PETER ANTHONY MOTTEAUX. 195 
 
 I drink, and lo ! the kindly steams arise. 
 Wine's vapour flags, and soon subsides and dies. 
 The friendly spirits brighten mine again. 
 Repel the brute, and re-inthrone the man. 
 The rising charmer with a pleasing ray 
 Dawns on the mind, and introduces day. 
 So its bright parent with prevailing light. 
 Recalls distinction, and displaces night. 
 At other times the wakeful leaf disdains 
 To leave the mind entranced in drowsie chains. 
 But now with all the night's fatigue opprest, 
 Tis reconciled lo sleep, and yields me up to rest. 
 
 t> *
 
 [ 196 ] 
 NICHOLAS ROWE. 
 
 Little Bedford, Bedfordshire, 1673 17 1. 
 
 He ranks higher as a translator than as a poet ; and as a 
 dramatist than either : He is a cold writer, and is said to 
 have had a cold heart. His genius certainly never rises 
 above the temperate point. He succeeded Nahura Tate 
 as Poet-Laureat. 
 
 Conn's Complaint. 
 
 To the Tunc of " Grim King of the Ghosts.' 
 
 -L'ESPAiRiNG beside a clear stream, 
 
 A shepherd forsaken was laid j 
 And while a false nymph was his theme, 
 
 A willow supported his head. 
 The wind that blew over the plain. 
 
 To his sighs with a sigh did reply ; 
 And the brook, in return to his pain. 
 
 Ran mournfully murmuring by.
 
 NICHOLAS ROWE. 197 
 
 Alas, silly swain that I was ! 
 
 Thus sadly complaining, he cryed. 
 When first I beheld that fair face, 
 
 Twere better by far f had dyed. 
 She talk'd, and I bless'd the dear tongue ; 
 
 When she smiled, 'twas a pleasure too great ; 
 J listened, and cryed, when she sung. 
 
 Was nightingale ever so sweet ? 
 
 How foolish was I to believe 
 
 She could doat on so lowly a clown. 
 Or that her fond heart would not grieve. 
 
 To forsake the fine folk of the town ? 
 To think that a beauty so gay. 
 
 So kind and so constant would prove j 
 Or go clad like our maidens in grey. 
 
 Or live in a cottage on love ? 
 
 What though I have skill to complain. 
 
 Though the muses my temples have crown'd j 
 What though, when they hear my soft strain, 
 
 The virgins sit weeping around. 
 Ah, Colin, tliy hopes are in vain, 
 
 Tl)y pipe and thy laurel resign ; 
 Thy false one inclines to a swain. 
 
 Whose music is sweeter than thine. 
 08
 
 198 NICHOLAS nowE. 
 
 And you, my companions so dear. 
 
 Who sorrow to see me betrayed. 
 Whatever I suffer, forbear. 
 
 Forbear to accuse the false maid. 
 Though through the wide world I should range, 
 
 ,'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly. 
 *Twas her's to be false and to change, 
 
 'Tis mine to be constant and die. 
 
 If while my hard fate I sustain. 
 
 In her breast any pity is found. 
 Let her come with the nymphs of the plain. 
 
 And see me laid low in the ground. 
 The last humble boon that I crave. 
 
 Is to shade me with cypress, and yewj 
 And when she looks down on my grave. 
 
 Let her own that her shepherd was true. 
 
 Hien to her new love let her go. 
 
 And deck her in golden array. 
 Be finest at every fine show. 
 
 And frolick it all the long day j 
 While Colin, forgotten and gone. 
 
 No more shall be talk'd of, or seen. 
 Unless when beneath the pale moon. 
 
 His ghost sliall glide over the green.
 
 yiCHOLlS Aowc. ld9 
 
 S O KG. 
 
 On a fine Woman who had a dull Husband. 
 
 I. 
 
 Whek on fair Celia's eyes I gaze. 
 
 And bless their light divine ; 
 I stand confounded with amaze. 
 
 To think on what they shme. 
 
 iz. 
 
 On one vile clod of earth she seems 
 
 To fix their influence ; 
 Which kindles not at those bright beams, 
 
 Wor wakens into sense, 
 
 III. 
 
 Lost and bewildered with the thought, 
 
 I could not but complain. 
 That Nature's lavish hand had wrought 
 
 This fairest work in vain. 
 
 o4
 
 200 KICHOLAS aOM'E. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Thus some, who have the stars survey^. 
 
 Are ignorantly led. 
 To think those glorious lamps were made 
 
 To light Tom Fool to bed.
 
 t ^1 ] 
 
 HENRY NEEDLER. 
 
 Harly, Surri/, 1690 1718. 
 
 One of the victims of literature. He held a small place in 
 one pf the public offices, and devoted his leisure to study. 
 This sedentary life induced pains in the head which at 
 length terminated in madness, and death. 
 
 A Vernal Ht/mn, in praise of the Creator. 
 
 Arise my Muse : awake thy sleeping lyre. 
 And fan with tuneful airs thy languid fire. 
 On daring pinions raised, low themes despise j 
 But stretch thy wings in yon bright azure skies. 
 Let not this chearful prime, these genial days 
 In silence pass, so friendly to thy lays. 
 Hark ! how the birds, on every blooming spray. 
 With sprightly notes accuse thy dull delay : 
 ^ee how the Spring, adorned with gaudy pride 
 And youthful beauty, smiles on every side !
 
 202 HENRY NEEDLER. 
 
 Here painted flowers in gay confusion grow ; 
 There chrystal streams in wild meanders flow : 
 The sprouting trees their leafy honours wear. 
 And zephyrs whisper through the balmy air. 
 All things to Verse invite. But, O ! my Muse, 
 What lofty theme, what subject wilt thou 
 
 chuse ? 
 The praise of wine let vulgar bards indite. 
 And Love's soft joys in wanton strains recite; 
 With nobler thoughts do thou my soul inspire^ 
 And with diviner warmth my bosom fire. 
 Thee best and greatest ! let my grateful lays. 
 Parent of Universal Nature, praise ! 
 All things are full of thee ! where e'er mine eye 
 Is turned, I still thy present Godhead spy ! 
 Each herb the footsteps of thy wisdom bears. 
 And every blade of grass thy power declares ! 
 As yon clear lake the pendent image shows 
 Of every flower that on its border grows ; 
 So, in the fair Creation's glass, we find 
 A faint reflection of the Eternal Mind, 
 
 Wbate'er of goodness and of excellence 
 In Nature's various scene accost the sense. 
 To thee alone their whole perfection owe. 
 From thee, as from their proper fountain, flow.
 
 HPNRY NEEDLER. 203 
 
 Fair are the stars, that grace the sable night. 
 And beauteous is the dawn of rosy light ; 
 Lovely the prospect, that each flowery field 
 These limpid streams and shady forests yield : 
 To thee compared, nor fair the stars of night. 
 Nor beauteous is the dawn of rosy light j 
 Nor lovely is the scene, each flowery field. 
 The limpid streams, and shady forests yield. 
 
 Incapable of bounds, above all height. 
 Thou art invisible to mortal sight ; 
 Thyself thy palace ! and, sustained by thee. 
 All live and move in thy immensity. 
 Thy voice omnipotent did infant day 
 Through the dark realms of empty space display. 
 This glorious arch of heavenly sapphires rear. 
 And spread tliis canopy of liquid air. 
 
 At thy command the starry host, the Sun, 
 And Moon unerringly their courses run j 
 Ceaseless they move, obsequious to fulfil 
 The task assigned by the almighty will. 
 Thy vital power, diffused from pole to pole. 
 Inspires and animates this ample whole. 
 
 If thou wert absent, the material mass 
 Would without motion lie in boundless space.
 
 204 HENRY NEEDLER, 
 
 The sun arrested in his spiral way. 
 
 No longer would dispense alternate day ; 
 
 A breathless calm would hush the stormy wind. 
 
 And a new frost the flowing rivers bind. 
 
 Whate'er, through false philosophy, is thought 
 To be by chance or parent-nature wrought. 
 From tliee alone proceeds. With timely rain 
 Thou satest the thirsty field and springing grain. 
 Inspired by thee, the northern tempests sweep 
 The bending corn, and toss the foamy deep : 
 Inspired by thee, the softer southern breeze 
 Wafts fragrant odours through the trembling trees. 
 By thee conducted through the darksome caves 
 And veins of hollow earth, the briny waves 
 In bubbling springs and fruitful fountains rise. 
 And spout their sweetened streams against the skies. 
 
 By thee, the brutal kind are taught to chuse 
 Their proper good, and noxious things refuse j 
 Hence each conforms his actions to his place. 
 Knows to preserve his life, and propagate his race. 
 Hence the wise conduct of the painful bee; 
 Who future want does constantly foresee. 
 Contrive her waxen cells with curious skill. 
 And with rich stores of gathered honey fill.
 
 HINRT WEEDLER. J05 
 
 Hence the gay birds, that sport in fluid air. 
 Soft nests, to lodge their callow young, prepare. 
 Rear with umvearied toil the tender brood. 
 From harms protect, and furnish 'en> with food. 
 
 But man, whom thy peculiar grace design'd 
 The image of tliine own eternal Mind, 
 Man thy chief favourite, thou didst inspire 
 With a bright spark of thy celestial fire. 
 Rich with a thinking soul, with piercing eye 
 He views the spacious earth and distant sky ; 
 And sees the various marks of skill divine. 
 That in each part of Nature's system shine. 
 Him therefore it becomes, in grateful lays. 
 To sing his bounteous Maker's solemn praise.
 
 C 206 } 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON. 
 
 16721719. 
 
 ^ AN ODE 
 
 For St, Cecilia's Day.^ 
 
 Prepare the hallowed strain, my Muse, 
 
 Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers choose f 
 
 The bright Cecilia's praise rehearse. 
 
 In warbling words, and gliding verse^ 
 
 That smoothly run into a song. 
 
 And gently die away, and melt upon the tongue.
 
 JOSEPH ADDISOH. 207 
 
 II. 
 
 First let the sprightly violin 
 
 The joyful melody begin. 
 
 And none of all her strings be mute. 
 
 While the sharp sound and shriller lay. 
 
 In sweet harmonious notes decay. 
 
 Softened and mellowed by the flute. 
 
 The flute that sweetly can complain. 
 
 Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain j 
 
 Panting sympathy impart. 
 
 Till she partake her lover's smart.** 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Next let the solemn organ Join 
 
 Religious airs, and strains divine^ 
 
 Such as may lift us to tlie skies. 
 
 And set all heaven before our eyes : 
 
 Such as may lift us to the skies j 
 
 So far at least till they 
 
 Descend with kind surprise. 
 
 And meet our pious harmony half-way."
 
 208 JOSEPH Aomsov^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let then the trumpet's piercing sound' 
 Our ravished ears with pleasure wound :: 
 
 The soul o'erpowering with delight. 
 As with a quick uncommon ray, 
 A streak of lightening clears the day,. 
 
 And flashes on the sight. 
 Let Echo too perform her part. 
 Prolonging every note with art. 
 
 And in a low expiring strain 
 
 Play all the concert o'er again.. 
 
 y. 
 
 Such were the tuneful notes that hung 
 
 On bright Cecilia's charming tongue : 
 
 Notes that sacred heats inspired. 
 
 And with religious ardour fired : 
 
 The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd: 
 
 His smothered passion in his breast. 
 
 No sooner heard the warbling dame. 
 
 But, by the secret influence turned,. 
 He felt a new diviner flame. 
 And with devotion burned : 
 With ravished soul, and looks amazed. 
 Upon her beauteous face he gazed ;
 
 J4}SEPH ADDISON. 20S 
 
 Nor made his amorous complaint : 
 In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd. 
 Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd. 
 
 And changed the lover to a saint. 
 
 GSAKD CHOEUS. 
 VI. 
 
 And now the choir complete rejoices. 
 
 With trembling strings and melting voices, 
 
 The tuneful ferment rises high. 
 
 And works witli mingled melody : 
 
 Quick divisions nm their rounds, 
 
 A thousand trills and quivering sounds^ 
 
 In airy circles o'er us fly. 
 Till, wafted by a gentle breeze. 
 They faint and languish by degrees. 
 
 And at a distance die. 
 
 AN OOE. 
 
 I. 
 
 How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! 
 How sure is their defence ! 
 
 VOL. 1. f
 
 %10 JOSEPH ADDISON. 
 
 Eternal >)vi,sdom is their guide. 
 Their help omnipotence. 
 
 II. 
 
 In foreign realms, and lands remote. 
 
 Supported by thy care. 
 Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, 
 
 And breatlied in tainted air. 
 
 III. 
 Thy mercy sweeten'd every soU, 
 
 Made every region please } 
 The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd. 
 
 And Braoothed the Tyrrhene seas^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 Think, O my soul, devoutly think. 
 
 How, with affrighted eyes. 
 Thou saAv'st the wide extended deep. 
 
 In all its horrors rise. 
 
 V. 
 
 Confusion dwelt on every face. 
 
 And fear in every heart ; 
 "When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs 
 
 O'ercame the pilot's art.
 
 ( JOSPH ADDTSQX* 9^ 
 
 1. 
 
 Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord ! 
 
 Thy mercy set me free j 
 Whilst in the confidence of prayer. 
 
 My soul took hold on thee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For though in dreadful whirls we hung 
 
 High on the broken wave, 
 I knew thou wert not slow to hear. 
 
 Nor impotent to save. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The storm was laid, the winds retired. 
 
 Obedient to thy will j 
 Tlie sea, that roar'd at thy comman4. 
 
 At thy command was still. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In midst of dangers, fears, and deatli. 
 
 Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
 And praise thee for thy mercies past. 
 
 And humbly hope for more\ 
 
 P 2
 
 212 jaSEPH ADOISOK. 
 
 My life, if thou preservest my life. 
 
 Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
 And death, if death must be my doom. 
 
 Shall join my soul to thee. 
 
 . ,4* 
 
 C"
 
 t 213 ]. 
 
 JOHN HUGHES. 
 
 Marlborough, June 29, 1677 Fe* 17, 1719. 
 
 A painter, a musician, and a poet; we want a diminutive 
 for this last word. The Siege of Damascus, however, 
 ranks Hughes above all his contemporary dramatists. 
 
 AN ODE, 
 
 In Praise of Peace. 
 Performed in Stationers' Hall, 1703. 
 
 Awake, celestial harmony ! 
 Awake, celestial harmony I 
 Turn thy vocal sphere around. 
 Goddess ofmelodious sound- 
 Let the trumpet's shrill voice. 
 And the drum's thundering noise,. 
 Rouse every dull mortal from sorrows profound, 
 p3
 
 St4 JOHN ftUGHtS. 
 
 See, see ! 
 The mighty power of harmony ! 
 Behold how soon its charms can chase 
 Grief and gloom from every place ! 
 How swift its raptures fly. 
 
 And thrill through every soul, and brighten every 
 eye! 
 
 Proceed, sweet charmer of the ear ! 
 
 Proceed 3 and through the mellow flute. 
 The moving Ijre, 
 And solitary lute. 
 Melting airs soft joys inspire : 
 
 Airs for drooping hope to hear. 
 
 Melting as a lover's prayer j 
 
 Joys to flatter dull despair. 
 
 And softly soothe the amorous Are. 
 
 CHORUS* 
 
 Melting airs soft joys inspire : 
 
 Airs for drooping hope to hear. 
 
 Melting as a lover's prayer : 
 
 Joys to flatter dull despair, 'h-.- A. 
 
 And softly soothe the amorous fire. ; 'l
 
 JOHN HUGBES. 915 
 
 Now let the sprightly violin 
 A louder strain begin j 
 
 And now ' 
 
 Let the deep-mouthed organ blow. 
 Swell it high, and sink it low ; 
 Ifark ! how the treble and base 
 In wanton fugues each other chase. 
 And swift divisions run their airy race 1 
 Through all the traversed scale they fly. 
 In winding labyrinths of harmony : 
 By turns they rise and fall, by turns we live and<lie. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 In winding labyrinths of harmony. 
 
 Through all the traversed scale they fly : 
 
 By turns they rise and fall, by turns we live and di^, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye sons of art, once more renew your strains ; 
 In loftier verse, and loftier lays, ^ 
 
 Your voices raise. 
 
 To musick's praise. 
 
 A nobler song remains ! 
 p4
 
 lll'd' JOHN HUCHEa. 
 
 Sing how the greater God, 
 
 On wings of flaming cherubs rode. 
 
 To make a world ; and round the dark abyss^ 
 
 Turn'd the golden compasses. 
 
 The compasses in fate's high storehouse found ; 
 
 Thus far extend, he said ; be this 
 
 O world, thy measured bound. 
 
 Meanwhile a thousand harps were played on high j 
 Be this thy measured bound. 
 Was echoed all around : 
 
 And now.arise, ye earth, and seas, and sky ; 
 A thousand voices made reply. 
 Arise, ye earth, and seas,. and sky. 
 
 V. 
 
 What can musick*s power controul ? 
 
 When natare's sleeping soul 
 
 Perceived the enchanting sounds 
 
 It waked, and shook off foul deformity ,- 
 
 The mighty melody 
 
 Nature's secret chains unbound ; 
 
 And earth arose, and seas, and sky. 
 
 Aloft expanded'spheres were slung. 
 
 With shining luminaries hung ; 
 
 A vast creation stood displayed. 
 
 By heaven's inspiring musick made.
 
 JOHK HUGHES. V.f 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 O wonderoas force of harmony ! 
 
 Divinest art, whose fame shall never cease ! 
 
 TTiy honour'd voice proclaim'd the Saviour's birth.j 
 
 When heaven vouchsafed to treat with earth, 
 
 Musick was herald of the peace ; 
 
 Thy voice could best the joyful tidings tell >. 
 
 Immortal mercy, boundless love ! 
 
 A god descending from above. 
 
 To conquer death and hell. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There yet remains an hour of fate. 
 
 When musick must again its charms employ ; 
 
 The trumpet's sound 
 Shall call the numerous nations under ground : 
 
 The numerous nations straight 
 Appear : and some with grief, and some with joy, 
 
 Their final sentence wait. * 
 
 6BAND CHORUS. 
 
 Then other arts shall pass away : 
 
 Proud architecture shall in ruins lie. 
 
 And pair.ving fade and die. 
 
 Nay earth, and heaven itself, in wasteful fire decay.
 
 Y 
 
 l>ld JOHN HUGHES. 
 
 Musick alone, and poesy, 
 Triunnphant o'er the flame, shall see 
 The world's last blaze. 
 The tuneful sisters shall embrace. 
 And praise and sing, and sing and praise. 
 In never-ceasing choirs to all eternity.
 
 C 219 ] ^^ 
 
 JOHN SHEFFIELD^ 
 
 nVKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 16491720. 
 
 It \a said when this nobleman was sent to relieve Tangiers 
 he was intentionally exposed in a leaky vessel, because 
 he had made overtures of marriage to the Princess Anne. 
 Charles II. was certainly unprincipled enough to commit 
 any wickedness, but in this case there would have been 
 some difficuhy in getting a captain to assist in the plot. 
 
 llie most remarkable of his compositions is bis ova 
 Epitaph. 
 
 Dubius, sed non imbrobus vixi ; 
 Incertus morior, non perturbatus ; 
 Humanum est nescirect errare. 
 
 ' Deo conBdo 
 
 Omnipotenti, benevolentissimo. 
 Ens entium miserere mibi !
 
 220 SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 The Htconcilement. 
 SONG. 
 
 V'OME, let us aow resolve at last 
 To live and love in quiet : 
 
 We'll tie tlie knot so very fast. 
 That time shall ne'er untie it.. 
 
 The truest joys tliey seldom prove. 
 Who free from quarrels live ; 
 
 'Tis the most tender part of love. 
 Each other to forgive. 
 
 When least I seem'd concern'd, I took 
 No pleasure, nor no rest j 
 
 And when I feign' d an angry look, 
 Alas ! I loved you best. 
 
 Own but the same to me, you'll find 
 How blest will be our fate 3 
 
 Oh, to be happy, to be kind. 
 Sure never is too late.
 
 SHEFFIELD) DUEE OF BtJCKIKGHAW. 221 
 
 STAKZAS. 
 
 Wheke'er my foolish bent to publick good. 
 Or fonder zeal for some misguided prince. 
 
 Shall make my dangerous humour understood. 
 For changing ministers for men of sense : 
 
 When, vainly proud to show uiy publick care. 
 And even ashamed to see three nations fool'd, 
 
 I shall no longer bear a wretched share. 
 In ruling ill, or being over-ruled: 
 
 Then, as old teachers in a winters' night. 
 To yawning hearers all tlieir pranks disclose j 
 
 And what decay deprives them of delight. 
 Supply with vain endeavours to impose : 
 
 Just so shall I as idly entertain 
 
 Some stripling patriots, fond of seeming wise } 
 Tell, how I still could great employments gain. 
 
 Without concealing truths, or whispering lies ! 
 
 Boast of succeeding in my country's cause, 
 Even against some almost too high to blame 3 
 
 Whom, when advanced beyond the reach of laws,- 
 I oft had ridiculed to sense and shame 3
 
 322 SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, 
 
 Say, I resisted the most potent fraud ; 
 
 But friendless merit openly approved ; 
 And that I was above the being awed. 
 
 Not only by my prince, but those he loved : 
 
 Who knows but my example tlien may please 
 Such noble, hopeful spirits, as appear 
 
 Willing to slight their pleasures and their ease. 
 For fame and houour ? till at last they hear. 
 
 After much trouble borne, and danger run. 
 The crown assisted, and my country served y 
 
 Without good fortune I had been undone. 
 Without a good estate I might have starved.
 
 C 223 ] 
 
 ANNE, 
 
 COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. 
 
 1720. 
 
 Daughter of Sir William Kingsmill, of Sidmonton, Hants. 
 Her Poems were praised by Rowe and by Pope; and 
 they deserved praise. They were published collectively, 
 J713. 
 
 The Petition for an Absolute Retreat, 
 
 Give me, O indulgent Fate ! 
 
 Give me yet, before I dye, 
 
 A sweet, but absolute retreat, 
 
 'Mongst paths so lost, and trees so high.
 
 !224 ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. 
 
 That tlie world may ne'er invade. 
 Through such windings, and such shade. 
 My unshaken liberty. 
 
 No intruders thither come ! 
 Who visit, but to be from home j 
 None who their vain moments pasSj 
 Only studious of their glass. 
 News, that charm to listening ears. 
 That false alarm to hopes and fears. 
 That common theme for every fop. 
 From the statesman to the shop. 
 In those coverts ne'er be spread. 
 Of who's deceased, or who's to wed. 
 Be no tidings thither brought. 
 But silent, as a midnight thought. 
 Where the world may ne'er invade, , 
 Be those' windings, and that shade : 
 
 Courteous Fate ! afford me there 
 A table spread without my care. 
 With what the neighb'ring fields impart^, 
 Whose cleanliness be all it's art. 
 When, of old, the calf was drest, 
 (Though to make an angel's feast)
 
 ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCnELSEA. 225 
 
 In the plain, unstudied sauce. 
 
 Nor Tr'eufle, nor Morillia was ; 
 
 Nor could the mighty patriarch's board 
 
 One far-fetch'd OrtoUme afford. 
 
 Courteous Fate, then give me there 
 
 Only plain and wholesome fare. 
 
 Fruits indeed (would Heaven bestow) 
 
 All, that did in Eden grow. 
 
 All, but the Forlidden Tree, 
 
 Would be coveted by me ; 
 
 Grapes, with juice so crouded up. 
 
 As breaking thro' the native cup ; 
 
 Figs', yet growing, candy 'd o'er. 
 
 By the Sun's attracting power ; 
 
 Cherries, with the downy peach. 
 
 All within my easie reach ; 
 
 Whilst creeping near the humble ground. 
 
 Should the strawberry be found 
 
 Springing wheresoe'er I stray'd. 
 
 Through those windings and that shade. 
 
 Give me tiiere (since Heaven has shown 
 It was not good to be alone) 
 A partner suited to my mind. 
 Solitary, pleased, and kind ; 
 VOL. I. a
 
 226 ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. 
 
 Who, partially, may something see 
 
 Preferr'd to all the world in me ; 
 
 Slighting, by my humble side. 
 
 Fame and splendour, wealth and pride. 
 
 When but two the earth possest, 
 
 *Twas their happiest days, and best ; 
 
 They by bus'ness, nor by wars, 
 
 Tliey by no domestick cares. 
 
 From each other e'er were drawn. 
 
 But in some grove, or flowery lawn. 
 
 Spent the swiftly flying time. 
 
 Spent their own, and Nature's prime. 
 
 In love ; that only passion given 
 
 To perfect man, whilst friends with Heaven. 
 
 Rage, and jealousies, and hate. 
 
 Transports of his fallen state. 
 
 When by Satan's wiles betray'd 
 
 Fly those windings, and tliat shade !
 
 [ 227 3 
 
 MATTHEW PRIOR. 
 
 Winborne, IG64 1721. 
 
 Cloe Jealous. 
 
 foRBSAB to ask me, why I weep 5 
 Vext Cloe to her shepherd said ; 
 
 'Tis for my two poor straggling sheeji, 
 PerhapSj or for my squirrel dead. 
 
 For mind I what you late have writ ? 
 
 Your subtle questions and replies ? 
 Emblems, to teach a female wit 
 
 The ways, where changing cupid flies ? 
 
 Your riddle purposed to rel^earse 
 The general power that beauty has ; 
 
 But why did no peculiar verse 
 
 Describe one charm of Cloe's face ? 
 
 The glass, which was at Venus' shrifle, 
 With such mysterious sorrow laid : 
 
 The garland (and you call it m'ne)- 
 
 Which show'd how youth and beauty fai;
 
 22S MATTHEW pnioii. 
 
 Ten thousand trifles light as these. 
 Nor can my rage, nor anger, naove : 
 
 She should be humble, who would please ; 
 And she must suffer, who can love. 
 
 When in my glass I chanced to look j 
 Of Venus what did I implore ? 
 
 That every grace, which thence I took. 
 Should know to charm my Damon more. 
 
 Reading thy verse ; who heeds, said I, 
 If here or there his glances flow ? 
 
 O, free for ever be his eye,' 
 
 Whose heart to me is always true ! 
 
 My bloom indeed, my little flower 
 Of beauty quickly lost its pride : 
 
 For sever'd from its native bower. 
 It on thy glowing bosom dyed. 
 
 Yet cared I not what might presage 
 
 Or withering wreaths, or fleeting youth ; 
 
 Love I esteem 'd more strong than age. 
 And tirne less permanent than truth. 
 
 Why then I weep, forbear to know : 
 Fall, uncontroU'd, my tears, and free j
 
 MATTHEW PRIOR. -229 
 
 O Damon ! 'tis the only woe, , 
 
 I ever yet concealed from thee. 
 
 The secret wound with which I bleed 
 
 Shall lie wrapt up, even In my hearse ; 
 But on my tomb-stone thou shalt read 
 ^ly answer to tliy dubious verse. 
 
 Answer to doe Jealous.- 
 
 DEAKCloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! 
 
 Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd : 
 Prythee quit this caprice } and (as old FalstafF 
 says) 
 Let us e'en talk a little like the folks of this 
 work!. 
 
 How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy 
 
 The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy 
 
 keeping ? 
 
 Tliose looks were design'd'to inspire love and joy : 
 
 More ordinary eyes may serve people for 
 
 ' weeping. 
 
 u3
 
 To be vex'd at a trifle or two that I writ. 
 
 Your judgment at once, and my passion you 
 wrong : 
 You take that for fact, which will scarce be found 
 wit, 
 Od's-life ! must oiifi swear to the truth of a 
 song ? 
 
 What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, 
 shows 
 The difference there is betwixt nature and art : 
 I court others in verse ; but I love thee in prose : 
 And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my 
 heart. 
 
 The god of us verse-men, you know, child, the sun. 
 
 How, alter his journeys he sets up his rest : 
 If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to nm j 
 At night he declines on his Thetis's Iwreast. 
 
 So when I am weary'dxyith wandering all day. 
 To thee, my delight, in the evening I come : ' 
 No matter vv^feat beauties I saw in my way ; 
 . They were but my visits, but thou art my home.
 
 MATTUEV PRIOR. ^31 
 
 Then tinish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war; 
 
 And let us like Horace and Lydia agree : 
 For thou art a girl as much brighter than her. 
 
 As he A^as a poet sublimer than me. 
 
 To a Ptrson vho tcroteill, andtpoke tcorse against me. 
 
 Lyr, Philo, untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf. 
 Nor take it amiss, that so little 1 heed thee, 
 
 I've no envy to thee, and some love to myself. 
 Then why should I answer, since first I must 
 read thee ? 
 
 Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd 
 bub. 
 
 Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag ; 
 To the solid delight of thy well -judging club, 
 
 T9 the damage alone of lliy bookseller. Brag; 
 
 Pursue me with satire, what harm is there in't ? 
 
 But from all viva voce reflection forbear : 
 I'here can be no danger from what thou shalt print : 
 There may be a little from what tbou may'st 
 swear. 
 
 a 4
 
 232 MATTHEW PRIOR, 
 
 For my own Monument. 
 
 As doctors give physic by way of prevention. 
 Mat, alive and in health, of his tombstone took 
 care ; 
 
 For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention 
 May h^ply be never fulfill'd by his heir. 
 
 Then take. Mat's word for it, the sculptor is 
 paid ; 
 That tlie figure is fine, pray believe your own 
 eye;. , 
 
 Yejt credit but lightly what more may be said. 
 For we flatter ourselves and teach marble to lie. 
 
 Yet, counting as far as to fifty his years. 
 
 His virtues and'vices were as other men's are ; 
 
 High hopes he conceived, and he smother'd great 
 fears, 
 
 In a life party-colour'd, half pleasure, half care. 
 
 Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave. 
 He. strove to make interest and freedom agree ; 
 
 In public employments industrious and grave. 
 And alone widi his friends, lord, how merry 
 was he !
 
 MATTHE>r PRIOR. 233 
 
 Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot. 
 Both fortunes he try'd, but to neither would 
 trust ; 
 And whirl'd in the round, as the wheel turn'd about. 
 He found riches had wings, and knew man was 
 but dust. 
 
 This verse little poUsh'd, though mighty sincere. 
 Sets neither his titles nor merit to view j 
 
 It says that his relicks collected lie here, ' 
 
 And no mortal yet knows too if this may be true. 
 
 Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway. 
 So Mat may be kill'd, and his bones never found -j 
 
 False witness at courts, and fierce tempests at sea. 
 So Mat. may yet chance to be" hang'd,* or be 
 .drown'd. 
 
 If his bones lie in earth, roll in sea, fly in air, 
 To fate we must yield, and the thing is the same. 
 And if passing thou givest him a smile, or a tear. 
 He cares not ^j'et pr'ythee be. kind to his fame. 
 

 
 [ 234 J 
 SUSANNA CENTLIVRE. 
 
 1723. 
 
 * If we do not allow her to be the very first of our female 
 
 writers,' says the able author of the Biographia Drama- 
 tica, she has but one above her, and may justly be 
 placed next to her predecessor in dramatick glory, the 
 great Mrs. Eehn.' 
 Mis. Centlivre's life was less chequered, and more decorous 
 than that of any of her literal y female contemporaries. 
 She was, however, thrice married: Some of her earlier 
 pieces were published under the name of Carrol, that of 
 her second husband. 
 
 Ode to Hygeic. 
 
 Best of all our earthly wealth 
 Everlasting charmer. Health, 
 Bloomitig goddess, far more gay 
 Than the flowery meads in May. 
 When the airy warblers meet. 
 Than thy voice their songs less sweet. 
 When thou dost thy sighs refiise. 
 Gold and gems their value lose j
 
 SUSANNA CEWTLITRE. 335 
 
 Take thy downy joys away. 
 And no other joys will stay. 
 Wanting thee, what monarch knows 
 Taste of power, or sweet repose. 
 To enjoy 'thee is to live. 
 Thou dost all our blessings give. 
 
 Great Hygeia, lend an ear, 
 Britannia's prayer vouchsafe to hear, 
 Britannia on thy aid relies 
 Help ! or else thy Walpole dies. 
 Though thou'st frequent cause to blame 
 The old ungrateful fickle dame ; 
 Yet preserve her patriot's life. 
 In compassion to his wife, 
 Calni tlie tehipest in that breast 
 Where great Walpole wont to rest. 
 Bid those eyes their streams forbear. 
 Whose look gives pleasure every where. 
 Hear us. Health's great goddess, liear. 
 
 Our prayers prevail the statesman livei. 
 
 Behold the deity arrives. 
 
 And health again to Walpole give* ; 
 
 Britannia's welfare to restore. 
 
 Oil, may he neyer want it more.
 
 23(5 MATTHEW PRIOR. 
 
 To the Duchess of Bolton, upon seeing her Picture 
 drawn unlike her. 
 
 'Tis true on canvas none can trace 
 The lines of beauteous Bolton's face. 
 
 Or shadow out her air. 
 Perfection mocks the painter's art. 
 But turn your eyes into your heart. 
 
 You'll find her image there. 
 
 In visions thus to saints 'tis given. 
 To gaze upon the joys of Heaven, 
 
 And yet they .all confess. 
 Something there is so glorious still. 
 Which all their art, with all their skill. 
 
 Can never once express.
 
 [ 237 ] 
 
 THOMAS D'URFEY 
 
 17-2.S. 
 
 Had D'Urfey lived in an age .When vice had been less bare- 
 faced, his " happy knack of writing Satires and irregular 
 Odes" might have pleaded something in his favour as a 
 poet. We may, however, believe the effect of his ri- 
 baldry to have been innocent, when we find the moral 
 Isaac Bickerstaff recommending his cause to the pub- 
 lisher, in the 67th Number of the GuAnniAN, and re- 
 quiring their patronage to a Play performed for his bene- 
 fit, when in his old age he was much reduced. There is 
 tyery reason to suppose that this effort of friendship was 
 successful. In his youth he bad lived in the best socie- 
 ties, and was noticed by Charles II. ; and country gen- 
 tlemen, who thought that wit, like other plagues, 
 might be caught by infection, made ifa subject of 
 boast among their fellow squires, if by accident they had 
 breathed in the same room with Tom D'Urfey.* 
 
 The first of the follovcing ypecimens is remarkable for the 
 
 difficulty which Purccll found in setting it to muiick. 
 
 The second endeared DLJifcy to the Tories.
 
 238 THOMAS d'urfet. 
 
 The Parson among the Peas. 
 
 A NEW SONG. 
 
 One long Whitsun holliday, 
 Holliday, holliday, 'twas a jolly day ; 
 Young Ralph, buxom Phillida, Phillida, a-well- 
 a-day. 
 
 Met in the Peas : 
 They long had community. 
 He loved her, she loved him. 
 Joyful unity, nought but opportunity. 
 
 Scanting was wanting their bosoms to ease : 
 But now Fortune's cruelty, cruelty. 
 You will see, for as they lye. 
 In close hugg. Sir Domine, Gemini, Goniini, 
 
 Chanced to come by ', 
 He read prayers i' th' family : 
 No way now to frame a lie. 
 They scared at old Homily, Homily, Homily, 
 
 Both away fly. 
 Home, soon as he saw the sight, full of spight, . 
 As a kite runs the Recubite, 
 Like a noisy Hypocrite, Hypocnte, Hypocrite, 
 
 Mischief to say ;
 
 TirOMAs D'unrET. 239 
 
 5ave he wou'd fair PhilUda, Phillida, PhilUda. 
 Drest that holy day. 
 
 But, poor Ralph, all well-a-day, well-a-day, well- 
 a-day, 
 
 Turn'd was away. 
 Ads niggs, crys Sir Domine, Gemini, Gomini, 
 Shall a rogue stay. 
 To baulk me as commonly, commonly, commonly. 
 
 Has been his way. 
 No, I serve the family. 
 They know nought to blame me by, 
 I'll read prayers and Homily, Homily, Homily, 
 
 Three times a day. 
 
 THE KING'S HEALTH. 
 
 ^ The First Strain. 
 
 Joy to Great Cesar, 
 
 Long life, love, and pleasure ; 
 'Tis a health that divine is. 
 Fill the bowle high as mine is : 
 Let none fear a feaver. 
 But take it off thus boys j 
 Let the king live for ever, 
 'TU no matter for us boys.
 
 210 THOMAS n'uRFEY. 
 
 The Second Strain. 
 
 Try all the loyal. 
 Defy all. 
 Give denyall ; 
 
 Sure none thinks his glass too big here. 
 Nor any prig here, 
 Or sneaking whig here, 
 y Of Cripple Tony's crew. 
 That now looks blue. 
 His heart akes too. 
 The tap won't do. 
 His zeal so true. 
 And projects new, 
 Jll fate* does now pursue. 
 
 The Third Si rain. 
 
 Let Tories guard the King, 
 Let Whigs in halters swing j 
 Let Pilk, and Shute be sham'd, 
 
 J-et Oates be damn'd : 
 
 Let cheating P]a3'er be nick'd. 
 
 The turn-coat scribe he kick'd ; % 
 
 Let rebel city dons. 
 
 Ne'er beget their sons : 
 
 Let ev'ry Whiggish peer, 
 
 1 hat rapes a lady fair.
 
 THOMAS D'tTRFET* 241 
 
 And leaves his only dear. 
 The sheets to gnaw and tear. 
 Be punish'd out of hand. 
 And forced to pawn his land 
 T' attone the grand affair. 
 
 The Fourth Strain. 
 
 Great Charles, like Jehovah, 
 Spares those would un-king him ;. 
 iVnd warms with his graces. 
 The vipers that sting him : 
 Till crown'd with just anger. 
 The rebel he seizes ; 
 Thus Heaven can thunder, , 
 
 When ever it pleases. 
 
 JIGG. . 
 
 Then to the Duke fill, fill up the glass. 
 The son of our martyr, beloved of the king ; 
 
 Envy'd and loved. 
 
 Yet blest from above. 
 Secured by an angel safe under his wing, 
 
 TheJSixth Strain. 
 
 Faction and folly. 
 And state melancholy, 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 %4i THOMAS d'CRFET. 
 
 With Tony in IVJiigland for ever shall dwell j 
 
 Let witj wine, and beauty. 
 
 Then teach us our duty. 
 For none e'er can love, or be wise, and rebeL
 
 [ 245 J 
 CHARLES GILDON, 
 
 Gillingham, near Shaflbury, 16651723. 
 
 A formidable Critick, who, like most criticks, was more suc- 
 cessful in detecting faults, than in producing beauties. 
 His writings, whether dramatick or didactick, critical or 
 poetical, dcistical or anti-deistical, are now forgotten. 
 
 To Salvia. A Song. 
 
 Stlvia, could ydareyes but see 
 The wounds youij killing beauties give j 
 
 A lover you might read in me. 
 Who, if you frown, disdains to live. 
 
 But oh I the artless fair ones know 
 
 No more than tongues or eyes persuade ; 
 
 Tongues that deceive, and eyes that shew 
 Too often love an art is made. 
 
 For a sincere and tender passion : 
 Ah ! how severe and hard a fjfte ! 
 n 2
 
 544 CHARLES GILDON. 
 
 That faith's not known from oaths for fashion. 
 Nor naked truth from gay deceit. 
 
 Soft as your balmy breath's my flame. 
 
 When strugghng love breaks out in sighs ; 
 
 Immortal, as I'll make your name. 
 And as bewitching as your eyes. 
 
 But hold, fond Swain I Ah ! tell no more ! 
 
 For Heaven, and the heavenly fair 
 Their favours on the happy shower. 
 
 Leaving the wretch still to despair. 
 
 To Sylvia. The Meeting, 
 
 Gods ! when we met how dull was I ! 
 
 My tongue, that used to move 
 
 So glibly on the theme of love, " ; "^' 
 
 Now when 'twas real, lay motionless and still ; 
 
 Nor would it to fair Sylvia tell 
 
 The eager pangs and torments of my mind : 
 
 But like a false deceitful friend. 
 
 Officious in ray sun shine day, 
 
 Profering his service and his coin, 
 
 (When he was hre I wanted none)
 
 CHARLES GILDOy. ^45 
 
 Btit when I needed most, he proved most shy, 
 Leaving me speechless, when I'd most to say : 
 My very fancy, and my thoughts were flown. 
 So wholly was I lost in unexpected joy. 
 
 All extreme joy in silence reigns. 
 
 As grief, when in excess. 
 
 A fluent tale proves either less. 
 
 The lighter wounds of fortune are made known 
 
 In formal words, arid mournful tone : 
 
 But when she deeper strikes her dart, 
 
 'Tis mute, and festers in the heart : ' 
 
 So lesser joy is noisy, brisk, and gay. 
 
 Flows in full tides of laugh, and talk. 
 
 Admits no silent check or balk : 
 
 But when so great as mine, the sense it chains. 
 
 Imperfect words ! a sigh ! a soft caress ! 
 
 A trembling body, and a ravish'd kiss. 
 
 Was all the wondrous language of m' unruly joy. 
 
 To Mr. Charles Hopkim, on reading his Translations. 
 
 Thus sweetly once the love-siok Orpheus sung. 
 When on his voice the sylvan audience hung j 
 VOL. I. K 3
 
 MP CHARLES GILDOKt 
 
 Thus smooth his numbers, and thus soft his song,; 
 That calm'd the native rage of the infernal throng* 
 Ah ! np, my friend, I wrong thy nobler fame. 
 He only woods, stones, brutes, and hell could tamei 
 And female madness strove in vain t' assuage. 
 Falling a victim to their thoughtless rage ; 
 But thou canst melt Si. woman's boundless hate. 
 Bend all her stubborn pride, and all her rage abater 
 Exalt her sordid mercenary mind. 
 And make the sex soft, generous, just, and kind. 
 Go on, dear youth, with lucky omens move. 
 And teach the British ladies how to love. 
 Shew every spring by which the passions rise. 
 How admiration first attacks the eyes. 
 Thence how it gently does the heart surprise:* 
 How there it kindles that unruly fire. 
 That qoelts our past indifference to glowing hot de- 
 sire. 
 Shew the mistajien methods of the fair. 
 Who drive their sighing slaves to curs'd despair. 
 Ah ! let thy verse more tender thoughts inspire. 
 And make relentless fair ones burn with, equal fire, 
 Like Ovid's shall thy picture then be worn. 
 And the glad hand of every youth adorn. 
 As a sure philtre 'gainst his mistress' scorn.
 
 [ 247 3 
 DE LA RIVIERE MANLY. 
 
 1724. 
 
 This extraordinary woman was daughter of Sir Roger 
 Manly, who is said to have written the first volume of 
 the Turkish Spy. A near relation, who was also her 
 guardian, seduced her by a false marriage, the villain 
 being married. In consequence, she passed some years 
 nf wretchedness before her talents made her known to 
 the world ; and when she ceased to be miserable, she 
 ceased also to be respectable. 
 
 Her New Atalantis was so obnoxious to the Whig Ministry 
 that they issued a warrant to apprehend the printer and 
 publisher. Mrs. Manly would not permit the innocent 
 to suffer. She presented herself as the author. The Se- 
 cretary of State, Lord Sunderland, was curious to kno^ 
 how she had obtained tntelligence of certain particulars 
 which he conceived had been above her own means of 
 information. She replied, that she had written merely 
 for her own amuscmeat ia the country, that no paTtjcu- 
 lar reflections, or characters were designed, and that no 
 person was concerned wiih her. When this was not be- 
 lieved, and, in fact, disproved by many circumstances, she 
 said, ' then it must be by inspiration, because knowing 
 her own innocence, she could account for it no other 
 way.' The Secretary replied, thtt " inspiration used te 
 R 1
 
 248 BE LA RIVIERE*MANLT. 
 
 be upon a good account, but her writings were starit 
 naught.' She acknowledged that his Lordship's observa- 
 tion might be true ; but as there were evil angels as well 
 as good, what she had written might still be by inspira> 
 \ion. 
 With the Tory Administration she was in great favour, and 
 defended their disgraceful measures with spirit and ability. 
 It is praise enough to say, that she was thought fit to 
 continue the Examiner, after Swift relinquished it, that 
 he often furnished her with hints, and sometimes per- 
 mitted her to finish what he had begun. 
 
 To J. M E, Esq. 
 
 O/* Worcester College, Oxon, 
 
 BY MRS. MANLY. 
 
 V/XFORD, for all thy fops and smarts 
 Let this prodigious youth atone. 
 
 Whilst others frisk and dress at hearts. 
 He makes thy better part his own. 
 
 Yet small addition catfst thou give, 
 Nature gave all her vt^ealth before ; 
 
 How little can this son receive ! 
 How full already is his store i
 
 DE LA niVIERE HANLT. 24f 
 
 Others advance by slow degrees. 
 
 Long, long they feed, before they taste. 
 
 Their letters but -with years increase. 
 And good digestion comes the last. 
 
 But his vast mind compleatly form'd, 
 "Was thoroughly finish' d when begun, 
 
 "So all at once the world was warm'd, l 
 
 On the great birth-day of the Sun. '
 
 i 250 ] 
 
 ELKANAH SETTLE. 
 
 Dunstable, 1666 1724. 
 
 If poor Elkanah had been baptized by any name in th.e 
 common Propria qu<e maribus of England, his ignomy 
 might have slept with him in the grave, but his god- 
 fathers enabled his enemies to, hand him down to ever- 
 lasting remembrance. 
 
 It was Elkanah's misfortune that he should have been 
 instigated to rival Dryden, and it is a fine specimen of 
 the eflfect faction will produce upon t.:ste, for there were 
 many who believed and asserted that he excelled his an- 
 tagonist. There remains a heavier charge against him 
 than his natural dullness and hi* pardonable vanity. He 
 was a scoundrel. The principles which he honestly es- 
 pou'^ed in his outset he abandoned for interest, and he 
 was employed to animadvert upon the dying declaration 
 of Russel and Sidney. After this, despised as vvell as 
 despicable, we find him subsisting by writing Drolls for 
 Bartholomew Fair, playing the Dragon in St. George 
 for England, in a green leather case of his own invention, 
 and dying in an alms house.
 
 VLKINXH SETTLE. 1S51 
 
 From Azariah and Hus/iaL 
 A POEM. 
 
 Ik impious times when priestcraft was at height. 
 
 And all'the deadly sins esteemed light ; 
 
 When that religion only was a stale. 
 
 And some bow'd down to God, and some to Baal; 
 
 When perjury was scarce esteem'd a sin. 
 
 And vice, like flowing tides, came rowling in^ 
 
 When luxur)"^, debauch, and concubine. 
 
 The sad effects of women and of wine. 
 
 Raged in Judea and Jerusalem, 
 
 Good Amazia of great David's stem, 
 
 God-like and great in peace did rule that land. 
 
 And all the Jews stoop'd to his just command. 
 
 Long now in Sion had he peace enjoy'd. 
 
 After that civil broils the land destroy'd : 
 
 Plenty and peace attended on his reign. 
 
 And Solomon's golden days returned again ; 
 
 When the old Canaanites, who there did lurk. 
 
 Began to find both God and King new work : 
 
 For Amazia, though be God did love. 
 
 Had not cast out Baal's priests, and cut down 
 
 every grove. 
 Too oft Religion's made pretence for sin^ 
 About it in all ages strife has been ,-
 
 ^62 ELKANAH SETTLE. 
 
 But interest, which at bottom doth remain, 
 "Which still converts all godliness to gain, 
 Whate'er pretence is made, is tlie true cause. 
 That moves the priest, and like the loadstone draws. 
 The Canaanites of old that land possess'd. 
 And long therein idolatry profess' d } 
 Till sins of priest, and of the common rout. 
 Caused God and his good Kings to cast them out. 
 Their idols were puU'd down, their groves destroy'd. 
 Strict laws against them, and their worship made. 
 The heathen priests were banish'd from the land 
 Of Baal, no temple sufFer'd was to stand ; 
 And all succeeding Kings made it their care. 
 They should no more rear up their altars there. 
 If some mild Kings did wink at their abode. 
 They to the Jews still proved a pricking-goad : 
 Growing more bold they peoal laws defy'd. 
 And like tormenting thorns, stuck in their side. 
 The busy priests had lost their gainful trade. 
 Revenge and malice do their hearts invade ; 
 And since by force they can't themselves restore. 
 Nor gain the sway tliey in Judea bore. 
 With hell they join their secret plots to bring 
 Destruction to Judea and its King.
 
 [ 253 ] 
 
 GEORGE SEWELL. 
 
 1726. 
 
 Dr. Sewell was a writer of some eminence in his day. He 
 bore a principal part in the Fifth Volume of the Tatler, 
 the Ninth of the Spectator, and in the translation of the 
 Metamorphoses. Yet he died in very indigent circum- 
 stances, and was buried like a pauper, neither friend nor 
 relative attending him to the grave. 
 
 The Favourite. A Simile. 
 
 Written in the yearl 713. 
 
 VVhbn boys at Eton once a year 
 In military pomp appear. 
 He who just trembled at the rod, 
 Treads it a Heroe, talks a God, 
 And in an instant can create 
 A dozen Officers of State. 
 His little legion all assail. 
 Arrest without release or bail : 
 Each passing traveller must halt. 
 Must pay the tax, and eat the salt.
 
 254 EORGE SSWEIZ.. 
 
 You don't love salt, you say and storm- 
 Look o' these staves. Sir, and conform. 
 But yet this sun, that shines so bright. 
 In sable gown will set at night,. 
 And mom return with" College appetite. 
 
 Thus the new fevourite in his plumes. 
 New manners and new airs assumes : 
 He who before was at your whistle. 
 Begins to bully, frown, and bristle j 
 And to his band of hirelitig Tartars 
 Gives pensions, places, titles, garters j 
 His schemes, his projects, all must be, 
 A law to Bob, his Grace, and me : 
 His friends stand close, and aid his power j 
 "What, don't you like him ? to the tower. 
 You swear 'tis strange but let this fume 
 In busy play itself consume : 
 See him chagrin' d at last retire 
 To a Welch farm and country fire j 
 With this to comfort fallen state. 
 The time has been when he was great.
 
 C 255 3 
 NICHOLAS BRADY. 
 
 Bandon, County of Cork, 16591726. 
 
 *' He was (says Gibber) of a most obliging, sweet, affable 
 temper, a polite gentleman, an excellent preacher, and 
 no inconsiderable poet. His poetical labours, however, 
 were confined to translating the iEneis, and versifying the 
 Psalms. It is qaite consistent with Shandean systems, 
 that Tate and Brady should be christened Nahum and 
 Nicholas. 
 
 On the Duke of Marlborough. 
 
 How, glorious Marlbro', shall we sing thy praise > 
 How shall we match thy laurels with our bays ? 
 What Muse can stretch her wing o'er Blenheim's 
 
 plain, 
 Ramillia's field, and all the grand campaign ? 
 Success alone the privilege can claim. 
 Of keeping pace with thee, in this swift race of 
 
 fame. 
 
 Should all the mighty Nine their pow'rs unite, 
 'T wou'd strain their pinions to attempt this flight.
 
 ' 256 NICHOLAS BRADY. 
 
 And first they must some humbler trophy sing,. 
 Poictiers and Cressy, and a captive king ; 
 Thence by degrees to Marlbro's ftiumphs rise. 
 The pitch of English worth, and glory's noblest 
 prize. 
 
 O cou'dst thou but impart thy generous fire, 
 Cou'dst thou as warmly as thou fight'st inspire. 
 Then British Bards, swell'd with ecstatick rage, 
 Shou'd make our times outvy the Augustan age : 
 Ev'n Maro's Muse as far excell'd shou'd be, 
 -As Tyber is by Thames, or Rome's best sons by 
 thee.
 
 C 257 J 
 
 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 172G. 
 
 Jk an Architect, Sir John Vanbrugh, perhaps discovered 
 some symptoms of his Dutch descent, but his dramatick 
 wit is pure English. He was a man universally beloved 
 Sfld esteemed. 
 
 FA BLE, 
 
 Helated by a Beau to Esop^ 
 
 A Band, a Bob- wig, and a Featlier 
 Altack'd a lady's heart together. 
 The Band in a most learned plea. 
 Made up of deep philosophy. 
 Told her, if she would please to wed 
 A reverend beard, and take instead 
 
 Of vigorous youth. 
 
 Old solemn truth. 
 With books and morals into bed. 
 How happy she would be. 
 
 The Bob, he talked of management, 
 What wond'rous blessings Heaven sent 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 On care, and pains, and industry j 
 And truly he must be so free. 
 To own he thought your airy beaux. 
 With powdered wigs, and dancing shoes. 
 Were good for nothing (mend his soul !) 
 But prate, and talk, and play the fool. 
 
 He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth. 
 
 And that to be the dearest wife 
 
 Of one, who labour'd all his life 
 
 To make a mine of gold his own. 
 
 And not spend sixpence when he'd done 
 
 Was Heaven upon eartli. 
 
 When these two blades had done, d'ye see. 
 The Feather (as it might be me). 
 Steps out. Sir, from behind the skreen. 
 With such an air and such a mien.. . 
 Look you, old gentleman, in short 
 He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport. 
 
 It proved such sunshine weather 
 That, you must know, at the first beck 
 The lady leapt about his neck, 
 
 And oiF they went together.
 
 9IK JOHN VANBRCGHr^ 259 
 
 I SMILE at love and all its arts, 
 
 The charming Cynthia cry'd. 
 Take heed, for love has piercing darts, 
 
 A wounded swain reply 'd. 
 Once freed and blest, as you are now, 
 
 I trifled with his charms ; 
 I pointed at his little bow. 
 
 And sported with his arms : 
 'Till urged too far Revenge, he cries, 
 
 A fatal shaft he drew, 
 It took its passage through your eyes. 
 
 And to my heart it flew. 
 
 To tear it thence I try'd in vain j 
 
 To strive, I quickly found 
 Was only to encrease the pain. 
 
 And to enlarge the wound. 
 All, much too well I fear you know 
 
 What pain I'm to endure. 
 Since what your eyes alone could do. 
 
 Your heart alone can cure. 
 And that (grant heaven I may mistake) 
 
 I doubt is doom'd to bear 
 A burden for another's sake. 
 
 Who ill rewards its care. 
 . 2
 
 460 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Fly, fly, you happy shepherds fly. 
 
 Avoid Pliilira's charms j 
 The rigour of her heart denies 
 
 The heaven that's in her arms. 
 Ne'er hope to gaze and then retire. 
 
 Nor yielding, to be blest : 
 Nature, who form'd her eyes of fire. 
 
 Of ice composed her breast. 
 
 . Yet, lovely maid this once believe, 
 
 A slave whose zeal you move ; 
 The gods, alas, your youth deceive. 
 
 Their heaven consists in love. 
 In spite of all the thanks you owe. 
 
 You may reproach 'em this. 
 That where they did their form bestow. 
 
 They have deny'd their bliss. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 Not an angel dwells above 
 Half so fair as her I love. 
 
 Heaven knows how she'll receive me ;
 
 SIR JOnX VAXBRVGH^ 261 
 
 If she smiles, I'm blest indeed. 
 If she frowns, I'm quickly freed ; 
 
 Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me. 
 
 None can love her more than I, 
 Yet she ne'er shall make me die. 
 
 If my flame can never warm her j 
 Lasting beauty I'll adore, 
 I shall never love her more. 
 
 Cruelty will so deform her. 
 
 I 3
 
 [ 262 ] 
 
 WILLIAM PATTISON, 
 
 Peasmarch, Sussex, 1706 1727. 
 
 Pattison's unhappy story is well known, he dearly expiated 
 youthful ijuprudence by want and wretclieduess, and 
 death. 
 
 Fjffigies Authoris, 
 
 Oppress' D with griefs, with poverty, and scorn, 
 Of all forsaken, and of all forlorn. 
 What shall I do ? or whither shall I fly ? 
 Or what kind ear will hear the Muse's cry ? 
 "With restless heart from place to place I roam, 
 A wretched vagrant destitute of home ; 
 Driven from fair Granta's shade by fortune's froAvn, 
 I came to court the flatterer in the town. 
 Three tedious days detain'd me on the road. 
 Whilst the winds whistled, and the torrents flow'd. 
 On my devoted head the gusty 'breeze. 
 Shook the collected tempest from the trees j
 
 triLLIAM FATTISOy. 263 
 
 For shelter to the shades, I ran in vain. 
 
 The shades deceitful deluged me with rain. 
 
 Thus when fate frowns upon our happier days. 
 
 Our friend, perhaps, our bosom friend betrays. 
 
 But as vicissitudes controul our fate. 
 
 And griefs and joys maintain a doubtful state. 
 
 So now tlie Sun's emerging orb appears. 
 
 And with the spongy clouds dispels my fears. 
 
 In tears the transient tempest flits away. 
 
 And all the blue expansion flames with day. 
 
 My gazing eyes o'er pleasing prospects roll. 
 
 And look away the sorrows of my soul. 
 
 Pleased at each view, some rueful thought to draw. 
 
 And moralize on every scene I saw j 
 
 Here, with inviting pride blue mountains rise. 
 
 Like joys more pleasant to our distant eyes j 
 
 In golden waves, there tides of harvest flow. 
 
 Whilst idle poppies intermingling grow 
 
 How like their brother fops an empty show ! 
 
 In every bush the warbling birds advance. 
 
 Sing to the Sun, and on the branches dance ; 
 
 No grief, no cares perplex their souls with strife. 
 
 Like bards they live a poor but rneny life ^ 
 
 In every pbce alike their fortunes lie. 
 
 Both live la want, and unregarded die. 
 
 With like concern tliey meet approaching death. 
 
 In prison, or in fields, resign their breath ;
 
 -2(54 WILLIAM PATTISON. 
 
 Musing I saw the fate I could not shun. 
 Shook my grave head, and pensive travell'd on: 
 But as Augusta's wish'd-for domes arise. 
 Peep o'er the clouds, and dance before my eyes. 
 What thoughts^ what tumults fiU'd my lab'ring 
 
 breast. 
 To be conceived alone, but not express'd j 
 What intermingled multitude arose. 
 Lords, parsons, lawyers, baronets and beaux., 
 Fops, coxcombs, cits, and knaves of every class. 
 While some the better half, some wholly, ass. 
 On either side bewailing suppliants stand. 
 Speak with their looks, and stretch their wither'd 
 
 hand. 
 In feeble accents supplicate relief. 
 And by their sorrows multiply my grief, 
 Moved by their wants, my fortune I deplore. 
 And deal a tribute from my slender store. 
 With joy, the favour they receive, and pray. 
 That God, the bounteous blessing, may repay : 
 Thus providently wise, the lab'ring swain 
 O'^r the plough'd furrow strews the fertile grain : 
 The grateful plain o'er-pays his bounteous care. 
 With tenfold blessings, and a golden year. 
 
 Ngw lost in thought, I wander up and down 
 Of all unknowing, and to all unknown ;
 
 'VCILI.IAM PATTISON. 265 
 
 Try in each place, and ransack ev'ry news. 
 To find some friend, some patron of the muse : 
 But where ? or whom ? alas ! I search in vain. 
 The fruitless labour only gives me pain j 
 But soon each pleasing prospect fades away. 
 And with my money all my hopes decay. 
 
 But now the sun difl^ed a fainter ray. 
 And failing dews bewail'd tlie falling day. 
 When to St. James's park my way I took, 
 'Solemn in pace, and sadden'd in my look : 
 On the first bench my wearied bones I laid, 
 For gnawing hunger on my vitals prey'd j 
 There faint in melancholy mood I sate. 
 And meditated on my future fate. 
 Night's sable vapours now the trees invade. 
 And gloomy darkness deepen 'd ev'ry shade j 
 And now ah ! whither shall the helpless fly. 
 From the nocturnal liorrors of the sky j 
 With empty rage my cruel fate I curse. 
 While falhng tears bedew my meagre purse j 
 What shall I do ? or whither shall I run ? 
 How 'scape the threat'ning fate I cannot shun j 
 There, trembling cold, and motionless I lay. 
 Till sleep begu'd'd the tumults of the day.
 
 [ 266 ] 
 RICHARDSON PACK. 
 
 1728. 
 
 This gentleman, who distinguished himself at the battle of 
 Villa Vifoza in 1710, and was in consequence promoted 
 to a Majority, published a volume of Poems, with trans- 
 lations of the Lives of Miltiades and Cymon, from Cor- 
 nelius Ncpos, 1725. He also supplied the Memoirs of 
 Wycherly, which were prefixed by Theobald to his 
 works. 
 
 Written et Sea in 1709, to a Friend on hoard the 
 Admiral. 
 
 Xo you, dear Cotton, who on board 
 Have all that land, or seas afford. 
 And, if you please, in Fortune's spight. 
 May laugh from morning until night. 
 Poor Pack in doleful cabbin shut. 
 No bigger than the Cynick's hut. 
 Makes bold to send this homely greeting. 
 Hoping, e'er long, a happy meeting.
 
 &ICHAKDSOM PAOK. 36T 
 
 The moon has thrice renew'd her prime, 
 (Aid me, some friendly Muse, with rhime !) 
 Since first our redcoats and their trulls. 
 Were stow'd on board these rotten hulls ; 
 Where we condemn'd to dirt and fleas. 
 Live, God knows, little at our ease. 
 For all we're cramm'd with pork and pease. 
 Oft have I wish'd the coxcomb damn'd. 
 Who, weary of his native land. 
 First fell'dfor masts the mountain pine. 
 And spoil'd good honest beef with brine. 
 'Tis true, whilst we indulged in claret, 
 I made some kind o' shift to bear it. 
 But what defence against the hip. . 
 Now "we're reduced from wine to flip ? 
 Nay more, I fear I shall e'er long 
 Have neither liquor small or strong. 
 To quench ray thirst, or cool my tongue. 
 Unless, my dear, I can prevail. 
 With you to beg, or else to steal, 
 A dozen or two of wine or ale. 
 May you succeed ! and so farewell.
 
 368 ftlCllARDSON PACK. 
 
 FROM AN EPIStLE, 
 
 To John Creed, of Oundle in iforthamptonskire, Esq. 
 Mombrico in Catalonia, OQ.. 9, 1709. 
 
 ****** 
 Had I been tum'd for ways of thriving, 
 (As my grave father was contriving) 
 E'er this you might have heard nie bawl 
 At Westminster, or Hicks' s-Hall: 
 I, at the Temple had been plodding. 
 Instead of plund'ring and marauding. 
 But 'tis in vain to force the mind. 
 Which way soever 'tis inclined : 
 Else I should never spend my time in 
 This trifling dogrel vein of rhiming. 
 But in plain prose, and better sense. 
 Tell you what news there is from hence. 
 
 Our present theatre of war 
 Lies chiefly here among the fair: 
 How to subdue the ladies hearts. 
 And manage Cupid's pointed darts. 
 Each cavalier attacks his dame. 
 And all our little camp's in flame. 
 The Spaniards, to their cost, may feel 
 Our eyes are fatal as our steel.
 
 RICHARDSON PACK. 269 
 
 F who, by nature forai'd for love. 
 
 Alike does both the sexes move. 
 With amorous airs and wanton glances. 
 Tickles the young Sennora's fancies. 
 Whilst I, who turn'd of six-and- twenty. 
 Find Venus' treasure not so plenty. 
 With more success, and better grace 
 Supply the absent chaplain's place j 
 Admonish youth to fly from vice. 
 Abstain from whoring, cards, and dice. 
 And like an orthodox divine. 
 Damn all men's suis, yet stick to mine. 
 
 I rise each day by morning peep, 
 
 (For hunger will not let me sleep) 
 
 Then in fat chocolate I riot. 
 
 To bribe my stomach to be quiet. 
 
 At noon I twist at such a rate, 
 
 'T would do you good to see me eat. 
 
 The priests, who find me always cramming. 
 
 Pray against heresy and famine. 
 
 But how should men be stout and warlike. 
 
 Who feed on nought but fish and garlick, 
 
 "Tis beef and pork support the war. 
 
 And not their fasting, nor their prayer.
 
 ^0 RICHARDSON PACK. 
 
 When cooler thoughts by chance prevail. 
 Sometimes from company I steal, 
 Witli Horace, Virgil,, and TibuUus, 
 Or that most pleasant droll Catullus> 
 In private I enjoy the night. 
 And reap both profit and deUght. 
 
 Thus in a merry idle scene, 
 I make a shift to steer between 
 Th*^ extremes of folly, or of vice. 
 And hope in time I may grow wise : 
 Then worn a little of my mettle, 
 I'll e'en go home, and wive, and settle.
 
 C 271 ] 
 WILLIAM CONGREVE. 
 
 Bardsa vear Leeds, 16791728. 
 
 Congreve's dramatick fame has obtained a place for his 
 Poems in the general collection. The Ode selected here 
 is said by Johnson to be the best of his irregular Pieces. 
 Johnson, however, did not mean to imply that it was 
 good, it is at least original, and perhaps incomparable for 
 absurdity. 
 
 On Mrs. Arabella Hunt, singing. 
 
 IRREGULAR ODE. 
 
 J_ET all be hush'd, each softest motion cease. 
 
 Be every loud tumultuous tliought at peace. 
 
 And every ruder gasp of breath 
 
 Be calm, as in the arms of death. 
 
 And thou, most fickle, most uneasy part. 
 Thou restless wanderer, my heart. 
 
 Be still ; gently, ah leave. 
 
 Thou busy, idle thing, to heave. 
 
 Stir not a pulse ; and let my blood. 
 
 That turbulent, unruly flood. 
 Be softly stay'd : 
 
 Let me be all, but my attention, dead.
 
 27Sr TflLLIAM eoNGnsvE. 
 
 Go, rest unnecessary springs of life. 
 Leave your officious toil and strife j 
 For I would hear her voice, and try 
 If it be possible to die. 
 
 Come, all ye love sick maids and wounded swains. 
 
 And listen to her healing strains. 
 A wonderous balm between her lips she wears. 
 
 Of sovereign force to soften cares ; 
 And this through every ear she cari impart 
 (By tuneful breath diffused) to every heart. 
 Swiftly the gentle charmer flies,. 
 And to the tender grief soft air applies. 
 
 Which, warbling mystick sounds. 
 Cements the bleeding panter's wounds.' 
 But ah ! beware of clamorous moan ; 
 Let no unpleasing murmur, or harsh groan. 
 Your slighted loves declare : 
 Your ver)-^ tenderest moving sighs forbear. 
 For even they will be too boisterous here. 
 Hither let nought but sacred silence come. 
 And let all saucy praise be dumb. 
 
 And lo ! , Silence himself is here j 
 Methink I see the midnight God appear. - 
 In all his downy pomp array'd. 
 Behold the venerable shade j
 
 WILLIIM CONGREVE. 273 
 
 An ancient sigh he sits upon, 
 "Whose memory of sound is long since gone. 
 And purposely annihilated for his thi'one : 
 Beneath, two soft transparent clouds do meet. 
 In which he seems to sink his softer feet. 
 A melancholy thought, condensed to air. 
 
 Stolen from a lover in despair, . 
 
 Like a thin mantle, ser\es to wrap 
 In fluid folds his visionary shape. 
 A wreath of darkness round his head he wears. 
 When curling mists supply the want of hairs ; 
 While the still vapours, which from poppies rise. 
 Bedew his hoary face, and lull his eyes. 
 
 But hark ! the heavenly sphere turns round. 
 And silence now is ifrown'd 
 In extacy of sound. 
 How, on a sudden, the stiH air is cliarm'd. 
 As if all harmony were just alarm'd ! 
 And every soul, with transport fill'd. 
 Alternately is thaw'd and chill'd. 
 See how the heavenly choir 
 Come flocking to admire. 
 And with what speed and care 
 Descending angels cull the thinnest air ! 
 Haste then, come all the immortal throng. 
 And listen to her song ! 
 vrti,. r. T
 
 374 WILLIAM CONGKEVE. 
 
 Leave your loved mansions in the sky. 
 
 And hither, quickly hither fly. 
 
 Your loss of heaven, nor shall you need to fear^j 
 
 While she sings, 'tis heaven here. 
 
 See how they crowd, see how the litUe cherubs 
 
 skip ! 
 While others sit around her mouth, and sip 
 
 Sweet Hiillelujahs from her lip. 
 Those lips, where in surprise of bliss they rove ^ 
 For ne'er before did angels taste 
 So exquisite a feast. 
 Of musick and of love. 
 Prepare then, ye immortal choir. 
 Each sacred minstrel tune his lyre. 
 And with her voice in chorus joinj 
 Her voice, which next to yours is most divine. 
 Bless the glad earth with heavenly lays. 
 And to that pitch the eternal accents raise. 
 Which only breath inspired can reach. 
 To notes, which only she can learn, and you cam 
 
 teach. 
 While we, charm'd with the loved excess. 
 Are wrapt in sweet forgetfulness 
 Of all, of all, but of the present happiness. 
 Wishing for ever in that state to lie, 
 For ever to be dying so, yet never die.
 
 t *75 ] 
 
 SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE. 
 
 1729. 
 
 As erery verbal Critick should have Bentley's Milton upon 
 "his table as a perpetual memento, so should Locke's opi- 
 nion of ' Prince Arthur' be held Tn remembrance by all 
 dabblers in metaphysicks when they presume to dabble in 
 criticism. 
 
 The Preface to Sir R. Bladcmore's Poems, printed in 1 7if>, 
 concludes with this remarkable passage : ** I have ex- 
 pressed myself in this warm manner that the reader may 
 be induced to believe that I am in earnest, and that in the 
 Divine Poems, which he will find in this book, I do not 
 only design to entertain his imagination, as far as I am 
 capable, with the beauties of poetry, but likewise to pro- 
 duce in the mind generous passions and worthy resolu- 
 ion<i " Of the two specimens subjoined, it is perhaps as 
 necessary to apprise the reader of the warmth of one as 
 of the severity of the other. 
 
 A Sati/re upon Wit. 
 
 Who can forbear and timely sit. 
 And see his native land undone by wit > 
 t2
 
 'i76 SIR RICHARiD BLACEMORE. 
 
 Boast not, Britannia, of thy happy peace. 
 What if campaigns and sea- engagements cease, 
 Wit, a worse plague, does mightily increase : 
 Some monstrous crimes to ages past unknown. 
 Must sure have puU'd this heavy judgment down . 
 Whence insect-wits draw out their noisy swarms, 
 And tlireaten ruin more than foreign arms : 
 O'er all the land the hungry locusts spread. 
 Gnaw every plant, taint every flowery bed. 
 And crop each budding virtue's tender head. 
 
 How happy were the old unpolish'd times. 
 As free from wit, as other modern crimes ; 
 As our forefather's vig'rous were, and brave. 
 So they were virtuous, wise, discreet, and grave, 
 And did alike detest the wit and knave. 
 For wits and fools they justly thought the same. 
 And Jester was for both tlie common name. 
 Their minds for empire form'd, did long retain 
 Their noble roughness, and soft arts disdain.: 
 For business born, and bred to martial toil. 
 They taised the glory of Britannia's Isle, 
 Which then her dreadful ensigns did advance. 
 To curb Iberia, and to conquer France. 
 But this degenerate, loose and foolish race 
 Are sunk to wits, and their great stock debase
 
 SHI RICHARD BCACCHORE. 277 
 
 Eearning and sense decay, while jest is grown 
 The conversation of the laughing town. 
 Where manly virtues, which we once could boast. 
 Unnerved by mirth and levity, are lost. 
 So far this plague prevails, I fear, in vain 
 We now attempt its progress to restrain 3 
 It takes men' in the head, and in the fit 
 They loose their senses, and are gone iu wit : 
 By various ways their frenzy they express. 
 Some with vile lines run staring to the press, 
 In lewdness some are wits, and some in dress. 
 Somo seized, like Graver, with convulsions strain. 
 Always to say fine things, but strive in vain. 
 Urged with a dry tenesmus of tlie brain. 
 
 Had but the people, scared with danger, run 
 To shut up Will's, where this .'ore plague begun. 
 Had they the first infe^ed man convey'd 
 Straight to Moorfields, the Pest-house for tlie head, ' 
 The wild contagion might have been supprest. 
 Some few had fallen, but we had saved tlie rest. 
 An act like this had been a good defence 
 Against our great naortality of sense j 
 But now the poison spreads, the bills run high. 
 At the last gasp of sense ten thousand lie. 
 t3
 
 378 SIR RICHARD BLACKMOIIE. 
 
 We meet fine youth in every house and street. 
 With all the mortal tokens out of wit. 
 
 An Ode to the Diii/u- Bci/ig^ 
 
 Hail all perfection, source of bliss ! 
 
 Hail self-existent cause of things. 
 Essential goodness, bright abyss. 
 
 Whence beatifick glory springs T 
 
 Blest object of my love intense, 
 
 I thee my joy, my treasure call. 
 My portion, my reward immense. 
 
 Soul of my soul, my life, my all. 
 
 Freely the pomps and triumphs here. 
 
 Illusive phantoms, I resign ; 
 Princes, unenvy'd you may share 
 
 The canton'd world, while Heaven is mine. 
 
 You, who delights and pleasures court. 
 For me may all your senses cloy. 
 
 You may unrivall'd dance and sport. 
 While my blest Author I enjoy.
 
 R RICHARD BLACKMORE. 27* 
 
 Have all the spacious Heav'ns around. 
 
 With him an object to compare. 
 On earth is any pleasure found 
 
 Which to his favour I prefer ? 
 
 When cares invade on every side. 
 
 And restless passions urge my soul. 
 When gloomy grief its ponderous tide. 
 
 Does through my aking bosom roll ; 
 
 Fountain of glory, Lord of light. 
 From thy bright face, one darted ray. 
 
 Will calm the storm, dispel the night. 
 And re-establish banish'd day.
 
 [ 280 ] 
 LAWRENCE EUSDEN. 
 
 1730. 
 
 Rowe's successor as Laureate, now best remembered by the 
 contemptuous manner in which huckiiighani celebrated 
 his appointment. 
 
 At the restoration of the Order of the Bath, it is well known 
 that Sir Robert Walpole took the Red Ribbon himself, 
 that the honour might be thereby made acceptable to 
 those persons to whom it should be given in lieu of the 
 Garter. How such a circumstance could be mentioned 
 in poetry may be learned in the first Specimen subjoined, 
 extracted from an adulatory Epistle to the Minister, print- 
 ed 1726. The second is taken from a strain of fulsome 
 flattery in mediocre poetry. 
 
 From an Epistle to the Noble and Right Honourable 
 Sir Robert Walpole, Knight of the Most Noble Order 
 of the Garter, 
 
 Her Sons diminished. Chivalry deplored. 
 
 Till the great Brunswick Bath's famed Knights 
 
 restored. 
 While the big, solemn pomp slow moved along. 
 We view'd thee^ shining 'mid the gloripus throng,
 
 &A-V11ENCE EUSDEK. 28 L 
 
 Graced with a Royal Mark of crimson hue. 
 
 That crimson but a prelude to the blue. 
 
 So first Aurora with a reddening ray. 
 
 Streaks deep th' etherial plains, and wakes the 
 
 day; 
 But when the disk of Phoebus high is borne. 
 Hid are the blushes of the rosie mom r 
 A two-fold beauty sooths th' attracted eye. 
 Here, radiant lustre, there, an azure sky. 
 
 FROM 
 
 J POEM, 
 
 On the happy Succession, and Coronation of his present 
 Majesty. 
 
 Strepitus fastidit inanes. 
 
 Inque aoimis hotninum Poinp& meliore triumphal. 
 
 Claud. 
 
 As when leam'd sages optick arts display. 
 And from the darken' d room exclude the day. 
 Thro' the pierced oak th' insinuating light. 
 If Phtsbus shines not, gives a ghastly sight j 
 Men, Towers and Temples, are inverted seen, 
 A rude, uncolour'd^ gloomy, loveless scene !
 
 S82 CicWOCNGE EUSDEM^. 
 
 But should tlie Sun again adorn the sky^ 
 Glasses, twice-convex, to the chasm apply. 
 And strait a wonderous landscape charms the view : 
 Such lights ! such shades not Poussin ever drew : 
 Gay Nature's paint ! such image, beauteous, 
 
 fells. 
 And trees, erect, wave green along the whiten'd 
 
 walls. 
 
 So when great Brunswick yielded to his fate, 
 O'er-cast, and chearless was Britannia's state. 
 Her cheeks to lose their bloomy hue begun. 
 And all her roses vanish'd with the Sun : 
 'Till a new Brunswick, with an equal ray, 
 Recall'd at once her beauties, and the day : 
 Firm and unchanged> the spires and turrets. 
 
 stand ! 
 Religion, join'd with Liberty's fair hand. 
 In triumph walk, and bless, with wonted smiles-,, 
 the land ! 
 
 Hail, mighty Monarch ! whose desert alone 
 Would, without birth-right, raise Thee to a Throne !' 
 Thy Virtues shine peculiarly nice, 
 Ungloom'd with a confinity to vice 
 What strains shall equal to thy glories rise. 
 First to the world, and borderer on the skies !
 
 LAWRENOB EtTSDEN. 283 
 
 How exquisitely great, who cans't inspire 
 Such joys, that Albion mourns no more thy Sire ! 
 Thy Sire ! a Prince, she loved to that degree. 
 She almost trespass'd on the Deity ! 
 imperial weight he bore with so much ease ! 
 Who but thyself, would not despair to please ? 
 A dull, fat, thoughtless Heir, unheeded springs 
 From a long slothful line of restive kings ; 
 And thrones, innur'd to a tyrannick race. 
 Think a new tyrant not a new disgrace j 
 Tho' by the change the State no bliss receives. 
 And Nero dies in vain, if Otho lives : 
 But when a ftem, with fruitfid branches crown'd. 
 Has flourish'd, in each various branch renown'd. 
 Still ever seen, (if tliey survive, or fall,) 
 All heroes, and their country's fathers all j 
 His great fore-runners when the last out-shone. 
 Who could a brighter, hope, or ev'n as bright, a 
 
 Son ? 
 Old Rome with tears tlie younger Scipio view'd. 
 Who not in fame her African renew'd. 
 Avaunt, degenerate grafts, or spurious breed ! 
 'Tis a George only can a Geobge succeed ! 
 The shafts of Death the Pelian Art have found. 
 They bring at once the balm, that give the wound.
 
 C 294 3 
 
 ELIJAH FENTON. 
 
 Shelton, Staffordshire, 1730. 
 
 A Poet Minorite, whose productions are more characterisedL 
 by indecency than wit. He is said to have been a moral 
 roan. What must have been the morality of an age when 
 a moral man could write such poems, and Walter Hatte, 
 who certainly was a religious man, could present them to 
 a young Lady, with commendatory verses in which the 
 most obscene tales are recommended as ' stories quaint 
 to charm the hours away I" 
 
 AN ODE 
 To the Right Honourable John Lord Gonser. 
 
 Written in the Spring, 1716. 
 
 O'er winter's long inclement sway,, 
 At length the lusty spring prevails ; 
 And, swift to meet the smiling May, 
 Is wafted by the western gales.
 
 ELIJAH FENTOK. 285 
 
 Around him dance the rosy hours. 
 And damasking the ground with flowers," 
 With ambient sweets perfume the morn : 
 With shadowy verdure flourish'd high, 
 A sudden youth the groves enjoy. 
 While Philomel laments forlorn. 
 
 By her awaked, the woodland choir 
 To hail the coming God prepares ; 
 And tempts me to resume the lyre. 
 Soft warbling to the vernal drs. 
 Yet once more, O ye Muses ! deign. 
 For me the meanest of your train, 
 Unblamed t' approach your blest retreat. 
 Where Horace wantons at your spring. 
 And Pindar sweeps a bolder string, 
 Whoe notes th' Aonian hills repeat. 
 
 Or if invoked, where Thames's fruitful tides 
 Slow through the vales in silver volumes play ; 
 Now your own Phoebus o'er the month presides, 
 Gives love the night, and doubly gilds the day. 
 
 Thither indulgent to my prayer. 
 
 Ye bright harmonious nymphs repair.
 
 tS ELIJAH PEWTOW. 
 
 To swell the notes I feebly raise : 
 So with inspiring ardours warm'd. 
 May Gower's propitious ear be charm'd. 
 To listen to my lays. 
 
 Beneath the pole on hills of snow. 
 
 Like Thracian May, th' vmdaunted Swede 
 
 To dint of sword defies the foe ; 
 
 In fight unknowing to recede : 
 
 From Volga's banks, the imperious Czar 
 
 Leads forth his ftiry troops to war : 
 
 Fond of the softer southern sky : 
 
 The Soldan galls th' Illyrian coast ; 
 
 But soon the miscreant moony host 
 
 Before the victor-cross shall fly. 
 
 But here no clarion's shrilling note 
 The Muse's green retreat can pierce j 
 The grove, from noisy camps remote. 
 Is only vocal with my verse : 
 Here wing'd with innocence and joy. 
 Let the soft hours that o'er me fly 
 Drop freedom, health, and gay desires : 
 While the bright Seine t' exalt the soul. 
 With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl. 
 And wit and social mirth inspires.
 
 ELIJAH PBfTPOK. 287 
 
 Enamour'd of the Seine, celestial fair. 
 The blooming pride of Thetis' azure train ! 
 Bacchus, to win the nymph who caused his care, 
 Lash'd his swift tigers to the Celtick plain ; 
 There secret in her sapphire cell 
 He with the Naiads wont to dwell j 
 Leaving the nectar'd feasts of Jove i 
 And where her mazy waters flow. 
 He gave the mantling vine, to grow 
 A trophy to his love. 
 
 Shall man from nature's sanction stray^ 
 
 With blind opinion for his guide ; 
 
 And, rebel to her rightful sway, 
 
 Leave all his bounties unenjoy'd ? 
 
 Fool ! time no change of motion knows; 
 
 With equal speed the torrent flows. 
 
 To sweep fame, power, and wealth away : 
 
 The past is all by death possess'd ; 
 
 And frugal fate that guards the rest. 
 
 By giving, bids him live to-day. 
 
 O Gower ! through all that destin'd space 
 What breath the powers allot to me 
 Shall sing the virtues of tliy race 
 United, and complete in thee.
 
 2S8 ELIJAH FENTOV. 
 
 O flower of ancient English faith. 
 Pursue th' unbeaten patriot-path. 
 In which confirni'd thy father shone : 
 The light his fair example gives. 
 Already from thy dawn receives 
 A lustre equal to its own. 
 
 Honour's bright dome, on lasting columns rearM, 
 Nor envy rusts, nor rolling years consume j 
 Loud Paeans echoing round the roof are heard. 
 And clouds of incense all the void perfume. 
 There Phocion, Laelius, Capel, Hyde, 
 With Falkland seated near his side, 
 Fix'd by the Muse the Temple grace : 
 Prophetick of tliy happier fame. 
 She, to receive thy radiant name. 
 Selects a whiter space.
 
 [ 289 ] 
 DANIEL DE FOE. 
 
 16601731. 
 
 Dc Foe was more successful as an author than as a trades- 
 man, and recommended himself to King William by his 
 *' True-born Englishman," which he wrote in opposition 
 to Tutchin's, " Foreigners." The History of Robinson 
 Crusoe will however, render him more deservedly popular 
 than all his poetry and politicks, in which latter he dealed 
 largely. 
 
 From the True-Born Eng!ish)iiau. 
 PART II. 
 
 i HE breeds describ'd ; Now, Satire, if you can. 
 Their temper show, for Manners make the Man. 
 Fierce, as the Britain ; as the Roman, brave ; 
 And less inclined to conquer, than to save : 
 Eager to fight, and lavish of their blood ; 
 And equally of fcnr and forecast void. 
 The Pict has made 'em sowrc, the Dane morose : 
 False from the Scot, and from the Norman worse. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 DANIEL DE FOE. 
 
 What honesty they have, the Saxons gave them. 
 And that, now they grow old, begins to leave 
 
 them. 
 The climate makes them terrible and bold ; 
 And English beef their courage does uphold. 
 No danger can their daring spirit pull. 
 Always provided that their belly's full. 
 
 In close intrigues their faculty's but weak. 
 For generally whate'er they knovv^, they speak : 
 And often their own councils undermine. 
 By their infirmity and not design j 
 From whence the learned say it does proceed. 
 That English treasons never can succeed : 
 For they're so open-hearted, you may know 
 Their own most sacred thoughts, and others too. 
 The lab'ring poor, in spight of double pay. 
 Are sawcy, mutinous, and beggarly : 
 So lavish of their money and their time. 
 That want of forecast is the nation's crime. 
 Good drunken company is their delight. 
 And what they get by day, they spend by night. 
 Dull thinking seldom does their heads engage, 
 But drink their youth away, and hurry on old age. 
 Empty of all good husbandry and sense 3 
 And void of manners most, when void of pence.
 
 DASIEL DE FOE. ^QX 
 
 Their strong aversion to behaviour's such. 
 They always talk too little, or too much. 
 So dull, they never take the pains to think ; 
 And seldom are good-natur'd, but in drink. 
 
 From Rtformation of Manners. 
 A SATYR. 
 
 Now Satire, give another wTetch his due. 
 Who's chosen to reform the city too ; 
 Hate him, ye friend* to honesty and sense. 
 Hate him in injured beauty's just defence ; 
 A knighted Booby insolent and base, 
 " JVhum man no manners gave, nor God r 
 
 grace." 
 ITie scorn of women, and the shame of men, 
 Match'd at threescore to innocent fifteen ; 
 Hag- rid with jealous whimsies lets us know. 
 He thinks he's cuckold 'cause he should be so. 
 His virtuous wife exposes to the town. 
 And fears her crimes, because he knows his own. 
 u 2
 
 292 DiLNIEL DB POB.^ 
 
 Satyr, be bold and, fear not to expose 
 The vilest magistrate the nation knows : 
 Let furies read his naked character. 
 Blush not to write what he should blush to hear j 
 But let tliem blush, who in a Christian state 
 Made such a Devil be a magistrate. 
 
 In Britain's eastern provinces he reigns. 
 And serves the Devil with excessive pains : 
 Tlie nation's shame, and honest mens surprize. 
 With drunkard in his face, and madman in his 
 
 eyes. 
 The sacred bench of justice he prophanes. 
 With a polluted tongue, and bloody hands : 
 His intellects are always in a storm. 
 He frights the people which he should reform. 
 Antipathies may some diseases cure. 
 But Virtue can no contraries endure. 
 All Reformation's stopt where Vice commands. 
 Corrupted heads can ne'er have upright hands. 
 Shameless his class of justices he'll swear. 
 And plants the vices he should punish there. 
 His roouth's a sink of oaths and blasphemies. 
 And cursings are his kind civilities j 
 His fervent prayer to Heaven he hourly sends. 
 But 'tis to damn himself and all his friends ;
 
 DANIBL DK FOC. 2^3 
 
 He raves in vice, and storms that he's confined. 
 
 And studies to be worse than all mankind. 
 
 Extreams of wickedness are his delight. 
 
 And 's pleased to hear that he 's distinguisht by 't. 
 
 Exotick ways of singing he improves. 
 
 We curse and hate, he censures where he loves } 
 
 So strangely retrogade to all mankind. 
 
 If crest he damns himself, if pleased his friend. 
 
 V 3
 
 [ 204 ] 
 JABEZ HUGHES. 
 
 16851731. 
 
 Jabez Hughes was the younger brother of John, he survived 
 faim and edited hJs poems. 
 
 The Wish. 
 
 Ye pow'rs, who sway the skies above. 
 The load of mortal life remove : 
 I cannot, lab'ring thus, sustain 
 Th' excessive burtlien of my pain ! 
 A dance of pleasures, hurrying by. 
 Enduring griefs, a glimpse of joy, 
 Willi blessings of a brittle kind. 
 Inconstant, shifting as the wind. 
 Are all your suppliant has known. 
 Since first his lingering race begun. 
 In pity, then, pronounce my fate. 
 And here conclude my shorterfd date ; 
 *Tis all I ask you, to bestow 
 A safe retreat from future woe !
 
 JABEt BUGHBS. 295 
 
 A T/iought in Jffiiction. 
 
 Where shall the persecuted fly, 
 To shun the blows of angry Fate ? 
 
 No succour, no relief is nigh : 
 How can I bear this ruin'd state ! 
 
 Unpity'd, unsustain'd, oppress'd. 
 
 On ev'ry side, at once distress'd. 
 All fly from my contagious woes. 
 
 And Son'ow's waves upon me close ! 
 
 Help, Heav'n ! In this my utmost need. 
 On thee, my earnest hope is stay'd ; 
 
 Let innocence, at last, succeed. 
 And be thou present to my aid \ 
 
 On hurtful Malice, justly frown. 
 And suffering Virtue's cause assert. 
 
 By Vice insulting, trampled down j 
 The threaten'd danger, oh ! avert ! 
 
 On thy assistance I depend. 
 
 My certain and unfailing prop ; 
 By which for a successful end, 
 
 I look with confidence of hope, 
 u 4
 
 296 JABEZ HUGHES. 
 
 And see, at length, expected joy, 
 Tho' long-protracted, makes return I 
 
 Thus, slowly, in the clouded sky. 
 
 And lingering breaks the chearful morn. 
 
 My fears are o'er, and foul despair. 
 Which rack'd my ever-anxious breast. 
 
 Is fled with every haunting care. 
 And left my soul becalm'd in rest. 
 
 So stalking ghosts, at dawning light. 
 
 Post swiftly to their native night. 
 
 To the Memory of John Hughes, Esq. 
 
 From thy long languishing, and painful strife 
 
 Of breath with labour- drawn, and wasting life, 
 
 Accomplish'd Spirit ! thou at length art free. 
 
 Born into bliss and immortality ! 
 
 Thy struggles are no more j the palm is won ; 
 
 Thy brow's encircled with the Victor's crown j 
 
 While lonely left, and desolate below. 
 
 Full grief I feel, and all a Brother's woe ! 
 
 Yet w^ou'd I linger on, a little space. 
 
 Before I close my quick-expiring race.
 
 JABEZ HUGHES. 297 
 
 Till I have gather'd up, with grateful pains, 
 Thy IVorks, tliy dear unperishing remains ; 
 An" vmdecaying monument to stand. 
 Raised to thy name by thy own skilful hand. 
 Then let me wing from earth my willing way. 
 To meet thy soul in blaze of living day, 
 Rapt to the skies, like thee, with joyful flight, 
 " An inmate of the Heavens, adopted into light !" 
 
 March 30t 172a
 
 C 298 ] 
 JOHN GAY. 
 
 Barnntaple, 16881732. 
 
 Two additional volumes professii^ to be the Miscellaneoui 
 Works of this well-known Poet were printed in 1773, in 
 which several poems, and among them three cantos in 
 continuation of Gondibert were inserted as his, which 
 certainly he never wrote. 
 
 His Fables though the most popular of his Works are by no 
 means the most valuable. His Eclogues were written to 
 ridicule Ambrose Philips, but in attempting the burlesque. 
 Gay copied nature, and his unexpected success might 
 have taught his contemporaries a better taste. Few Poets 
 seem to have possessed so quick and observing an eye. 
 
 The first specimen is well known, but is selected for the 
 rare union of wit and tenderness, that is to be found 
 in it. 
 
 From Sweet WilUajns farexi'ell to Black-eyed Susan. 
 
 O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 
 My vows shall ever true remain ;
 
 jroHN GAT. 299 
 
 Let me kiss off that falling tear 
 "We only part to meet again. 
 Change, as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee,: i 
 
 Believe not what the landmen say, 
 
 "Who tempt with doubts tliy constant mind. 
 
 They'll tell thee, sailors, when away. 
 In every port a mistress find : 
 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so. 
 
 For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 If to fair India's coast we sail. 
 
 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright. 
 
 Thy breath is Africk's spicy gale. 
 Thy skin is ivory so white. 
 
 Thus e\-ery beauteous object that I view. 
 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 
 
 q-R ncstfO 
 
 Frotn a new Song of Simiiies. 
 
 My passion is as mustard strong; 
 
 I sit all sober sad ; 
 
 Drunk as a piper all day long, 5*^^ IjwjO 
 
 Or like a March-hare mad. / *- *** > "'^^
 
 300 JOHN GAT. 
 
 Round as a hoop the bumpers flow ; 
 
 I drink yet can't forget her ; 
 For though as drunk as David's sow, 
 
 I love her still the better. 
 
 Like a stuck pig I gaping stare. 
 And eye her o'er and o'er ; 
 
 Lean as a rake with sighs and care. 
 Sleek as a mouse before. 
 
 Plump as a partridge was I known. 
 
 And soft as silk my skin. 
 My cheeks as fat as butter grown ; 
 
 But as a groat now thin ! 
 
 # r * * 
 
 Brisk as a body-louse she trips. 
 
 Clean as a penny drest ; 
 Sweet as a rose her breatli and lips. 
 
 Round as the globe her breast. 
 
 Full as an egg was I with glee j 
 
 And happy as a king. 
 Good Lord ! how all men envy'd me I 
 
 She lov'd like any thing.
 
 JOBK GAT* 301 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE SftUIRE. 
 
 In imitation of the PoUio of Virgil. 
 
 Ye Sylvan Muses, loftier strains recite ; 
 Not all in shades and humble cots delight. 
 Hark ! the bells ring ; along the distant grounds 
 The driving gales convey the swelling sounds ; 
 Th' attentive swain forgetful of his work. 
 With gaping wonder, leans upon his fork. 
 What sudden news alarms the waking mom ? 
 To the glad Squire a hopeful heir is born. 
 Mourn, mourn, ye stags, and all ye beasts of chase ; 
 This hour destruction brings on all your race : 
 See the pleas'd tenants duteous offerings bear, 
 Turkies and geese, and grocer's sweetest warej 
 With the new health the ponderous tankard flows. 
 And old October reddens every nose. 
 Beagles and spaniels round his cradle stand. 
 Kiss his moist lip, and gently lick his hand. 
 He joys to hear the shrill horn's echoing sounds. 
 And learns to lisp the names of all the hounds. 
 \V ith frothy ale to make his cup o'erflow. 
 Barley shall in paternal acres grow. 
 1'he bee shall sip the fragrant dew from flowers. 
 To give methigliu for his morning hours j
 
 302 JOBN GAT, 
 
 For him the clustering hop shall climb the poIe5> 
 And his own orchard sparkle in his bowls. 
 
 His sire's exploits he now with wonder hears j 
 The monstrous tales indulge his greedy ears ; 
 How, when youth strung his nerves and warm'd 
 
 his veins. 
 How rode the mighty Nimrod of the plains. 
 He leads the staring infant through the hall. 
 Points out the horny spoils that grac'd the wall ; 
 Tells, how this stag through three whole counties 
 
 fled. 
 What rivers swam, where bay'd, and where he 
 
 bled. 
 Now he the wonders of the fox repeats. 
 Describes the desperate chase, and all his cheats j- 
 How in one day, beneath his furious speed. 
 He tired seven coursers of the fleetest breed } 
 How high the pale he leap'd, how wide the ditch. 
 When the hound tore the haunches of the * witch ; 
 These stories, which descend from son to son, 
 The foi"ward boy shall one day make his own. 
 Ah, too fond mothers, think tlie time draws 
 
 nigh. 
 That calls the darling from the tender eye ; 
 
 * The most common accident to sportsmen to bunt a 
 witch in the shape of a hare.
 
 JOHN CAY. 30S 
 
 How shall his spirit brook the rigid rules, 
 And tht long tyranny of grammar schools ? 
 Let younger brothers o'er dull authors plod, 
 Lash'd into Latin by the tingling rod ; 
 Ko, let him never feel that smart disgrace j 
 Why should he wiser prove than all his race ? 
 When ripening youth with down o'ershades his 
 
 chin. 
 And every female eye incites to sin j 
 llie milk-maid (thoughtless of her future shame) 
 With smacking lip shall raise his guilty flame j 
 The dairy, barn, the hay-loft, and the grove. 
 Shall oft be conscious of their stolen love. 
 But think, Priscilla, on that dreadful time. 
 When pangs and watery qualms shall own tliy 
 
 ' crime. 
 How wilt thou tremble when thy nipple's preft. 
 To see the white drops bathe thy swelling breast ! 
 Nine moons sliall publicly divulge thy shame. 
 And the young 'squire forestall a father's name. 
 When twice twelve times the reaper's sweeping 
 
 hand 
 With levell'd harvests has bestrown the land ; 
 On fam'd St. Hubert's feast, his winding horn 
 Shall cheer the joyful hound, and wake the mom : 
 This memorable day his eager speed 
 Shall urge with bloody heel the rising steed.
 
 304 JOHN GAY. 
 
 O check the foamy bit, nor tempt thy fate. 
 Think of the murders of a five-bar gate ! 
 Yet prodigal of life, the leap he tries. 
 Low in the dust his groveling honour lies. 
 Headlong he falls, and on the rugged stone 
 Distorts his neck, and cracks the collar bone. 
 O venturous youth, thy thirst of game allay : 
 May'st thou survive the perils of this day ! 
 He shall survive ; and in late years be sent 
 To snore away debates in parliament. 
 The time shall come, when his more solid sense 
 With nod important shall tlie laws dispense j 
 A Justice with grave Justices shall sit ; 
 He praise their wisdom, they admire his wit. 
 No greyhound shall attend tlie tenant's pace. 
 No rusty gun the farmer's chimney grace j 
 Salmons shall leave their covers void of fear. 
 Nor dread the thievish net or triple spear ; 
 Poachers shall tremble at his awful name. 
 Whom vengeance now o'ertakes for raurder'd 
 game. 
 Assist me Bacchus, and ye drunken powers, 
 To sing his friendships and his midnight hours ! 
 Why dost thou glory in thy strength of beer. 
 Firm cork'd and mellow'd till the twentieth year; 
 Brew'd, or when Phoebus warms the fleecy sign. 
 Or when his languid rays in Scorpio shine ?
 
 JOHN GAY. 305 
 
 Think on the mischiefs which from hence have 
 
 sprung ! 
 It arms witli curses dire the wrathful tongue j 
 Foul scandal to the lying lip affords. 
 And prompts the memory with injurious words. 
 O where is wisdom when by this o'erpower'd ? 
 The State is censured, and the maid deflower'd ! 
 And wilt thou still, O Squire brew ale so strong } 
 Hear tlien the dictates of prophetick song. 
 Methinks I see him in his hall appear. 
 Where the long table floats in clammy beer, 
 'Midst mugs and glasses shatter'd o'er the floor. 
 Dead drunk, his servile crew supinely snore j 
 Triumphant, o'er the prostrate brutes he stands. 
 The mighty bumper trembles in his hands ; 
 Boldly he drinks, and like his glorious sires. 
 In copious gulps of potent ale expires. 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 [ 306 ] 
 JOHN DENNIS. 
 
 16571733. 
 
 To collect the many excellent anecdotes, and to appreciate 
 fully the merits of this remarkable man would require 
 more space than here can be allotted. An unhappy 
 temper once hurried him to attempt murder, and the same 
 malady provoked and exposed him to the ridicule of his 
 contemporary wits and witlings. His critical Works 
 should be collected. 
 
 Upon our Victory at Sea, and burning the French Fleet 
 at La Hogue, in I692. 
 
 1 SING the naval fight, whose triumph fame 
 More loudly than our cannon shall proclaim 3 
 "Which with heroick force burst Europe's chain. 
 And made fair Britain empress of the main. 
 O Britain's mighty genius ! who wert by. 
 Who with new warmth didst thy brave sons supply. 
 And drive the Gallick Demon trembling thro' the 
 sky:
 
 JOHir DENNISi 307 
 
 My breast with that immortal fury fire, 
 "Which did thy godlike combatants inspire. 
 Bold as their fight, and happy be my song, 
 As fierce, as great, as sovmding, and as strong : 
 Then might my verse be heard on every shore. 
 And in its sound express the thundering cannons 
 roar. 
 
 Now while their line the impatient English form. 
 On comes proud Tourville rattling like a storm^^ 
 Sent by some Devil to dissolve (in vain) 
 The two vast Empires of the land and main j 
 Whose transitory rage the globe auuoysj 
 And to disturb mankind, itself destroys, 
 Willi deafening shouts the English rend the skies. 
 While victory hovering o'er their pendants flies j 
 The lust of empire, and the lust of praise. 
 Does high and low to godlike courage raise 3 
 All bravely bent the last extremes to try, - 
 And conquer, or magnanimously die. 
 
 Now the fleets join, and witli their horrid shock* 
 Britannia s shores resound, and Gallia's rocks ; 
 The more resistance the brave English meet. 
 They their broadsides more furiously repeat : 
 As th' elm which of its arms the axe bereaves, 
 New strength and vigour from its wounds receives j 
 X 2
 
 308 JOHN DENXIS. 
 
 Their rage by loss of limbs is kindled more. 
 And with their guns like hurricanes they roar : 
 Like hurricanes the knotted oak they tear. 
 Scourge the vex'd ocean, and torment the air ; 
 While earth, air, sea, in wild confusion hurl'd. 
 With universal wreck and chaos threat the world. 
 
 Such would the noise be, should this mighty all 
 Crushed, and confounded into atoms fall : 
 Bullets amain, unseen by mortal eye. 
 Flying in legions thro' the darken'd sky. 
 Kill like destroying angels as they fly. 
 Here a grenado falls, and blazing bums. 
 While pale as death the amazed spectator turns j 
 And now it bursts, and with a mortal sound, 
 Deals horrible destruction all around. 
 
 There a red bullet from our cannon blown. 
 Into a first^rate's powder-room is thrown : 
 Tost by a whirlwind of tempestuous fire, 
 A thousand wretches in the air expire ; 
 From whence transported to the world below. 
 Howling, an impious colony they go. 
 
 There a chain'd shot, with whirling rage, deprive* 
 More than one ship of entrails, limbs, and lives ;
 
 JOHN DENNIS.- 309 
 
 Death, who set out with it, does lagging stay. 
 Or limps behind it, panting in its way. 
 
 And now from the Britannia in a croud. 
 Huge bolts with fury rend their nitrous cloud ; 
 Not mighty Jove's could pass more fierce or loud. 
 When brandished by the god, in dust they laid 
 Those sons of earth who durst his heaven 
 
 invade : 
 Enceladus on Ossa Pelion casts. 
 When, lo ! all tliree tlie avenging thunder blasts. 
 And the Britannia like destruction hurl'd 
 On the invaders of its floating world : 
 By her they witli their moving mountains fell. 
 Like vast Typhosus, flaming sent to Hell. 
 
 Great Russell does their Admirals assail. 
 With thunder, lightning, and with iron hail , 
 To have seen the amazing sight, one would have 
 
 sworn, 
 Vulcanian islands from their seats were torn : 
 That Strombolo afloat did thundering rush. 
 And tlie inferiour Isles - 
 With inextinguishable fury crush. 
 
 O WOULD tliat fury animate my verse. 
 That godlike rage which is botli wise and fierce ; 
 X3
 
 {^10 jrOHN DEIOIIS. 
 
 Thajb rage which in the fight inspired thy breat. 
 Then might thy praise be gloriously express'd ; 
 Thy noble acts in equal numbers shown. 
 Which thou might'st then, triumphant Russell, 
 
 own. 
 But who could e'er command celestial fire ? 
 The god does whom, and when he lists, inspire ; 
 Now down he rushes, and my breast he shakes, 
 And now to Heaven his towering' flight he takes. 
 Then e'er he leaves me, and my blood grows 
 
 cold. 
 The battle's vast event in haste he told. 
 
 Inu^ French, at last, of treacherous aid deceived. 
 By loudest storms would gladly be relieved : 
 Their ships which in magnificent array. 
 But ju&t before did their proud flags display. 
 And seem'd vvith war and destiny to play ; 
 Now from our rage, despoil'd of rigging, tow. 
 Or burn, or up into the air they blow. 
 
 Thus a large row of oaKs does long remain 
 The ornament and shelter of the plain ; 
 With their aspiring heads they reach the sky. 
 Their huge extended arms the winds defy. 
 The tempest sees their strength, and sighs, and 
 passes by :
 
 JOHN DENNIS. 311 
 
 When Jove concerned that they so high aspire. 
 Among them sends his own revenging fire ; 
 Which does with dismal havock on them fall. 
 Bums some, and tears up some, but rends them all. 
 From their dead trunks their mangled arras are 
 
 torn. 
 And from their heads their scatter'd glories borne ; 
 Upon tlie heath they blasted stand and bare. 
 And those, whom once tliey shelter'd, now they 
 
 scare. ' 
 
 X 4
 
 C 312 ^3 
 CONSTANTIA GRIERSON. 
 
 Ireland, 170(3 1733. 
 
 More known as an excellent scholar than as a poetess. 
 What few of her poems have been preserved are printed 
 with Mrs. Barber's. 
 
 The Speech of Cupid, upon seeing himself painted 
 ly the Honourable Miss Carteret^ (now Countess tf 
 Di/sert,) on a Fan. 
 
 In various forms have I been shown, 
 Tho* little yet to mortals known ; 
 In antient Temples painted blind. 
 Nor less imperfect in my mind : 
 Abroad I threw my random darts. 
 And, spiteful, pierced ill-suited hearts : 
 The steady Patriot, wise and brave. 
 Is to some giddy jilt a slave ; 
 The thoughtful Sage oft weds a shrew j 
 And vestals languish for a beau : 
 The fiery youth's unguided rage. 
 The childish dotages of age ;
 
 CONSTANTIA GRIERSOK. 313 
 
 31iese, and tea thoosand follies more. 
 
 Ate placed to injured Cupid's score. 
 
 As such, is LovB by realms adored. 
 
 As such, his giddy aid implored : 
 
 Tho' oft the tiioughtless nymph, and swain. 
 
 That sued me thus, have sued in vain. 
 
 Yet, long insulted by mankind. 
 Who from false figures judged my mind ; 
 And on me all the faults have thrown. 
 They were themselves ashamed to own j 
 I from this picture plainly see, 
 A mortal can be just to me ; 
 That awful sweetness can display. 
 With which angelick minds I sway; 
 With which I rule tlie good on earth. 
 And give exalted passions birth : 
 The form of Love, so long unknown. 
 At last by bright Charissa's shown : 
 Her hand does every beauty trace 
 That can adorn a heavenly face j 
 And of my graces more unfold. 
 Than ever paint, or verse, of old. 
 
 Now hear the God, whom worlds revere. 
 What He decrees for her declare.
 
 314 CONSTA!CTIA GKIEnSON. 
 
 Thou, lovely nymph ! shalt shortly prove 
 Those sweets, thou paint'st so well in love : 
 Thou soon that charming swain shalt see. 
 Whom Fate and I design for thee ; 
 His head adorn'd with every art ; 
 "With every grace his glowing heart. 
 That throbs with every fond desire. 
 Thy charms can raise, or Love inspire. 
 You from each other shall receive 
 The highest joys I know to give : 
 (Tho' to thy parents, long before, 
 I thought I empty'd all my store) 
 While your exalted lives shall show 
 A sketch of heavenly bliss below j 
 The bliss of every godlike mind. 
 Beneficent to human kind j 
 And I to mortals shine confess'd 
 Both in your paint, and in your breast. 
 
 To Mrs. Mary Barber, under the Name of 
 Sapphira : occasioned hy thn Encouragement she fnet 
 with in England, to publish her Poems by Subscription. 
 
 Long has the warrior's, and the lover's fire. 
 Employed the Poet, and ingrossed the lyre ;
 
 COWSTANTIA GRIERSO-N. 316 
 
 And justly too the world might long approve 
 The praise of heroes and of virtuous love j 
 Had tyrants not usurp'd the hero's name. 
 For low desires debased the lover's flame ; 
 If on those themes, all Triflcps had not writ. 
 Guiltless of sense, or elegance, or wit. 
 
 Fa r different tliemes we in thy verses view ; 
 Themes, in themselves, alike sublime, and new : 
 Thy tuneful labours all conspire to show 
 The highest bliss the mind can taste below ; 
 To ease those wants, with which tlie wretched 
 
 pine ; 
 And imitate beneficence divine : 
 A theme, alas ! forgot by bards too long ; 
 And, but for thee, almost unknown to song. 
 
 Such wise reflections in thy lays are shown. 
 As Flaccus' Muse, in all her pride, might own : 
 So elegant and so refined, thy praise. 
 As greatest minds, at once, might mend and 
 
 please : 
 No florid toys, in pompous numbers drest; 
 But justest thoughts, in purest stile, exprest : 
 Whene'er thy Muse designs the heart to move. 
 The melting reader must, with tears approve j
 
 316 CONSTANTIA GRIERSOir. 
 
 Or when, more gay, her spritely satire bites, 
 *Tis not to wound, but to instruct, she writes. 
 
 Cou'd * * *, or * * *, from the tomb. 
 Which shades their ashes till the final doom. 
 The dire effects of vicious writings view. 
 How would they mourn to think what might 
 
 ensue ! 
 Blush at tlieir works, for no one end design'd. 
 But to embellish vice, and taint the mind ! 
 No more their dear-bought fame wou'd raise their 
 
 pride ; 
 But terrors wait on talents misapplied. 
 
 Not so Sapphiea : her unsullied strain 
 Shall never give her soul one conscious pain ; 
 To latest times shall melt the harden'd breast. 
 And raise her joys by making others blest. 
 
 These works, which modesty conceal'd in night. 
 Your candour, generous Britons, brings to light 5 
 Born, by your arms, for Liberty's defence. 
 Born, by your taste, the arbiters of sense : 
 Long may your taste, and long your empire 
 
 stand. 
 To honour wit, and worth, from every land.
 
 CONSTXSTIA GRIERSOX. 317 
 
 Oh ! cou'd my conscious muse but fully trace 
 The silent virtues which Sapphira grace j 
 How much her heart, from low desires refined ; 
 How much her works, the transcript of her mind j 
 Her tender care, and grief for the distrest ; 
 Her joy unfeign'd, to see true merit blest j 
 Her soul so form'd for every social care j 
 A friend so generous, ardent, and sincere ; 
 How would you triumph in yourselves to find 
 Your favours shewn to so complete a mind ; 
 To find her breast with every grace inspired. 
 Whom first you only for her lays admired. 
 Thus the great Father of the Hebrew state. 
 Who watch'd for weary'd strangers at his gate; 
 The good He thought conferr'd on men unknown. 
 He fbood to more exalted beings shown. 
 
 CONSTANTIA GRJERSOX. 
 Publin, Jan. ^, 1732.
 
 I 318 J 
 
 GEORGE GRANVILLE, LORD:* 
 LANSDOWNE. 
 
 16671735. 
 
 A noble imitator of Waller, not a good one. Having lost' 
 his friends at Court with the family of the Stuarts, h& 
 sought the society of his muse in retirement. 
 
 Occasioned hy " Verses sent to the Author in hit' 
 Retirement. Written hy Mrs. Elizabeth Hoggins." 
 
 Cease, tempting Siren, cease thy flattering strain>. 
 Sweet is thy charming song, but sung in vain : 
 When the winds blow, and loud the tempests roar. 
 What fool would trust the waves, and quit tlie shore ?: 
 Early, and vain, into the world I came. 
 Big with false' hopes and eager after fame j 
 Till looking round me, ere the race began. 
 Madmen, and giddy fools, were all that ran; 
 Reclaim'd betimes, I from the lists retire. 
 And thank the gods, who ray retreat inspire. 
 In happier times our ancestors were bred. 
 When virtue was the only path to tread :
 
 GEORGE GBANTILLE, LORD LANSDOWKE. 319 
 
 Give me, ye gods ! but tlie same road to fame, 
 Wbate'er my fathers dared, I dare tlie same. 
 Changed is the scene, some baneful planet rules 
 An impious world, contrived for knaves and fools. 
 Look now around, and witli impartial eyes 
 Consider, and examine all who rise ; 
 Weigh well their actions, and their treacheroua 
 
 ends. 
 How greatness grows, and by what steps ascends ; 
 What murders, treasons, peijuries, deceit; 
 How many crush'd, to noake one monster great. 
 Would you command ^ Have fortune in your 
 
 power? 
 Hug when you stab, and smile when you devour ? 
 Be bloody, false, flatter, forswear, and lie. 
 Turn pander, pathick, parasite, or spy j 
 Such thriving arts may your wish'd purpose bring, 
 A minister at least, perhaps a king. 
 Fortune, we most unjustly partial call, 
 A mistress free, who bids alike to all ; 
 But on such terms as only suit tlie base. 
 Honour denies and shuns tlie foul embrace. 
 The honest man, who starves and is undone. 
 Not fortune, but his virtue keeps him down. 
 Had Cato bent beneath the conquering cause. 
 He might have lived to give new Senates laws ;
 
 320 GEORGE GRANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNE. 
 
 But on vile terms disdaining to be great. 
 He perish'd by his choice, and not his fate. 
 Honours and life, th' usurper bids, and all 
 That vain mistaken men good-fortune call. 
 Virtue forbids, and sets before his eyes 
 An honest death, which he accepts, and dies : 
 
 glorious resolutioa! noble pride ! 
 
 More honour'd, than the tyrant lived, he died ; 
 More loved, more praised, more envy'd in his 
 
 doom, 
 Than Caesar trampling on the rights of Rome. 
 The virtuous nothing fear, but life with shame. 
 And death's a pleasant road that leads to fame. 
 On bones, and scraps of dogs let me be fed. 
 My limbs uncover'd, and exposed my head 
 To bleakest colds, a kennel be my bed. 
 This, and all other martyrdom for thee. 
 Seems glorious, all, thrice beauteous honesty ! 
 Judge me, ye powers ! let foi tuBC tempt or frown 
 
 1 stand prepared, my honour is my own. 
 Ye great disturbers, who in endless noise. 
 In blood and rapine seek unnatural joys. 
 For what is all this bustle but to shun 
 
 Those thoughts with which you dare not be alone } 
 As men in misery, opprest with care. 
 Seek in the rage of wine to drown despair.
 
 SEORGE GHANTliLE, LORD LANSDOTTTr. Sit 
 
 Let others fight, and eat their bread in blood. 
 
 Regardless if the cause be bad or good 5 
 
 Or cringe in courts, depending on the nods- 
 
 Of strutting pigmies who would pass for gods. 
 
 For me, unpractised in the courtiers school> 
 
 Who loath a knave, and tremble at a fool j 
 
 Who honour generous Wycherley opprest, 
 
 Possest of little, worthy of the best. 
 
 Rich in himself, in virtue that outshines 
 
 AH but the fame of his immortal lines. 
 
 More than the wealthiest lord, who helps to 
 
 drain. 
 The famish'd land, and rolls in impious gain : 
 What can I hope in courts ? or how succeed ? 
 Tygers and wolves shall in the ocean tread. 
 The whale and dolphin fatten on the mead y 
 And every element exchange its kind. 
 Ere thriving honesty in courts we find.. 
 Happy tlie man, of mortals happiest he, * 
 Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free ; 
 Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment. 
 But lives at peace within himself content. 
 In thought, or act, accountable to none. 
 But to himself, and to the gods alone : 
 O sweetness of content ! seraphick joy ! 
 Which nothing wants, and nothing can destroy. 
 
 YOL. I. T
 
 322 GEonCE GKANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNE. 
 
 Where dwells this peace, this freedom of the mind ! 
 Where, but in shades remote from human kind ; 
 In flowery vales, where nymphs and shepherds 
 
 meet. 
 But never comes within the palace gate. 
 Farewell then cities, courts, and camps, farewell. 
 Welcome, ye groves, here let me ever dwell. 
 From caies, from business, and mankind remove ! 
 All but the Muses and inspiriug love j 
 How sweet tlie morn ! how gentle is the night ! 
 How calm the evening ! and the day how bright ! 
 From hence as from a hill, I view below 
 The crowded world, a mighty wood in show. 
 Where several wanderers travel day and night. 
 By different patlis, and none are in the right.
 
 r 323^ J 
 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 Dorsetshire, 1735. 
 
 TKis gentleman was in the church, and was father to John 
 Wesley, the great teacher of the Methodists. His imagi- 
 nation seems to have been playful and diffuse;. had he 
 written daring his son's celebrity, some of his piece* 
 might perhaps have been condemned by the godly as 
 profane. 
 
 In a lively and witty Epistle to the reader, prefixed to a 
 small book of poems called * Maggots" he says, " In 
 the next place, since it comes uppermost, I am to tell 
 ye bond Jidi^ that is in English, in verba sacerJotis, that 
 all are here my own pure maggots, the natural issue of 
 my own brain-pan, bred and born there." 
 
 A PINDARJ3UE, 
 
 On the grunting of a Hog. 
 
 Fkebbokn Pindarick never does refisse. 
 Either a lofty, or an humble muse : 
 Now in proud Sop/ioclean buskins flings, 
 ( )!' heroes, and of kings. 
 Mighty numbers, mighty tilings, 
 T 2
 
 324 8AMVEL \VESLET. 
 
 Now out of sight she flies, ' 
 
 Rowing with gaudy wings 
 Across the stormy skies. 
 Then down again. 
 Herself she flings. 
 Without uneasiness, or pain 
 To lice, and dogs. 
 To cows, and hogs. 
 And follows their melodious gruijting o'er the 
 plain. 
 
 Harmonious hog draw near ! 
 No bloody butcher's here. 
 Thou need' St not fear. 
 Harmonious hog draw near, and from thy beauteous 
 snout 
 Whilst we attend with ear. 
 Like thine prick' t up devout ; 
 To taste thy sugary voice, which here, and there. 
 With wanton curls, vibrates around the circling 
 air. 
 Harmonious hog ! warble some anthem out ! 
 As sweet as those which quavering Monks in days 
 of yore. 
 
 With us did roar. 
 When they alas I
 
 SAMUEJL WESLEY. S^ 
 
 That the hard-hearted abbot such a coyl should 
 
 keep. 
 And cheat *em of their first, their sweetest 
 sleep ; 
 When they were ferretted up to midnight mass; 
 Why should not other pigs on organs play. 
 As well as they. 
 
 Dear hog ! thou king oF meat ! 
 
 So near thy Lord mankind. 
 The nicest taste can scarce a difference find ! 
 No more may I thy glorious gammons eat ! 
 No more. 
 Partake of the free farmers Christmas store. 
 Black puddings which with fat would make your 
 mouth run o'er. 
 Jf I, tho' I should ne'er so long tlje sentence 
 stay. 
 And in my large ears scale, the thing ne're so 
 discreetly weigh. 
 If I can find a difference in the notes, 
 Belcht from the applauded throats 
 Of rotten play-house songsters-all-divine. 
 If any difference I can find between their notes, 
 and thine, 
 A noise they keep with tune, and out of tune, 
 y3
 
 326 ffAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 And round, and flat. 
 High, low, and this, and that, 
 That Algebra, or thou, or I might understand as 
 soon. 
 
 Xrike the confounding lute's innumerable strings 
 One of them sings ; 
 Thy easier musick's ten times more divine ; 
 More like the one string'd, deep, majestick trump- 
 marine : 
 Prythee strike up, and cheer this drooping heart of 
 mine ! 
 Not the sweet harp that 's claim'd by Jews, 
 Nor that which to the far more ancient Welch 
 belongs. 
 Nor that which the wild Irish use^ 
 Frighting even their own wolves with loud hub- 
 bubbaboos. 
 Nor Indian dance, with Indian songs. 
 Nor yet, 
 (Which how should I so long forget ?) 
 The crown of all the rest. 
 The very cream o' tli' jest : 
 Amptuous noble Z-yre the tongs ; 
 Nor, tho* poetick Jordan bite his thumbs. 
 At the bold M'orld, my Lord Mayor's flutes, and 
 kettle drums ;
 
 SAMUEL WESTLEY. SVf 
 
 Not all this instrumental dare, 
 "With thy soft, ravishing, vocal musick ever to. 
 compare. 
 
 A Kins turned Thresher. 
 
 Farewell ye gay bubbles, fame, glory, renown ! 
 Farewell you bright thorns that are pinn'd to a 
 
 crown. 
 Your little enchantments no more shall prevail ; 
 Look, look where my sceptre is turned to a flail. 
 O who can the bliss of a monarch discern. 
 Whose subjects are mice, and whose palace a barn ? 
 In spight of cursed fortune he kings it below. 
 While he looks all around him, and sees not a foe. 
 The groans of tlie murdered in death and despair. 
 Ne'er reach his calm kingdom, but dye in the air : 
 Fierce battles roar on ; but too weak is the voice. 
 For he threibes and threshes, and drowns all the 
 
 noise. 
 The soul of Domitian sunk into a clod, 
 Dyonisius his sceptre was light as his rod j 
 And tlie little-great Charles, with his shovel and 
 
 spade. 
 Dug a hole, and lay down in the grave he had made. 
 Y 4
 
 328 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 But a thousand times brighter my stars do appear. 
 And I ne'er was a monarch in earnest till here : 
 On a heap of fresh straw I can laugh and lye down. 
 And pity the man that's condemn'd to a crown. 
 No armyes o frogs here croak by my throne, 
 I can rise, I can walk, I can eat all alone : 
 Relieved from the siege of importunate men, 
 I enjoy my original freedom agen. 
 Scarce peeps out the sun with a blushing young ray. 
 Ere my brisk feathered bell-man will tell me 'tis 
 
 day ; 
 Proud with his serallio behind and before. 
 He cheerly triumphing, struts along by the door* 
 Here 's an honest brown George, wlTich my scrip 
 
 does adorn. 
 Here 's a true houshold loaf of the hiew o' my 
 
 corn J 
 Here 's a good raramel-cheese, but a little decay'd. 
 As fat as the cream out of which it was made. 
 When deatli shall cross proverbs and strike at my 
 
 heart. 
 When the best of my flails is no fence for his dart j 
 I '11 open my arms, not a groan, not a sigh, 
 Dropt soft on the straw, with a smile I will dye.
 
 t 329 ] 
 MARY BARBER, 
 
 Ptibiished, 1735. 
 
 Swift thought highly of this lady, and recommended her 
 Poems and her dedication of them to Lord Orrery, strongly 
 in a letter to that nobleman. He says, " they generally 
 contain something new and useful, tending to the reproof 
 of some vice or folly, or recommending some virtue. 
 She never writes on a suhject with general unconnected 
 ^topicks, but always with a scheme and method, driving 
 to some particular end, wherein many writers in verseand 
 of some distinction are so often known to fail. In short, 
 she seemcth to have a true poetical genius, better culti- 
 vated than would well be expected either from her sex, 
 or the scene she hath acted in, as the wife of a citizrai." 
 >Icr Poems were published by subscription, llii. 
 
 Steiia and Flama. 
 
 otella and Flavia, every hour. 
 Unnumbered hearts surprise : 
 
 In Stella's oul lies all her pow'r. 
 And Flavia s, in her eyei.
 
 330 MART BARBER. 
 
 More boundless Flavians conquests are. 
 And Stella's more confined : 
 
 All can discern a face that 's fair. 
 But few a lovely mind. 
 
 Stella like Britain's monarch, reigns 
 
 O'er cultivated lands ; 
 Like Eastern tyrants, Flavia deigns ' 
 
 To rule o'er barren lands. 
 
 Then boast, fair Flavia, boast your face. 
 
 Your beauty's only store : 
 Your charms will ev'ry day decrease. 
 
 Each <iay gives Stella more. 
 
 On seeing an Officer s Widoto distracted uho had been 
 driven to De.'-pair, by a long and fruitless solicitation 
 for the Arrears of her Pension. 
 
 O WRETCH ! hath madness cured thy dire despair ? 
 
 Yes all thy sorrows now are light as air : 
 
 No more you mourn your once-loved husband's 
 
 fate, 
 "Who bravely perish'd for a thankless state.
 
 afJAT BAXBER. 331 
 
 For rolling years thy piety prevail'd ; 
 
 At length, quite sunk thy hope, thy patience 
 
 fail'd : 
 Distracted now you tread on life's last stage. 
 Nor feel the weight of poverty and age : 
 How blest in this, compared with those, whose lot 
 Dooms them to miseries, by you forgot ! 
 
 Now, wild as winds, you from your offspring fly. 
 Or fright them from you with distracted eye : 
 Rove thro' the streets ; or sing, devoid of care. 
 With tatter'd garments, and dishevell'd hair ; 
 By hooting boys to higher phrenzy fired. 
 At length you sink, by cruel treatment tired. 
 Sink into sleep, an emblem of the dead, 
 A stone thy pillow, the cold earth thy beeK 
 
 O tell it not ; let none the story hear. 
 Lest Britain's martial sons should learn to fear f *^' 
 And when they next the hostile wall attack. 
 Feel the heart fail, the lifted arm grow slack j 
 And pausing cry tho' deatli we scorn to dread, ' 
 Our orphan oflBpring, must they pine for bread > 
 See their loved mothers into prisons thrown j 
 And unrelieved ia iron bondage groan ?
 
 332 MART BAKBER. 
 
 Britain, for this impending ruin dread ; 
 Their woes call loud for vengeance on thy head : 
 Nor wonder^ if disasters wait your fleets ; 
 Nor wonder at complainings in your streets .' 
 Be timely wise j arrest th' uplifted hand. 
 Ere pestilence or famine sweep the land. 
 
 An unanswerable Apology for the Rich, 
 
 ALL-bounteous Heaven, Castalio cries, 
 "With bended knees, and lifted eyes. 
 When shall I have the power to bleds, 
 And raise up Merit in distress ? 
 How do our hearts deceive us here ! 
 He gets ten thousand pounds a year. 
 With this the pious youth is able. 
 To build, and plant, and keep a table. 
 But then, the Poor he must not treat ; 
 Who asks the wretch, that wants to eat ? 
 Alas ! to ease their woes he wishes. 
 But cannot live without ten dishes, 
 Tho' s.ix would serve as well, 'tis true ; 
 But, one must live as others do. 
 He now feels wants, unknown before. 
 Wants still encreasing with his store.
 
 UAET BARBEn. > 3^3 
 
 The good Castalio must provide 
 Brocade, and jewels, for his bride j 
 Her toilet shines with plate emboss*d. 
 What sums her lace and linen cost ! 
 The cloaths, that must his person grace. 
 Shine with embroidery and lace. 
 The costly pride of Persian looms. 
 And Guido's paintings, grace his rooms. 
 His wealth Castalio will not waste. 
 But must have every thing in taste. 
 He 's an (Economist confest. 
 But what he buys must be the best. 
 For common use, a set of plate ; 
 Old china when he dines in state. 
 A coach and six, to take the air. 
 Besides a chariot, and chair. 
 All those important calls supplied. 
 Calls of necessity, not pride. 
 His income's regularly spent ; 
 He scarcely saves to pay his rent. 
 No man alive would do more good. 
 Or give more freely, if he could. 
 He grieves, whene'er the wretched sue. 
 But what can poor Castalio do ? 
 
 Would Heaven but send ten thousand more. 
 He'd give just as he did before.
 
 C 3S4 ] 
 THOMAS YALDEN. 
 
 Oxford, 16691736. 
 
 Yalden obtained a place among the Poets under the critical 
 administration of Doctor Johnson. As his Hymn to 
 Darkness has been pronounced his best Pocra it is here 
 selected, for what has been admired may possibly find 
 admirers again. 
 
 Hymn to Darkness, 
 
 JDabkness, thou first great parent of us all,. 
 
 Thou art ovir great original ; 
 
 Since from thy universal womb 
 Does all thou shadest below, thy numerous ofFspringi 
 come. 
 
 Thy wonderous birth is even to time unknown. 
 Or, like eternity, thou'dst none j 
 Which did its first being owe 
 
 Unto that awful shade it dares to rival now. 
 
 Say, in what region dost thou dwell. 
 
 To reason inaccessible ? 
 
 From form and duller matter free. 
 Thou soar' St above the reach of man's philosophy.
 
 THOMAS YALDEN. $$5 
 
 Involved in thee, we first receive our breath. 
 Thou art our refuge too in death : 
 Great monarch of the grave and womb. 
 
 Where'er our souls shall go, to thee our bodies 
 come. 
 
 The silent globe is struck with awful fear. 
 When thy majestick shades appear : 
 Thou dost compose the air and sea. 
 
 And earth a sabbath keeps, sacred to rest and 
 thee. 
 
 In thy serener shades oiir ghosts delight. 
 And court the umbrage of the night j 
 In vaults and gloomy caves they stray. 
 
 But fly the morning's beams, and sicken at the 
 day. 
 
 Though solid bodies dare exclude the light. 
 Nor will the brightest ray admit ; 
 No substance can thy force repel. 
 
 Thou reign' st in depths below, dost in tlie centre 
 dwell. 
 
 The sparkling gems, and ore in mines below. 
 To thee their beauteous lustre owe ; 
 Though form'd within tlie womb of night. 
 
 Bright as their sire tliey shine with native rays of 
 light.
 
 336 THOMAS TALDEN. 
 
 When thou dost raise thy venerable head> 
 And art in genuine night array'd. 
 Thy negro beauties then delight j 
 
 Beauties, like polished jet, with their own darkness 
 bright.. 
 
 Thou dost thy smiles impartially bestow,^ 
 And know'st no difference here below 
 All things appear the same by thee. 
 
 Thou light distinction makes, thou giv'st equality. . 
 
 Thou,, darkness, art the lover's kind retreat,. 
 
 And dost the nuptial joys complete ; 
 
 Thou dost inspire them with thy shade, 
 Givest vijgour to the youthj, and warm'st the yield- 
 ing maid- 
 Calm as the bless'd above the Anchorites dwell; 
 
 Within their peaceful gloomy cell. 
 
 Their minds with heavenly joys are filled ; 
 The pleasures light deny, thy shades for ever yield*. 
 
 In caves of night, the oracles of old 
 
 Did all their mysteries unfold : 
 
 Darkness did first religion grace. 
 Gave terrors to the God, and reverence to the 
 place.
 
 THOMAS TALDEN. 3S7 
 
 When the Almighty did on Horeb stand. 
 Thy shades enclosed the hallowed land ; 
 In clouds of night he was array'd. 
 
 And venerable darkness his pavilion made. 
 
 When he appear'd arm'd in his power and might, . 
 
 He veil'd tlie beatifick light j 
 
 When terrible with majesty. 
 In tempests he gave laws, and clad himself in thee. 
 
 Ere the foundation of the earth was laid. 
 
 Or brighter firmament was made. 
 
 Ere matter, time, or place, was known. 
 
 Thou, monarch darkness, sway'dst these spacious 
 realms alone. 
 
 But, now the moon (though gay with borrow'd light) 
 Invades thy scanty lot of night : 
 By rebel subjects thou'rt betray'd. 
 
 The anarchy of stars depose their monarch shader 
 
 Yet fading light its empire must resign. 
 And nature's power submit to tliine : 
 And universal ruin shall erect thy throne. 
 
 And fate confirm thy kingdom evermore thy own. 
 
 voi , I. z
 
 '*' [338] 
 
 EUSTACE BUDGELL. 
 
 Exeter, 16831736. 
 
 The cousin of Addison and an important contributor to the 
 Tatler, Spectator and Guardian, his other Works have 
 for the most part perished, for they were upon.temporary,^ 
 or personal subjects. His latter years were unfortunate. 
 He was ill-used by the great, he was imprudent, the 
 South Sea Scheme absorbed the larger part of his fortune, 
 and at length he threw himself into the Thames. 
 
 A passage in his dedication to the late Queen Caroline, 
 of the poem from which the extract is taken is worth 
 copying into every scholar's common place-book. " Every 
 man may be a scholar who has strong eyes, a plodding 
 head, a phlegmatick temper, and leisure to study ; but if 
 with all these happy talents he has a wrong judgment and 
 an ill taste, he is but hourly adding to a collection of 
 absurdities, and grows every day either a more insu&rabljp 
 pedant, or distinguished coscomb." 
 
 From a Poem on his Majesty's late journey to Cam- 
 bridge and Newmarket. 
 
 Britannia's king, in arms, in artsjrenown'd. 
 With martial wreaths^ and peaceful olives crown' d.
 
 XUSTACE BUDGEI.L. 339 
 
 His mind unbending from severer cares. 
 From Europe's counsels and the world's affairs. 
 Of Granta's learned seats prefers the charms 
 And quits awhile even Carolina's arms, 
 See^ as in solemn state he moves along. 
 How all the way the pleased transported throng 
 On their great Monarch fix their ardent eyes. 
 And with applauding thunder rend the skies : 
 Hark, how to Heaven their^uppliant voice they raise. 
 Imploring health and length of glorious days. 
 For this, his steers unyoked, the painful hind. 
 Leaves the long furrow half unploughed behind ; 
 Soon as he sees the royal train advance. 
 Eager he presses for a single glance ; 
 The godlike aspect strikes his ravish'd sight. 
 And his heart flutters witli unknown delight } 
 Thus passes through his realm Britannia's lord. 
 Like the young sun in Eastern climes adored. 
 Like that bright orb with a difiusive ray, 
 Chears all and makes the face of nature gay. 
 
 And now, O Cam, to thy illustrious domes. 
 Thy royal guest, thy king, thy patron comes j 
 With loyal raptures, and in decent state. 
 The learned tlurong upon their sovereign wait ; 
 His gracious presence all obedient greet. 
 And fall in crouds submissive at his feet : 
 z2
 
 340 EUSTACE BUDGELt. 
 
 But most the laurel'd tribe in transport gaze^ 
 
 On the great subject of their future lays ; 
 
 While thus intent they view his form serene. 
 
 His awful look and his majestick mien j 
 
 Their fancies in a blaze of glory lost. 
 
 Doubt which immortal virtue merits most j 
 
 His publick labour which all Europe shares. 
 
 Or his more private and domestick cares 3 
 
 The consort's fondness, or the generous arts. 
 
 Of reigning in a free-born peoples' hearts ; 
 
 His open ear to all, and free access. 
 
 Each subject's wrong impartial to redress. 
 
 His never ceasing study to call forth 
 
 Virtue oppress'd, and undistinguish'd worth, 
 
 His constant justice join'd with winning ease. 
 
 His martial prowess or his love of peace. 
 
 The fair with different eyes observant trace. 
 
 The "softer lines and beauties of his face ; 
 
 His easy greatness, his engaging air. 
 
 And tharms that might the coldest heart ensnare ; 
 
 Yet aw'd by duty, struggling with desire. 
 
 They check the growing flame and silently admire. 
 
 And now assembled with his learned seers. 
 Such is his love of arts, the king appears j 
 In graceful order all around him stand. 
 The lettered youth, tlie hopes of Britain's land.
 
 EUSTACE BVDGELL. S41 
 
 
 
 Meanwhile great Brunswick, nodding from hit 
 
 throne, 
 Confirms their rights, and yet asserts his own j 
 By his creating voice, propitious, wise. 
 Physicians, lawyers, and divines arise ; 
 Even here his regal grandeur he maintains. 
 And in the council of the Muses reigns. 
 
 ***** 
 Nor think, O Prince from whom these honours 
 
 spring. 
 Such condescensions are beneath a king ; 
 Without a genius to transmit his deeds. 
 In vain the patriot wakes, the hero bleeds j 
 But in the poet's and historian's page. 
 They act, and shine again through every age. 
 Achilles lives in Homer's verse alone, 
 JEnetts now had been a name unknown ; 
 Ix)st in the mass of unremembered things. 
 Had not the Mantuan poet plumed his wings : 
 Thy glorious predecessor great Nassau, 
 Who rescued nations, who gave Europe law j 
 Of common mortals must have felt the doom. 
 And been forgot in ages yet to come ; 
 Had not his Halifax embalm'd his name. 
 And Addison secured his deathless fame. 
 
 z 3
 
 3"^' C 342 1 
 
 H. PRICE. 
 
 Publishedy 1736. 
 
 He was a landwaiter in the Port of Poole, and published, 
 in 1736, a translation of the Batrachomuomacbiai which 
 be dedicated to Lord Hinton. 
 
 Man that is horn of a Wommt ^c. 
 
 How short, how narrow is the span ! 
 How few the years allowed to man ! 
 And even in those few years he feels. 
 And groans beneath a thousand ills. 
 
 As springs the flower, in some gay mead. 
 Then sudden hangs its drooping head : 
 So does our boasted strength decay. 
 And like the shadow fly away. 
 
 For every moment that we breathe, 
 Tis hastening to the gates of death ; 
 And who can needful help afford 
 In that sad hour, but thou, O Lord ?
 
 H. rRiCE. 34S 
 
 Conscious of guilt to thee we cry. 
 And raise the hand, and lift the eye j 
 Yet sure our sins may justly move 
 Thine anger rather than thy love. 
 
 But, O most holy ! most adored ? 
 Superior King ! Almighty Lord ! 
 Have mercy when we yield our breath. 
 Nor doom us to eternal deathr 
 
 The secrets of our hearts are known 
 To thee, O God ! and thee alone : 
 Be gracious then, and let us find 
 Thee ever good, and ever kind. 
 
 To William Okeden, Esq; imitated from Casimif. 
 
 The snowy treasures of the sky. 
 That on the glittering mountains lie. 
 Soon from their brows will melt away. 
 Struck by the sun's dissolving ray. 
 
 But when old age begins to spread 
 Its reverend emblems round tliy head ; 
 There, Okeden, shall they shine display'd 
 Till thou thyself in dust art laid, 
 7 4
 
 5J44 H. PRICE. 
 
 Let fate but only spare thy youth. 
 
 And fate shall justify thy truth. 
 
 When changed from what thou wert before, 
 
 She bids thee die, and be no more. 
 
 See ! mighty Marlborough, once the boast 
 Of all th' embattled British host. 
 Beneath the dreadful stroke expires. 
 Unbraced his nerves, extinct his fires. 
 
 For strength is nought, and tears shall flow, 
 In vain, when heaven designs the blow : 
 If thou can'st wish to stretch thy days. 
 Let all thy actions merit praise. 
 
 That man is old, whom, when he dies. 
 His country views with weeping eyes : 
 Fame is his due ; and that shall save 
 His name from darkness and the grave.
 
 [ 345 3 '*^' 
 
 ELIZABETH ROWE. 
 
 16741737. 
 
 A woman of exemplary piety and virtue. Her poems shew 
 mach spirit and cultivation, and are chiefly characterised 
 by their devotion. They are at times a little more enthu- 
 siastick than is allowable even for poetry, and are some- 
 times distorted by metaphysicks, but geiKially their beau- 
 ties prevail over their faults. 
 
 On the death ef the Honourable Henri/ Thj/nne, Esq. 
 only son of the Bight Honourable Thomas, Lord 
 Viicount Wei/mouth. 
 
 IB stately buildings, and ye fair retreats. 
 That lately seemed, of guiltless joys the seats j 
 You groves, and beauteous gardens, where we find 
 Some graqpfiil tracts of Weymouth's active mind j 
 Put off your chearful looks, and blooming air, 
 And wear a prospect suited to despair : 
 Such as the melancholy muse requires. 
 When funeral grief tlie mournful song inspires.
 
 348 ELIZABETH ROWE. 
 
 The muses here Amyntas should deplore. 
 Who visits these delightful walks no more. 
 The noble youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace. 
 The boasted hope and glory of his race. 
 No more shall these inviting shades frequent ; 
 What merit can the fatal hour prevent ? 
 
 Lament, ye gloomy grotts, and charming bowers. 
 Pine at your roots, ye various plants and flowers j 
 Decay'd may all your painted blossoms fall. 
 Nor let the genial ray your life reveal. 
 Nor e'er again your gentle tribute bring, 
 (Gay Nature's pride) to crown the fragrant spring : 
 Tho' in her prime the lovely season here. 
 Till now, has triumph'd round the changing year j 
 And blooming still the wintry turns defy'd. 
 Nor blasting air, nor nipping frost has try'd. 
 While the glad sun ev'n linger'd in his race. 
 And blest with constant smiles the happy place. 
 Ye tender myrtles mourn, nor let your boughs 
 Hereafter deck one joyful lorer's brows. 
 Ye folding bays, and laurel's sacred shade. 
 At once let all your wreathing glories fade. 
 May raging tempests in the grove contend. 
 And from the stately firs their branches rend : 
 Nor let their shade receive the feather'd throng. 
 Which chear the evening with theix tuneful song ; 
 3
 
 ELIZABETH ROWE. 3^ 
 
 Nor erer here let balmy zephyrs stray. 
 And with their fragrant breath perfume the opening 
 day. 
 
 Ye swelling fountains, be for ever dry. 
 Or far from these unhappy borders fly ; 
 Nor let the skill of any daring hand. 
 To grace these walks your dancing spouts command ; 
 Nor sportive Tritons from their native course 
 Aloft in air, their silver currents force ; 
 While deep cascades the musing thought delight. 
 And rushing waves to soft repose invite. 
 Let the proud pedestals no longer prop 
 Their marble loads, but into ruins drop ; 
 The forms of heroes, and poelic gods. 
 But ill become these desolate abodes j 
 Amyntas is no more } who best could trace 
 Their fine proportions, judge of ev'ry grace 
 The speaking gesture, and pathetick face. 
 Whatever air a noble thought exprest. 
 An image met in his own generous breast. 
 Nor sculpture, nor heroick numbers told 
 A great design, or glorious name enroll'fl ; 
 But moved in him an emubting flame. 
 And had occasion try'd, his deeds had beea the 
 same.
 
 348 EUZABBTH ROWE. 
 
 Accomplish'd youth ! why wast thou snatch'd away ? 
 A thousand lives should have redeem'd thy stay. 
 Must worth like thine, sho sort a period find. 
 And leave so many useless tilings behind. 
 Unthinking forms, the burthen of the state j 
 While a whole nation suiFers in thy fate ? 
 
 On Lovf, 
 
 VioTomous love, thou sacred mystery ! 
 What muse in mortal strains can speak of thee ? 
 We feel th6 effect, and own thy force divine. 
 But vainly would the glorious cause define. 
 In part thy power in these cold realms is known ; 
 But in tlie blest celestial seats alone. 
 Thy triumphs in their splendid heights are shown. 
 Thy gentle torch, with a propitious light. 
 And spotless flame, burns there for ever bright. 
 Expressless pleasure, and transporting grace. 
 With lasting beauty, shine upon thy face. 
 By every tongue thy charms are diere confest. 
 And kindle joys in every heavenly breast : 
 For thee they touch the soft, melodious string, 
 'And love ki glad triumphant accents sing. 
 Almighty love, whence all their raptures spring.
 
 EZilZABETH aOWBn ^^ 
 
 A HlldN, 
 
 IN IMITATION or CANT. V. VI, VII. 
 
 Ye pure inhabitants of light. 
 Ye virgin minds above. 
 That feel the sacred violence. 
 And mighty force of love. 
 
 By all your boundless joys, by alj 
 Your love to human kind, 
 I charge you to instruct me where. 
 My absent Lord to find. 
 
 I've search'd the pleasant vales and plains, 
 And climb'd the hills around j 
 But no glad tidings of my love. 
 Among the swains have found. 
 
 .: : J-..-.: 
 
 I've oft invoked him in the shades. 
 
 By every stream and rock j 
 
 The rocks, the streams, and echoing shade*. 
 
 My vain industry mock, 
 
 I traced the city's noisy streets. 
 And told my cares aloud ; 
 But no intelligence could meet 
 Among the tlioughtless crowd.
 
 350 KLIZABETH ROWE. 
 
 I searched the temple round, for there 
 He oft has blest my sights 
 And half unveil*d, of his loved face 
 Disclosed the heavenly light. 
 
 But with these glorious views, no more 
 I feast my ravish'd eyes. 
 For veil'd with interposing clouds. 
 My eager search he flies. 
 
 Oh, could I in some desert land 
 His sacred foot-steps trace, 
 I'd with a glad devotion kneel. 
 And bless the happy place. 
 
 I'd follow him o'er burping sands. 
 Or where perpetual snow 
 With horrid aspect cloathes the ground. 
 To find my Lord, I'd go. 
 
 Nor stormy seas should stay my course. 
 Nor unfrequented shore. 
 Nor craggy Alps, nor desert wastes 
 Where hungry lions roar. 
 
 Thro' ranks of interposing deaths 
 To his embrace I'd fly. 
 And to enjoy his blissful smiles. 
 Would be content to die.
 
 EUZASETB ROWE. 351 
 
 To Mr. Prior, on his Solomon. 
 
 A MusB devoted to celestial things. 
 Again for thee profanes the immortal strings 5 
 The stars, the myrtle shade, and rosy bower 
 She quits, to revel in thy ivory tower ; 
 The music of the spheres and heavenly throngs 
 She minds no more, to listen to thy songs. 
 Enchanted with thy lovely Hebrew king, 
 Gabriel in vain displays his purple wing j 
 Boasts of his golden zone, and bright attire. 
 His starry crown, soft voice and charming lyre ; 
 With all his fine address, and glittering shew. 
 The muse abandons the celestial beau : 
 Perverted by the Jewish monarch's eyes. 
 She fondly turns apostate to the skies. 
 And envies Abra's beauty, while it shines 
 With undecaying bloom in Prior's lines.
 
 [ S52 ] 
 MATTHEW GREEN. 
 
 16961737. 
 
 Author of the Spleen, a poem of considerable merit. He 
 filled a place in the Custom-house in London. 
 
 JN EPIGRAM, 
 
 On the Reverend Mr. Laurence EacAard'Sf and Bishop 
 Gilbert Burnefs histories. 
 
 vjil's history appears to me 
 
 Political anatomy, 
 
 A case of skeletons well done. 
 
 And malefactors every one. 
 
 His sharp and strong incision pen 
 
 Historically cuts up men. 
 
 And does with lucid skill impart 
 
 Their inward ails of head and heart. 
 
 Laurence proceeds another way. 
 
 And well-dress'd figures does display : 
 
 His characters are all in flesh. 
 
 Their hands are fair, their faces fresh ;
 
 MATTHEW OREEi'*. S$| 
 
 Aftd from his sweetning apt def ivft 
 A better scent than when alive j 
 He wax-work made to please the sons. 
 Whose fathers were Gil's skeletons. 
 
 The Sparrow and Diamond. 
 
 A SOXG. 
 
 1 lately saw what now I sip^. 
 Fair Lucia's hand display'd j 
 
 This finger graced a diamond ring. 
 On that a sparrow play'd. 
 
 The feather 'd play- thing she caness'd. 
 She stroak'd its -head and wings j 
 
 And while it nestled on her breasit. 
 She lisp'd the dearest things. 
 
 With chisel bill a spark ill set 
 
 He loosen'd from the nest. 
 And swallow'd down to grind his meat. 
 
 The easier to digest. 
 
 She seized his bill with ivild affright. 
 
 Her diamond to descry : 
 Twas gone ! she sicken'd at thp sig^t. 
 
 Moaning, her Iwrd woiUd die. 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 S54 MATTHEW GREEN. 
 
 The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use. 
 
 The curtains none undraw. 
 The footmen went without their shoes. 
 
 The street was laid with straw. 
 
 The doctor used his oily art 
 
 Of strong emetick kind. 
 The apothecary play'd his part. 
 
 And engineer'd behind. 
 
 When physick ceased to spend its store 
 
 To bring away the stone, 
 Dicky, like people when given o'er. 
 
 Picks up when let alone. 
 
 His eyes dispell'd their sickly dews. 
 He pecked behind his wing ; - 
 
 Lucia recovering at tlie news. 
 Relapses for the ring'. 
 
 Meanwhile witliin her beauteous breast 
 Two different passions strove j 
 
 When avarice ended the contest. 
 And triumph'd over love. 
 
 Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing. 
 
 Thy pains the sex display. 
 Who only to repair a ring 
 
 Could take thy life away !
 
 MATTHEW GREEN. 355 
 
 Drive avarice from your breasts, ye fair. 
 
 Monster of foulest mien. 
 Ye would not let it harbour there. 
 
 Could but its form be seen. 
 
 It made a virgin put on guile. 
 
 Truth's image break her word, 
 A Lucia's face forbear to smile, 
 
 A Venus kill her bird. 
 
 AA 2
 
 [ 556 3 
 THOMAS SHERIDAN. 
 
 Counfy of Cavan, Irelaiul, 1738. 
 
 The friend, and butt of Swift and his contemporaries, of 
 vrhom it is said by the Dean, " He is a generous honest 
 good-natured man ; but his perpetual want of judgment 
 and discretion makes him act as if he were neither gene- 
 rous, honest, nor good-natured." Doctor Sheridan was 
 somewhat wrong headed. 
 
 A ntxc Simile for the Ladies. 
 
 I OFTEN tried in vain to find 
 A simile for womankind ; 
 A simile, I mean, to fit 'em j 
 In every circumstance to hit 'em. 
 Through eveiy beast and bird I went, 
 I ransacked every element j 
 And after peeping through all nature. 
 To find so whimsical a creature, 
 A Cloud presented to my view ; 
 And strait this parallel I drew : 
 3
 
 THOMAS SRDRIDAJr. Wf 
 
 Clouds turn with every wind about. 
 
 They keep us in suspense and doubt. 
 
 Yet oft perverse, like womankind. 
 
 Are seen to scud against the wind : 
 
 And are not women just the same ? 
 
 For, who can tell at what they aim ? 
 
 Clouds keep the stoutest mortals under. 
 
 When bellowing they discharge their thunder j 
 
 So when tlie alarum-bell is rung. 
 
 Of Xanti's everlasting tongue ; 
 
 llie husband dreads Its loudness more 
 
 Than lightening's flash, or thunder's roar. 
 
 Clouds weep as they do, without pain ; 
 
 And what are tears but woman's rain ? 
 
 The clouds about the welkin roam ; 
 
 And ladies nevr stay at home. 
 
 1 he clouds build castles in the air j 
 
 A thing peculiar to the fair ; 
 
 For all the schemes of their forecasting 
 
 Are not more solid nor more lasting. 
 
 A cloud is bright by turns, and dark j 
 
 Such is a lady with her spark : 
 
 Now with a sullen pouting gloom 
 
 She seems to darken all the room j 
 
 Again she 's pleased, his fears beguiled. 
 
 And all is clear when she has miled. 
 
 A 43
 
 35S THOMAS SHERID^V, 
 
 In this they're wond'rously alike, 
 
 ( I hope the simile will strike) 
 
 Though in the darkest dumps you view 'em. 
 
 Stay but a moment you'll see through 'em. 
 
 The clouds are apt to make reflexion. 
 
 And frequently produce infection j 
 
 So Celia with small provocation 
 
 Blasts every neighbour's reputation. 
 
 The clouds delight in gaudy shew. 
 
 For they like ladies have their beau ; 
 
 The gravest matron will confess 
 
 That she herself is fond of dress. 
 
 Observe the clouds in pomp array 'd 
 
 What various colours are display 'd. 
 
 The pink, the rose, the violet's dye. 
 
 In that great drawing-room the sky : 
 
 How do these differ from cur graces 
 
 In garden-silks, brocades, and laces ? 
 
 Are they not such another sight. 
 
 When met upon a birth-day night ? 
 
 The clouds delight to change their fashion | 
 
 Dear ladies be not in a passion. 
 
 Nor let this whim to you seem strange. 
 
 Who every hour delight to change, 
 
 In them and you alike are seen 
 
 The sullen symptoms of the spleen ^
 
 THOMAS SHERIDAV. 359* 
 
 The moment that your vapours rise. 
 
 We see them dropping from your eyes. 
 
 In evening fair you may behold 
 
 The clouds are fringed with borrow'd gold : 
 
 And this is many a lady's case 
 
 Who flaunts abroad in borrow'd lace. 
 
 Grave matrons are like clouds of snow. 
 
 Their words fall thick, and soft, and slow j 
 
 While brisk coquets, like rattling hail 
 
 Our ears on every side assail. 
 
 Clouds, when they intercept our sight. 
 
 Deprive us of celestial light : 
 
 So when my Chloe I pursue. 
 
 No heaven besides I have in view. 
 
 Thus, on comparison, you see. 
 
 In every instance they agree j 
 
 So like, so very much the same. 
 
 That one may go by t' other's name. 
 
 Let me proclaim it then aloud 
 
 That every woman is a cloud. 
 
 Doctor Sheridan, to Dean Swift. 
 
 Dbar Dean since in cruxes and puns you and I 
 
 deal. 
 Pray, why U a woman a sieve and a riddle ? 
 kk 4
 
 Tis a thought that cSrae into my noddle thi 
 
 morning, 
 In bed as I lay Sir, tossing and turning, ' 
 You'll find, ilF you read but a ifew of your histories. 
 All women as Eve, are women in mysteries. 
 To find out this riddle I know you'll be eager. 
 And make every one of the sex a Belphegor. 
 But that ^\\\ not do, for I mean to commend *em : 
 I swear without jest, I an honour intend 'em. 
 In a sieve Sir, their ancient extraction I quite tell. 
 In a riddte I give you their power and their title. 
 This I told you before, do you know what I mean 
 
 Sir? 
 Noi I ly my troth Sir. Then read it again Sir. 
 The reason I send you these lines of rhyme double 
 Is purely through pity tO save you the trouble 
 Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did last : 
 When your Pegasus canter'd in triple, and rid fast. 
 As for my little nag, which I keep at Parnassus, 
 With Phoebus's leave, to run with his asses. 
 He goes slow and sure, and he never is jaded. 
 While your fiery steed is whipp'd, spurr'd;, 
 
 bartmaded.
 
 [ S61 J 
 JOSEPH MITCHELL, 
 
 Scotland, about 16841738. 
 
 The man who returned Thompson's Werter to him with 
 this foolish and impertinent couplet. 
 
 Beauties and faults so thick lie scattered here, 
 
 Those I could read if these were not so near. 
 
 By Gibber's account he seems to have been vicious and 
 
 dishonest. He was called Sir Robert Walpole's poet, and 
 
 during great part of his life entirely depended upon hii 
 
 bounty. His poems were printed io two volumes^ 1730. 
 
 The Charms of Indolence, dedicated to a certain l0:q^ 
 Peer. 
 
 Xhy chasfta^, O sacfed Indolence, I sing. 
 Droop, yawning Mt^, and rtaoult thy flle^y Nwng. 
 Ye lolling pox\'er, (if any .powers there be. 
 Who loll supine) to yon 1 bend ray lihee : 
 O'er my lean labour, shed a vapoury breath, 
 ^d clog my numbers, with a weipit like death,
 
 96% JOSEPH MITCUELI.. 
 
 I feel the arrested wheels of meaning stand : 
 
 With l>oppy tinged, see ! see L yon waving wand, 
 
 Mor^jheus, I own the influence of thy reign j 
 
 A drowsy sloth creeps, cold, thro' every vein. 
 
 Furr'dj like the Muses' magistrate, I sit. 
 
 And nod, superiour in a dream of wit. 
 
 Action expires, in honour of my lays. 
 
 And mankind snores encomiums to my praise. 
 
 Hail, holy state of unalarm'd repose ! 
 
 Dear source of honest, and substantial prose ! 
 
 Thou blest asylum of man's wearied race ! 
 
 Nature's dumb picture, with her solemn face ! 
 
 How shall my pen, untired, thy praise pursue 1 
 
 O woe of living to have aught to do ! 
 
 'Till the Almighty fiat waken'd life. 
 
 And wandering chaos rose in untry'd strife ; 
 
 Till atoms jostled atoms, in the deep. 
 
 Nature lay careless, in eternal sleep. 
 
 No whispering hope, no murmurring wish, possest 
 
 A place, in all the extended realms of rest. 
 
 The seeds of being undisturb'd remain'd. 
 
 And indolence, thro' space, unbounded reign'd. 
 
 Thence, lordly sloth, thy high descent we trace ! 
 
 Tlie world's less ancient than thy reverend race ! 
 
 Antiquity's whole boast is on thy side. 
 
 That great foundation of the modem pride !
 
 JOSEPH MITCHELL. 363 
 
 Thou wert grown old before the birth of man. 
 And reign'dst before formation's self began. 
 From thee creation took its new -bom way. 
 When infant nature smiled on opening day. 
 Now, winking, weary of the oppressive light. 
 It longs to be re-hush*d in lulling night : 
 For each bold starter from thy powerful reign 
 Returns, at length, thy humble slave again. 
 Oh ! happy he, who, conscious of thy sweets. 
 Safe to thy circling arms, betimes retreats. 
 Raised on thy downy carr, he shuns all strife. 
 And lolls along the thorny roads of life. 
 Indulgent dreams his slumbering senses please. 
 And his numb'd spirits shrink to central ease. 
 Nor passion's conflicts his soft peace infest. 
 Nor danger rouzes his unlistening rest, 
 Stretch'd in supine content, afloat, he lies. 
 And drives down time's slow stream, with unfix'd 
 
 eyes. 
 Lethargick influence bars the approach of pain. 
 And storms blow round him, and grow hoarse ia 
 
 vain. 
 Forgetfulness plays balmy round his head. 
 And Halcyon fogs hang lambent o'er his bed. 
 O lovereign sloth ! to whom we quiet owe, 
 Jyfature* kind nurse ! soft couch for weary woe !
 
 $54 JOJEPH MITCHELL. 
 
 Safe in thy arms the unbusied slumberer lies. 
 Lives without pain, and, without sighing, dies. 
 States rise or fall, his lot is still the same. 
 For he 's above mischance, who has no aim. 
 How cursed the man, who still is musing found ? 
 His mill-horse soul forms one eternal round ; 
 When wiser beasts lie lost, in needful rest. 
 He, madman ! wakes, to war on his own breast. 
 Tlioughts dash on thoughts, as waves on waves 
 
 increase. 
 And stoi-ms of his own raising wreck his peace. 
 Now, like swift coursers, in the rapid race. 
 His spirits strain for speed =-now, with slow pace. 
 The sinking soul, tired out, scarce limps along. 
 Sullen, and sick, with such extremes of wrong. 
 What art thou, life, if care corrodes thy span ? 
 A gnawing worm ! a bosom-hell to man ! 
 If e'er distracting business proves my doom, 
 Thou, Indolence, to my deliverance come. 
 Distil thy healing balm, like softening oil. 
 And cure the ignoble malady of toil. 
 Thou, best physician ! can'st the sulphur find. 
 That dries this itch of action on the mind. 
 Malice, and lust, voracious birds of prey. 
 That out-soar reason, and our wishes sway ^ 
 Desire's wild seas, on which the wise are togt. 
 By pilot indolence, are safely crost.
 
 JOSEPH MlTCHELb. 36S 
 
 Hush'd in soft rest, they quiet captives lie. 
 And wanting nourishment, grow faint and die. 
 By thee O sacred Indolence, the sons 
 Of honest Levi loll like lazy drones ; 
 While batter'd hirelings drudge, in saying prayw. 
 Thou takest sleek doctors to thy downy care* 
 Well dost thou help, to form the double chin. 
 Dilate the paunch, and raise the reverend mien< 
 By thee, with stol'n discoures they are pleas' d. 
 That we, with worse, may not be dully teez'd : 
 A happiness ! that laymen ought to prize. 
 Who value time, and would be counted wise. 
 From thee, innumerable blessings flow I 
 What cofFee-man does not thy virtues know ? 
 Tobacconists and news-mongers revere 
 Thy lordly influence, with religious fear. 
 Chairs, coaclies, games, the glory of a land. 
 Are all the labours of thy lazy hand. 
 The Excise, the Treasury, strengthen'd by tliy aid. 
 Own thy great use, and energy, in trade. 
 Who does not taste the pleasures of thy reign I 
 Princes, themselves, are servants in thy traia, 
 Diogenes ! thou venerable shade. 
 Thou wert, by Indolence, immortal made. 
 Iliee most I envy of all human race. 
 E'en in a tub, tlioa held'st thy native grace,
 
 366 JOSEPH MiTciietr,. 
 
 Thy soul ont-soar'd the vulgar flights of life. 
 And look'd abroad, with scorn, at noise and strife. 
 To thy hoop'd palace no bold business press'd. 
 No thought usurp'd the kingdom of thy breast. 
 Thou to high-fated Alexander's face 
 Maintaind'st, that ease was nobler far than place. 
 The insulted world before him bow'd the knee : 
 Thou sat'st unmoved, more conqueror than he. 
 Scarce, O ye advocates for wit's wild chase. 
 Can your long heads be reconciled to grace ! 
 In drowsy dulness, deep devotion dwells. 
 But searchful care contented faith expels. 
 Did ever Indolence produce despair. 
 Or, to rash wishes, prompt the impatient heir ? 
 When murmurings, and rebellions, shake a state, 
 Poes love of rest, or action, animate ? 
 When did two sleepers clash in murderous war. 
 Or love of ease draw wranglers to the bar ? 
 O'er sea and land, the world's wide space around. 
 Poize ev'ry loss, and probe each aking wound ; 
 Then say which most, or business, or repose. 
 Worries our lives, and wakes us into woes } 
 What first gave talons to coercive law ? 
 Small need to keep the indolent in awe ! 
 Hatch'd we our South-Sea egg, by want of thought ? 
 Are jobbtrs airy arts, in slumber taught ?
 
 JOSEPH MiTCnELL. SG7 
 
 What state was ever bubbled out of sense. 
 By good, unfeared, unmeaning Indolence ? 
 Weigh and consider, now, which cause is best. 
 And yawning, yield there's happiness in rest. 
 O how I pity those deluded fools. 
 Who drudge their days out in bewildering schools ! 
 Who seeking knowledge, with assidious strife. 
 Lose their long toil, and make a hell of life ! 
 Grasping at shadows, they but beat the air. 
 And cloud the spirits they attempt to clear. 
 Jargon of tongues, perplexive terms of art. 
 And mazy maxims, but benight the heart. 
 No end, no pause, of painful search they know. 
 But, still proceeding, aggrandize their woe j 
 Their nakedness of soul with fig-leaves hide. 
 And wrap their conscious shame in veils of pride. 
 Erring, they toil some shadowy gleam to find. 
 And wandering, feel their way, sublimely blitvL 
 Learning in this, in that scale, doubt be laid. 
 And mark how pomp is, by plain truth outweigh'd. 
 Hereafter then, ye poring students cease. 
 Nor maze your minds, nor break your chain of 
 
 peace. 
 Make truce with leisure for awhile and view. 
 What empty nothings your desires pursue. 
 jRemember Adam's fatal itch, to know. 
 Was the first bitter spring of human woe.
 
 369- JOSEPH MITCHELL. 
 
 think how presumptuous 'tis for breathing clay* 
 To tread Heav'ns winding paths, and lose its way. 
 Think what short limits understanding boasts, 
 Aiid shun the enticements of her shoaly coasts. 
 With Solomon, that prudent sage ! and me. 
 Prom fruitless labour set your spirits free. 
 Bind up bold thought, in slumber's silky chain^ 
 Since all we act, and all we know, is vain.
 
 t 369 J 
 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 17'59. 
 
 Master of Blundell's School at Tiverton. Student of Christ 
 Church, Oxford, and near twenty years Usher in West- 
 minster School. His Poems were published in 4to. 1 736. 
 
 On the setting up Mr. Butltrs Monument in 
 Wetttminder-AbbeJ/. 
 
 VVhile Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive. 
 
 No generous patron would a dinner give : 
 
 See him, when star\'ed to death and turn'd to 
 
 dust. 
 Presented with a monumental bust ! 
 The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, 
 He asked for bread, and he received a stone. 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 370 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 Advice to One veho tvas about to write, to avoid the 
 Immoralities of tke Ancient and Modern Poets. 
 
 If e'er to writing you pretend. 
 
 Your utmost aim and study bend. 
 The patlis of virtue to befriend. 
 
 However mean your ditty ; 
 That while yoiir verse tlie reader driaws- 
 
 To reason's and rehgion's laws. 
 None e'er hereafter may have cause 
 
 To curse your being witty. 
 
 No gods, or weak or wicked feign. 
 
 Where foolish blasphemy is plain ; 
 But good to wire-draw from the straia 
 
 The crltick's art pei'plexes : 
 Make not a pious chief forego 
 A Princess he betray'd to woe. 
 Nor shepherd unplatonick, show 
 His fondness for Alexis, 
 
 ffe.
 
 SAMUEE WESIiET. 371 
 
 Willi partial blindness to a side^ 
 Extol nor surly stoick pride, 
 "When wild ambition's rapid tide 
 
 Bursts nature's bonds asunder : 
 Nor let n hero loud blaspheme. 
 Rave like a madman in a dream. 
 Till Jove himself affrighted seem. 
 
 Not trusting to his thunder. . 
 
 Nor chtise the wanton Ode, to praise 
 Unbridled loves, or thougbtloes days. 
 In soft Epicurean lays ; 
 
 A numerous melting lyrick : 
 Nor satire, that would lust chastise 
 With angry warmth and maxim wise, 
 Yet, loosely painting naked vicCi 
 
 Becomes its pancgyrick. 
 
 Nor jumbled atoms entertain 
 
 In the void spaces of your brain ; 
 
 Deny all gods, while Venus vain 
 
 Stands without vesture painted : 
 Nor shew the foal nocturnal scene 
 Of courts and revcHings unclean. 
 Where never libertine had been 
 
 Worse than the poet tainted.
 
 372 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 Nor let luxuriant fancy rove 
 
 Through nature, and through art of love, 
 
 Skill'd in smooth Elegy to move. 
 
 Youth unexperienced firing : 
 Nor gods as brates expose to view 
 Nor monstrous crimes, nor lend a clue 
 To guide the guilty lover through 
 
 The mazes of desiring. 
 
 Nor sparrow mourn, nor sue to kiss. 
 Nor draw your fine-spun wit so nice. 
 That thin-spread sense like-nothing is 
 
 Or worse than nothing shewing : 
 Nor spight in Epigram declare. 
 Pleasing the mob with lewdness bare. 
 Or flattery's pestilential air 
 
 In ears of princes blowing. 
 
 Through modem Italy pass down, 
 
 (In crimes inferior she to none) 
 
 Through France^ her thoughts in lust alone 
 
 Without reserve proclaiming : 
 5tay there, who count it worth the ^yhile^ 
 Let us deduce our useful stile 
 To note the poets of our isle. 
 
 And only spare the naming. 
 2
 
 SAMUEL WESLET. 373 
 
 Sing not loose stories for the nonce. 
 Where mirth for bawdry ill atones. 
 Nor long-tongued wife of Bath, at once. 
 
 On earth and heaven jesting : 
 Nor while the main at virtue aims. 
 Insert, to sooth forbidden flames. 
 In a chaste work, a squire of dames. 
 
 Or Paridell a feasting. 
 
 Nor comick licence let us see. 
 Where all things sacred outraged be. 
 Where plots of mere adultery 
 
 Fill the lascivious pages : 
 One only step can yet remain.. 
 More frankly, shamelessly unclean, 
 To bring it from behind the scene. 
 
 And act it on the stages. 
 
 Nor make your tragick hero bold 
 Out-bully Capaneus of old. 
 While justling gods his rage behold. 
 
 And tremble at his frowning : 
 Xor need' St thou vulgar wit display, 
 Acknowledged in drainatick way 
 Greatest and best ; O spare the lay 
 
 Of poor Ophelia drowning. 
 
 Be?
 
 374 SAMUEL WESLEY. 
 
 Nor dress your shame in courtly phrase. 
 Where artful breaks the fancy raise. 
 And ribaldry unnamed the lays 
 
 Transparently is seen in : 
 Nor make it your peculiar pride 
 To strive to shew what others hide^ 
 To throw the fig-leaf quite aside. 
 
 And scorn a double meaning. 
 
 T<Jor ever prostitute the muse. 
 Malicious, mercenary, loose. 
 All faith, all parties to abuse ; 
 
 Still changing, still to evil : 
 Make Maximin with heaven engage, 
 Blaspheming Sigismonda rage, 
 .Draw scenes of lust in latest age. 
 
 Apostle of the Devil. 
 
 Detest prophaning holy writ, 
 
 A rock where heathens could not split : 
 
 Old Jove more harmless charm'd the pit, 
 
 Of Plautus's creation j 
 Than when the adulterer was show'd 
 With attributes of real God : 
 But fools, the means of grace allow'd, 
 
 Pervert to their damnation.
 
 SAMUEL WESLET. S75 
 
 ^lingle not wit with treason rude. 
 To please llie rebel multitude : 
 From poison intermix'd with food 
 
 What caution e'er can screen us ? 
 Ne'er stoop to court a wanton smile j 
 Thy pious strains and lofty stile. 
 Toe ?ight let nor an Alma soil. 
 
 Nor paltry dove of Venus. 
 
 Such plots deform the tuneful train. 
 Whilst they fidse glory would attain, 
 Or present mirth, or present gain. 
 
 Unmindful of hereafter. 
 Do you mistaken ends despise. 
 Nor fear to fall, nor seek to rise, 
 Nor taint the good, nor grieve tlie wise. 
 
 To tickle fools with laughter. 
 
 What tho' with ease you could aspire 
 
 To Virgil's art or Homer's fire ; 
 
 If vice and lewdness breathes the lyre. 
 
 If virtue it asperses ! 
 Better with honest Quarles compose 
 Emblem, that good intention shews. 
 Better be Bunyan in his prose. 
 
 Or Sternhold m his verses. 
 
 B B 4
 
 T 376 ] 
 JOHN OLDMIXOx>^. 
 
 1742, 
 
 A morose, malevolent, dishonest party writer, but not desti- 
 tute of ability. He published a volume of Poems, 1696, 
 in imitation of Anacreon, and in the preface he declares 
 that he has " endeavoured every where to be easy and 
 natural," and says, " You will find nothing in this little 
 volume, but what was the jeal sentiments of my heart 
 at the time I writ it ; and he that will not give himself 
 3 greater liberty, has no need to fear being thought forced, 
 or unnatural, which is the greatest vice in verses of Love 
 and Gallantry." "What pretensions a man can have to 
 ease or nature, who vents himself in laborious whinings 
 upon ttifies. the following specimens will evince. 
 
 To Cloe, 
 
 Peithee Cloe not so fast 
 Let's not inin and wed in haste ! 
 We've a thousand things to do. 
 You must fly and I pursue ; 
 You must frown, and I must sigh 
 I intreat, and you deny.
 
 JOHN OLDMixosr. 377 
 
 Stay If I am never crost. 
 Half the pleasure will be lost ; 
 Be or seem to be severe, 
 Crive me reason to despair ; 
 Fondness will my wishes cloy. 
 Make me careless of the joy. 
 Lovers may of course complain 
 Of their trouble and their pain ; 
 But if pain and trouble cease 
 Love -jvithout it will not please. 
 
 a Perfume taken out of a young Lady's Bosom, 
 
 Begone ! bold rival from my fair, 
 Tliou hast no plea for business there j 
 'Twere needless where the lily grows. 
 To add perfumes, or to the rose j 
 Faint are the sweets which thou canst give 
 To those which in her bosom live 3 
 Thence tender wishes, amorous sighs. 
 Love's breath, tlie richest odours rise. 
 Not all the spices of the East, 
 Nor India's gr^ve, nor Phenix' nest. 
 Send forth an odour to compare 
 With what we find to please us there.
 
 378" JOHN OLDMIXON. 
 
 Where nature has been so profuse 
 Thy little arts are of no use. 
 Thou canst not add a grace to her^ 
 She *s all perfection every where. 
 Speak saucy thing, for I will know 
 How much to her and me you owe. 
 Whence comes this sweetness so divine t 
 Speak, is it her's or is it thine ? 
 Ha ! Varlet, by the fragrant smell 
 *Tis her's, all her's, I know it well ; 
 I know you robb'd Olivia's store. 
 But hence ! for you shall steal no mcare. 
 Begone she has no room for thee, 
 Olivia's bosom must be free 
 J'or nothing but for love and me. 
 
 To the Bath and Belinda in it. 
 
 Ofl ! <JOuld I change my form like Jove, 
 In showers like him, I'd feast my love. 
 And mingling with the waters play. 
 Around Zelinda's breast as they. 
 Ah ! happy waves you may at large 
 Sport in the bosom of your charge. 
 Survey her limbs and all her charms ; 
 And wanton in her virgin arms.
 
 JOHN OLDMIXON. 379 
 
 Be civil yet and have a care 
 You ben't too saucy with my fair. 
 Your rival I shall jealous grow. 
 Nor can one eager touch allow ; 
 You wildly rove, you kiss, embrace 
 Her body and reflect her face. 
 You're too officious and presume 
 To wander where you should not come. 
 You croud too thick, you stay too long. 
 You hurt her with your eager throng ; 
 But warm her into love and stay, 
 I shall excuse your bold delay. 
 Soften her frozen heart and move 
 Zelinda's soul to think of love. 
 Ah ! melt her breast, for pity, do. 
 That I may be as blest as you. 
 
 To Corinna. 
 
 Say Corinna, do you find. 
 Nothing in your bosom kind. 
 Is it never less severe. 
 Or d'ye never wish it were. 
 Yes, I read it in your eyes. 
 Hear it, know it by your sighs ;
 
 980 JOHN OLDMIXON. 
 
 Sighs that gently steal their way. 
 Tell me all that you can say. 
 Tell me when you seem serene. 
 You're not always calm within j 
 But are vext with tumults there. 
 Such as oft disturb the fair. 
 Say Corinna is it true ? 
 Say, for I 'm a lover too 
 And can tell you what to do ; 
 He that 's worthy to be blest 
 Should be first of truth possest. 
 Young and constant he must be 
 Fixt like you and fond like me. 
 One that all affronts can bear. 
 Exiles, jealousy, despair ; 
 One on whom you can depend. 
 For a lover and a friend. 
 Plead not now for an excuse, 
 Man does naught like this produce 
 Justice madam, bids you see 
 All these qualities in me. 
 Justice tells you I am he.
 
 [ 381 J 
 THOMAS TICKELL. 
 
 Bridekirky near Carlisle, 16861740. 
 
 Goldsmith has said of Tickcll, that through all his poetry 
 there is a strain of ballaJ-thinllng to be found. This 
 praise is not perhaps peculiarly applicable. Few of our 
 minor poets are so free from faults ; the proportion of 
 ore to dross is great, but the ore is not gold. 
 
 To a Lady hufore Marriage. 
 
 O, form'd by nature, and refined by art ! 
 Witli charms to win, and sense to fix the heart ! 
 By thousands sought, .Clotilda, can'st thou free 
 Thy crowd of captives, and descend to me ? 
 Content in shades obscure to waste thy life 
 A hidden beauty, and a country wife. 
 O, listen, while thy summers are my theme. 
 Ah, soothe thy partner in his waking dream. 
 In some small hamlet on the lonely plain. 
 Where Thames, through meadows rolls his mazy 
 train j
 
 382 THOMAS TICKELK. 
 
 Or where high Windsor, thick with greens array'd. 
 Waves his old oaks, and spreads his ample shade. 
 Fancy has figured out our calm retreat ; 
 Already round the visionary seat 
 Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to spring, 
 The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing. 
 Where dost thou lie, thou thinly-peopled green ? 
 TIiou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen ? 
 Where sons, contented with their native ground. 
 Ne'er travell'd further than ten furlongs round ; 
 And the tann'd peasant, and his ruddy bride. 
 Were born together, and together died. 
 Where early larks best tell the morning light. 
 And only Philomel ditsurbs the night j 
 'Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise. 
 With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dyes ; 
 All savage where the embroider'd gardens end. 
 The haunt of echoes shall my woods ascend ; 
 And oh, if heaven the ambitious thought approve, 
 A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove, 
 A little rill, o'er pebbly beds convey'd. 
 Gush down the steep, and glitter through the 
 
 glade. 
 What cheering scents those bordering banks exhale ! 
 How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale ! 
 That thrush how shrill I his note so clear, so high, 
 lie drowns each fccitlier'd minstrel of the sky.
 
 THOMAS TICKEtr.. 383 
 
 Here let me trace, beneath the puqiled morn. 
 The deep raouth'd beagle, and the sprightly horq : 
 Or lure the trout with well dissembled flies, 
 Or fetch the fluttering partridge from the skies., 
 Nor shall thy hand disdain to crop the vine. 
 The downy peach, or flavour'd nectarine ; 
 Or rob the bee-hive of its golden hoard. 
 And bear th' unbought luxuriance to thy board. 
 Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours. 
 While from thy needle rise the silken flowers. 
 And thou, by turns, to save my feeble sight. 
 Resume the volume, and deceive the night. 
 Oh when I mark thy twinkling eyes opprest. 
 Soft whispering, let me wam'my love to rest j 
 Then watch thee, charm'd, while sleep locks every 
 
 sense. 
 And to sweet heaven commend thy innocence. 
 Thus rdgned our fathers o'er the rural fold. 
 Wise, hale, and honest, in the days of old ; 
 Till courts arose, where substance pays for show. 
 And specious joys are bought with real woe. 
 See Flavia's pendants, large, well-spread, and 
 
 right. 
 The ear that wears them hears a fool each night : 
 Mark how th' embroider'd colonel sneaks away. 
 To shun the withering dame that made him gay ;
 
 384 THOMAS TICKELL, 
 
 That knave, to gain a title, lost Kis fame ; 
 That raised his credit by a daughter's shame ; 
 This coxcomb's ribband cost him half his land. 
 And oaks unnumber'd, bought that fool a wand. 
 Fond man, as all his sorrows were too few. 
 Acquires strange wants that nature never knew. 
 By midnight lamps he emulates the day. 
 And sleeps, pen'erse, the cheerful suns away ; 
 From goblets high-emboss'd, his wine must glide. 
 Round his closed sight the gorgeous curtain slide j 
 Fruits ere their time to grace his pomp must 
 
 rise. 
 And three untasted courses glut his eyes. 
 For this are nature's gentle calls withstood. 
 The voice of conscience, and the bonds of blood j 
 This wisdom thy reward for every pain,. 
 And this gay glory all thy mighty gain. 
 Fair phantoms woo'd and scorn'd from age to- 
 
 age. 
 Since bards began to laugh, or priests to rage. 
 And yet, just curse on man's aspiring kind. 
 Prone to ambition, to example blind. 
 Our children's children shall our steps pursue. 
 And the same errors be for ever new. 
 Mean while in hope a guiltless country swain. 
 My reed with warblings cheers th' imagin'd plain.
 
 THOMAS TICKELL. 385 
 
 Hail htjmble shades, where trutli and silence 
 
 dwell ! 
 Thou noisy town, and faithless court farewell ! 
 Farewell ambition, once my darling flame ! 
 The thirst of lucre, and the charm of fame ! 
 In life's by-road, that winds through patlis un 
 
 known. 
 My days, though number'd shall be all my own. 
 Here shall they end, (Oh might they twice 
 
 begin !) 
 And all be white the fates intend to spin.. 
 
 VOL. I. c c
 
 [ S8G ] 
 JANE BRERETON, 
 
 16851740. 
 
 A virtuous and amiable woman, daughter of Mr. Thomas- 
 Hughes, of Bryn-GrifHth, in Flintshire. She wrote under 
 the name of Melissa, and her Works were published by 
 subscription, in 174-1. The praise of relatives and those 
 with whom one's life is passed can never be mean praise; 
 and the following Poem written after her death, by Mrs. 
 Brereton's daughter, has sufficient merit of its own to be 
 valuable. 
 
 To the Memory of a Mother. 
 
 VV HY sinks my heart beneath a weight of woe ? 
 
 Why throbs my breast ? my tears incessant flow ? 
 
 Why flies the slumber from my aching eyes ; 
 
 What prompts the sigh, when morning gilds the skies ^ 
 
 Day's chearful orb, why hateful to my sight ? 
 
 Why seeks my soul the mournful gloom of night ? 
 
 Ask Death the cause too well the tyrant knows, 
 
 From his relentless hand proceed my woes. 
 
 To thee, blest shade ! I chearless tune the lay. 
 
 All, for thy love, my bleeding heart can pay ; 
 
 As now that love a sad remembrance brings, 
 
 The Muse must weep yet while she weeps, she sings ! 
 
 How did her care, her tenderness engage 
 
 The artelss fondness of my infant age ; 
 
 And, when advancing in the years of youth 
 
 Teach me the Mays of wisdora'and of truth ?
 
 JANE BREOETON. 387 
 
 The happy hoars flew unperceived along. 
 
 While native wit flow'd tuneful, from her tongue : 
 
 Her gentle numbers charm'd the listening ear, 
 
 Melissa's name was to the Muses dear. 
 
 Nature, in her, with care unwonted join'd 
 
 The beauteous frame, and slill more beauteous mind ; 
 
 Neither diminish'd by affected art. 
 
 Nor guile deform'd, nor pride debased her heart j 
 
 Above her sex's foibles was her aim. 
 
 Too just, too good, to flatter or defame ; 
 
 To friendship ever true, in converse free. 
 
 And dear to all-' but oh ! most dear to me. 
 
 With every virtue was her bosom warm, 
 
 And pure religion brigliten'd cv'ry charm. 
 
 But say, lamented shade, should I repine 
 That thou hast Changed the mortal for divine ? 
 More than I've lost in thee, to lliee is given : 
 I've lost a parent thou hast gain'd a heaven. 
 With spotless Rqye you tread ih' etherial plains. 
 And wake the golden lyre to heavenly strains. 
 Harmonious juin the blest angelick choirs, 
 God all the theme while God the song inspires. 
 Long as I wander thro' the maze of life. 
 Amidst delusive joys, and cares, and strife', 
 Eix'd iu my breast thy memory shall reside. 
 Thy virtue fire me, and thy precepts guide. 
 I'hus shall 1 fearless feel the hand of Death, 
 Like thee, in peace, resign my trembling breath. 
 My soul exulting meet her pitying God, 
 And join thy rapture* in the blest abode. 
 
 Cauomna.
 
 388 JANE BRERETON. 
 
 JN EPISTLE 
 To Sir Richard Steele, on the Death of Mr. Addison. 
 
 If I, O Steele ! presumptuous shall appear. 
 And these unskilful notes offend thy ear j 
 Forbear to censure what I 've artless writ. 
 No well-bred man e'er damn'd a woman's wit 
 But sure there's none of all the inspired ti'ain. 
 Who do not of my indolence complain. 
 Ingrate, or indolent \ or why, thus long. 
 Should Addison require his funeral-song ? 
 When a loved Monarch quits his cares below. 
 The meanest subjects join the common woe 5 
 But from the fav'rite who his worth best knew, 
 A tribute of superior grief is due. 
 Shall Ramsay, and Melissa lays produce ? 
 That a mechanick's, this a woman's muse. 
 While thou, wit's sole surviving hope, supine 
 The melancholy theme dost still decline. 
 Exert that fire that glows within your breast. 
 Nor longer thus in lazy silence rest ; 
 Aloft your skilful Muse can wing her flight. 
 And emulate his strains whose praise you write. 
 For me, the meanest of the tuneful train. 
 To attempt the unequal task were fond and vain : 
 But could I sing Oh sacred shade ! thy praise 
 Alone should claim, alone inspire my lays.
 
 JANE BRERETON. ' 389 
 
 Thou kind preceptor of the tender fair ! 
 Great was the charge, and generous the care. 
 You shew'd us virtue so celestial bright. 
 So amiable in so divine a light ; 
 Ashamed at last false glories we resign'd. 
 By thee instructed to improve tlie mind. 
 How oft reclined beneath a sylvan shade. 
 Have I thy Marcia read, thy matchless maid ! 
 in her superior worth, and virtue shine ; 
 Her wisdom, marmers, her whole self divine ; 
 In her a great exalted mind appears j 
 And gentle Lucia melts my soul to tears. 
 Here, O ye fair, in this bright mirror leam, 
 Your minds with never-fading charms t' adorn ! 
 On these accomplishments bestow some care, 
 'Tis no great merit, to be only fair. 
 His Rosamonda shall for ever prove, 
 A mark to keep us safe from guilty love. 
 Beauty's a snare, unless with virtue join'd, 
 An angel-form, should have an angel-mind ; 
 But when the bard displays tlie artful scene. 
 The suppliant beauty, and the vengeful queen. 
 In melting notes sings her disasterous love j 
 Willi tears we pity what we can't approve. 
 
 How learn'd he was, O Steele ! do thou decl.ire ; 
 For that 's a task beyond a woman's sphere. 
 c c 3
 
 390 J AXE BRERETOV. 
 
 Some works there are, wrought up by rules of art. 
 
 Where poor exckided Nature had no part ; 
 
 But he the Stagirite's strict axioms knew 
 
 And still to nature, as to art was true. 
 
 He touch'd the heart, the passions could command, 
 
 'Twas nature all, but mended by his Uand. 
 
 Sublime his style, his sentiments refined 
 
 Full of benevolence to all mankind. 
 
 In more than theory he religion knew. 
 
 And kept the heavenly goddess still in view ; 
 
 Eapt on her wings, his soul extatick soars. 
 
 Leaves our dull orb, a better world explores. 
 
 And now he's reach'd the etherial plains above, 
 
 I'he eternal seat of harmony and love ; 
 
 Blest harmony, and love anew inspire. 
 
 With hymns, like theirs, he joins the angelick 
 
 quire. 
 He's gone I oh ! never, never to return ; 
 Around his tomb, ye sacred Muses, mourn. 
 Your pious tears on the cold marble shed. 
 You loved him living, now lament him dead ! 
 Cold is that breast, where glow'd your hallow'd 
 
 fire J 
 Silent that voice, whose notes you did inspire ; 
 Still lies that hand, the lyre harmonious strung. 
 Unmoved the generous heart, and mute the tuneful 
 
 tongue !
 
 JANE BRERETOy. 391 
 
 That dome, where his remains now lie confined. 
 Holds not the clay that held a nobler mind. 
 Here peaceful rest, to wait Heaven's great decree ; 
 Soft be thy slumbers, sweet thy waking be ! 
 Who can his Warwick's anxious woes express. 
 The bitter anguish, and the deep distress ? 
 The lovely mourner does not grieve alone j 
 But distant Cambria echoes to each groan j 
 Her native country lends this poor relief. 
 We weep, we sigh, with sympathetick grief. 
 Even I, oppress'd with sorrows of my own. 
 Suspend them all to mourn her Addison. 
 O will she deign to accept these lowly lays. 
 My bumble muse thus offers to his praise ! 
 
 O may tlie lovely child, the budding fair. 
 Soothe all her griefs, and sweeten every care. 
 Still grow in virtue, as she grows in years, 
 'Till she in full-blown excellence appears ! 
 May she be perfect, as his fancy wrought, 
 ** The poet's race excel the poet's thought !" 
 Let blooming cliarms united Marcia grace. 
 Her sire's exalted wit, her mother's beauteous 
 face. 
 
 c c 4
 
 392 jam: brereton. 
 
 On Mr. Nash's Picture at full length, bdticen the 
 Busts of Sir Isaac Nfwton, and Mr. Pope. 
 
 The old Egyptians hid their wit 
 
 In Hieroglyphick dress. 
 To give men pains to search for it, 
 And pkase themselves w^ith guess. 
 
 Modems to tread the self-same path. 
 
 And exercise our parts. 
 Place figures in a room at Bath : 
 
 Forgive them, God of Arts ! 
 
 Newton, if I can judge aright. 
 
 All wisdom doth express ,- 
 His knowledge gives mankind new light. 
 
 Adds to their happiness. 
 
 Pope is the emblem of true wit. 
 
 The sun-shine of tlie mind ; 
 Read o'er his works for proof of it. 
 
 You'll endless pleasure find. 
 
 Nash represents man in the mass. 
 
 Made up of wrong and right ; 
 Sometimes a knave, sometimes an ass, 
 
 Now blunt, and now polite. 
 2
 
 JANE BRERETON. SSt 
 
 The picture, placed the busts between. 
 Adds to the thought much strength. 
 
 Wisdom and Wit are little seen. 
 But Folly's at full length. 
 
 To Pkilotimus. 
 
 Philotimus, if you'd approve 
 
 Yourself a faithful lover. 
 You must no more my anger move. 
 But in the mildest terms of love 
 
 Your passion still discover. 
 
 Though bom to rule, you must submit 
 
 To my commands with awe ; 
 Nor think your sex can you acquit. 
 For Cupid's empire won't admit. 
 Nor own a salique law. 
 
 roL. V
 
 [ 394 3 
 NICHOLAS AMHURST. 
 
 jyLarden, Kent, 1742. 
 
 The preface to Atnhurst's poems is written with the spirit 
 of a man who thinks himself injured, without waiting to 
 consider whether the world would be of his opinion it 
 is very severe against Dr. Delaune, the head of St. John's 
 College, whence he was ejected for his disagreement with 
 the institutions of Oxford. In London he engaged in 
 conducting the Craftsman, then in full popularitj. 
 
 To my Friend the Author of the Tragedy oj 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Whilst two great bards our grateful country 
 
 mourns. 
 And sheds the debt of sorrow o'er their urns j 
 Transfused in thee, revive their generous fires. 
 And Liberty again her sons inspires. 
 Thrice happy Poet ! in thy numbers glow 
 The elegance of Garth, and force of Rowe. 
 From yon bright arch thy spreading fame they see. 
 And triumph in a successor like thee.
 
 NTCnOLAS AMUUUST. 395 
 
 Behold 1 to cure the frenzy of the age, 
 A second Cato rises on the stage ; 
 The same their sufferings, for a cause the same. 
 Nor yields the English to the Roman name. 
 
 Oppress'd with noise, and drunken party-strife. 
 Where Isis flows^ I waste a painful life, 
 Stunn'd with the terrours of impending woes. 
 And Prelates to the Church insatiate foes ; 
 Of uncouth logick terms condemn'd to hear 
 The same pedantick Crambe all the year. 
 Pro forma to dispute the questions round. 
 And trace the windings of scholastick ground. 
 To College walls reluctantly confined, 
 Check'd in the native freedom of my mind; 
 Or on the stage with corresponding eyes, 
 I would have seen thy British Hero rise, 
 For virtue and religion hear him plead. 
 And boldly for a tliankless nation bleed ; 
 But partial laws that happiness deny'd. 
 Against my will I laid the wish aside, 
 Content to read thee in thy genuine light. 
 Where no proud scenes attract the dazzled sight, 
 Stript of the pomp and trappings of the stage. 
 Strong is thy diction, and sublime thy rage ; 
 Great in yourself, you want no foreign art 
 To raise compassion, and awake the heart.
 
 396 NICHOLAS AMHURSX. 
 
 The secret springs of nature to control. 
 And touch the diiferent passions of the soul. 
 Accept, my friend, these tributary lays, 
 (If by that name I naay presume to praise,) 
 Permit me, last, thy full applause to crown. 
 And join the publick Chprus of the Town. 
 
 On the Tenth of June. 
 
 If Fame says true, on this auspicious morn, 
 A beggar, coward, and a fool was born j 
 By lazy, lineal right, three crowns he claims, 
 And clothes his wandering friends with mimick 
 
 names ; 
 Proud of his fancied birth, he boasts his race. 
 And apes his mighty sires in every grace. 
 With the first Charles in bigotry he vies. 
 Fierce like the second to the battle flies. 
 Like James he's gracious, and like Anna wise. 
 
 To a Friend in London, upon my rtturning to College^ 
 
 While you, dear Tom, in London city. 
 Associate with the fair and witty j
 
 NICHOLAS AMHURST. 397 
 
 And, gayly rambling o'er the town, 
 Take the brisk juice in bumpers down ; 
 Or, charm'd with the persuasive stage. 
 Laugh at the follies of the age j 
 To College wretched I return. 
 And day and night with spleen I bum r 
 From jovial friends, from pipe and bottle,. 
 To prayers and musty Aristotle ; 
 From decent meals and wholesome wines. 
 To foggy * coll and mutton loins. 
 From well-bred mirth to stupid puns. 
 Of pedants and of College dons. 
 My happy course of life I change j. 
 No more I dress, no more I range. 
 But pensive mope within all day. 
 And sleep and rhime the hours away,. 
 A gentle song to Laura send. 
 Or scribble something to my friend ; 
 This morning as I stalk'd about, 
 These lines to thee I hammer'd out. 
 
 Thou, Tom, with rapture and delight 
 Enjoy'st the fair one in thy sight. 
 The fair one too perhaps on thee 
 Smiles, as she tattles o'er her tea : 
 
 College Ale.
 
 39$ NICHOLAS AMHUnST. 
 
 Whilst far from these distracted eyesy. 
 My absent Laura's image flies. 
 To her my constant thoughts I bend,. 
 In sighs to her my wishes send. 
 In vain from sighs I hope relief. 
 And thinking but augments my grief 5 
 Her distant lips I seem to kiss. 
 And cheat myself with fancy'd bliss. 
 
 Excuse me, that I say no more. 
 My veins with raging fires boil o'er. 
 Wild roll my eyes, my heart grows sad^. 
 Pox take me, if I don't run mad.
 
 [ 399 ]' 
 WILLIAM HINCHLIFFE. 
 
 Southteark, 16921742. 
 
 A bookseller in London, who presented an Ode to George 
 the First, on his arrival at Greenwich, collected a volume 
 of Poems, 1718, and published another, consisting en- 
 tirely of bis own productions, entitled Poems Amoroos^ 
 Moral, and Divine. These, as he himself says, " were 
 composed in that season of life when the Passions gene- 
 rally retain a dominion over Reason ; when the mind is a 
 novice in Reflection." This he gives as an excuse for the 
 ' little levities and amorous liberties of some of the Love 
 Poems.'' Perhaps none is more pre-eminent in nonsense 
 than the following Ode. 
 
 As a tpecimen of the divine the 98th Psalm will serve. 
 
 Upon seeing PhUesia at her Window, viewing a 
 Wedding. 
 
 A PJNDARICK ODE. 
 
 Now blessings on you both, ye happy pair. 
 Smooth be your days, and blissful all your night*,.
 
 400 WILLIAM IIINCHLIFFE. 
 
 Let sweet content crown every circling year. 
 And Hymen pour on you profuse delights I 
 
 Be thou, O bridegroom, long 
 Thus comely, sprighdy, gay, and strong. 
 And be thy spouse still beautiful and young. 
 And boili for ever burn with mutual deathless love ! 
 Cease your surprize to hear a stranger bless 
 Your nuptials ; I can do no less ! 
 Since it admits debate. 
 Whether they now create. 
 To you, or me more happiness. 
 For 'tis to them I owe the mighty bliss I prove; 
 
 When Hymen trims his sacred lamp at night. 
 And animates himself your amorous fires ; 
 Tliose joys will not exceed this heavenly sight. 
 Nor raise such fervour, nor such high desires. 
 For sure a flame like mine. 
 So pure, Sebright, and so divine, 
 -Within no human breast did ever shine : 
 Oh ! my Philesia's eyes dart strong exalted love. 
 This blissful view of her is more to me,. 
 Than to you love's enjoyments be : 
 
 I feel my raptured heart 
 Pierced tliro' with pleasing smart j 
 And gaze with more felicity 
 Than the compleated vows of other lovers mov^.
 
 WILI.IAM HINCHLIFFE. 40| 
 
 To Philesiaf the day before her coming to Tvtcn. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 As the fond Turtle mourns his absent mat?, 
 
 And sadly seeks his little love, , 
 Anaid the silent sprays regrets his fate. 
 
 And flutters, lonely, through the grove ; 
 
 So droops my soul, thus banish'd from ray faii> 
 For the sweet influence of thy eye ! 
 
 Joyless, oppress'd with melancholy care, 
 I sigh, i languish, piqe, and die. 
 
 In vain, alas ! to sooth my am'rotw pain, 
 
 I softly strike the speaking strings j 
 To lull my woes, attempt some pleasing strain. 
 
 And chant a thousand tender things. 
 
 Jn vain, alas ! For while thy absence lasts. 
 The speaking strings, ungrateful, sound : 
 
 No pleasing strain my sicken' d Fancy tastes 3 
 And tender things inflame my wound, 
 
 But tho' black Night o'ershades the mouroftxl skie#. 
 And in dark sable clothes the spheres ; 
 vox.. I. DO
 
 402 WILIIAM HINCHLIFFE. 
 
 Yet, radiant Morn beholds tlie sun arise. 
 And with triumphant beams appear. 
 
 So thou, to-morrow, wilt return, my love^ 
 Again to bless my ravish'd sight : 
 
 Then all xay gloomy sorrows shall remove. 
 And yield to joy, and gay delight. 
 
 A Song of Thanksgiving, or Part of the 98M Psalm 
 paraphrased' 
 
 Rejoice, thou world and all that dwell therein! 
 Ye numerous sons of Adam, first begin 
 This universal song} do you confess 
 Your Saviour's love, his boundless bounties bless : 
 Let his amazing acts your breasts inspire 
 With high poetick thoughts, and sacred fire. 
 He Death and Hell with his strong arm assail'^! j 
 And o'er them both victoriously prevail'd : 
 The wine-press of his father's wrath he trod. 
 And, singly, bore the vengeance of a God : 
 While floods of ire, upon his soul were hurl'd. 
 He stood, and saved (himself!) a sinking world! 
 Yield then the tribute of your noblest praise, . 
 New songs like his unheard-of mercies raise :
 
 WILLIAM HINCHLIFPE. 403 
 
 ** For wondrous things has our Redeemer done ; 
 " And with his own Right-Hand the conquest won." 
 
 Ye shining orbs who in bright circles roll. 
 And spread your chearing rays from pole to pole ; 
 His praises in your silent course declare. 
 And to each distant zone and climate bear j 
 By him your radiant spheres at first were form'd. 
 And with gay beams of streaming light adom'd : 
 You saw him from the vanquish'd grave arise. 
 And mount triumphant thro' the spangled skies. 
 Ye blustering winds, to him your homage pay. 
 Whose dread command both winds and storms obey ; 
 Boreas, begin and with thy hoarser voice 
 Roar a loud bass ; whilst others shall rejoice 
 In shriller strains, and whistle as they pass 
 Thro* the tall trees, or brush the bending grass : 
 " For wondrous things has our Redeemer done, 
 " And with his own Right-Hand the conquest won," 
 
 Ye beasts, who range for prey the lonesome wood } 
 And ye, who graze the springing herb for food j 
 From fury now, and trembling terror firee 
 Forget awhile your native enmity : 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 WILLIAM HiNCHLirre. 
 
 Ye Lybian tygers, come with fleecy rams. 
 And wolves rapacious, mix with tender lambs. 
 The princely lion, with the generous horse ; 
 Come all of savage rage, or sinewy force : 
 Let every creature bear a part to raise 
 One mighty Hallelujah to his praise. 
 Let thus, all nature gladly joyn to sing 
 The triumphs of our Saviour and our King : 
 Let thus, one universal song go round. 
 And Heaven's high roof the joyful noise resound : 
 *' For wondrous things has our Redeemer done, 
 *'And with his own Right-Hand the glorious 
 conquest won."
 
 [ 405 ] 
 WILLIAM SOMERVILE. 
 
 Edston, Warwickshire, 16921742. 
 
 The Cbase will preserve the Writer's name and rq)utatioa 
 when his other Works are neglected, for it is the produc- 
 tion of a sportsman, a scholar, and a poet. Shenstone 
 has desciibed his private character in one of those happy 
 sentences, which being once heard is never to be forgotten. 
 ' I loved Mr. Somervile, because he knew so perfectly 
 what belonged to ti^s Jtocci-nauci-nihUi-filiJlcaUo^ of 
 jnooey.' 
 
 ADDRESS 
 To his Elb<no Chairt new-clothed. 
 
 My dear companion, and my faithful friend I 
 If Orpheus taught the listening oaks to bend ; 
 If stones and rubbish, at Amphion's call. 
 Danced into form, and built the Theban wall ; 
 Why should'st not thou attend my humble lays. 
 And hear ray grateful harp resound tliy praise ? 
 True, thou art spruce and fine, a very beau ; 
 But what are trappings and external show > 
 D 3
 
 405 WILLIAM SOMERTILE. 
 
 To real worth alone I make my court ; 
 Knaves are my scorn, and coxcombs are my sport. 
 Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay j 
 Raggedj disjointed, and to worms a prey j 
 The safe retreat of every lurking mouse ; 
 Derided, shunn'd ; the lumber of my house. 
 Thy robe how changed from what it was before ! 
 Thy velvet robe, which pleased my sires of 
 
 yore. 
 *Tis thus capricious fortune wheels us round j 
 Aloft we mount then tumble to the ground. 
 Yet grateful then, my constancy I proved ; 
 I knew thy worth ; my friend in rags I loved j 
 I loved thee more j nor like a courtier, spum'd 
 My benefactor when the tide was turn'd. 
 With conscious shame, yet frankly, 1 confess. 
 That in my youthful days I loved thee less. 
 Where vanity, where pleasure call'd, I stray'd ; 
 And every wayward appetite obey'd. 
 But sage experience taught me how to prize 
 Myself ; and how this world, she bade me rise 
 To nobler flights regardless of a race 
 Of factious emmets -, pointed where to place 
 My bliss, and lodged me in thy soft embrace. 
 
 There on thy yielding down I sit secure ; 
 And patiently what heaven has sent, endure j
 
 WILLIAM SOMERVILE. HffJ 
 
 From all the futile cares of business free. 
 Not fond of life, but yet content to be : 
 Here mark the fleeting hours, regret the past^ 
 And seriously prepare to meet the last. 
 
 So safe on shore the pension'd sailor lies ; 
 And all the malice of the storm defies : 
 With ease of body blest, and peace of mind. 
 Pities the restless crew he left behind ; 
 Whilst, in his cell, he meditates alone 
 On his great voyage, to the world unknown. ' 
 
 oo 4
 
 [ 403 ] 
 JAMES HAMMOND. 
 
 About 17101742. 
 
 One Prologue of fourteen lines is all that Hammond has left 
 except his Love Elegies. Of these Poems and of such as 
 these^ the shortest specimen is always the best. 
 
 ELEGY VIII. 
 
 He despairs that he shall ever possess Delia. 
 
 Ah, what avails thy lover's pious care ? 
 His lavish incense clouds the sky in vain. 
 Nor wealth nor greatness was his idle prayer. 
 For thee alone he prayed, thee hoped to gaiq. 
 
 With thee I hoped to waste the pleasing day. 
 Till in thy arms an age of joy was past j 
 Then, old with love, insensibly decay. 
 And on thy bosom gently breathe my hst.
 
 JAMES HAMMOND. 409 
 
 I scorn the Lydlan river's golden wave. 
 
 And all the vulgar charms of human life, 
 I only ask to live my Delia's slave. 
 
 And, when I long have served her, call her wife. 
 
 I only ask, of her I love possest. 
 To sink, o'ercome with bliss, in safe repose. 
 To strain her yielding beauties to my breast. 
 And kiss her wearied eye-lids till they close. 
 
 Attend, O Juno ! with thy sober ear. 
 Attend, gay Venus, parent of desire j 
 This one fond wish, if you refuse to hear. 
 Oh, let me with this sigh of love expire !
 
 [ 410 3 
 LORD PAGET. 
 
 1742. 
 
 lliis nobleman was son and heir to the Earl of UxbrlSge, 
 
 and died in the 5 1st year of his age. 
 A few copies of his Miscellanies in Prose and Verse were 
 
 printed in the year 1741, to be circulated only among 
 
 his most intimate friends. 
 
 Jin Essay on Human Life. 
 
 Pleasure but cheats us with an empty name. 
 
 Still seems to vary, yet is still the same j 
 
 Amusement's all its utmost skill can boast. 
 
 By use it lessens, and in thought is lost. 
 
 The youth that riots, and the age that hoards j 
 
 Folly that sacrifices things to words j 
 
 Pride, wit, and beauty in one taste agree, 
 
 "Tis sensual, or 'tis mental luxury. 
 
 Sad state of nature, doom'd to fruitless pain. 
 
 Something to wish and want, but never gain :
 
 LORD PAGET. 411 
 
 Restless we live, and disappointed die. 
 Unhappy tho' we know not how, or why. 
 
 Fools ever vain, at some distinction aim. 
 And fancy madness is the way to Fame : 
 No matter bow the deathless name's acquired^ 
 By Countries ravaged, or a Temple fired : 
 Alike transmitted down to latest times, 
 A Trajan's virtues, and a Nero's crimes. 
 Means are indifferent so tlie end's obtain'd, 
 Richard was guilty, but what then ? he reign'd. 
 Would you be good and great, the hope is vain. 
 The business is not to deserve, but gain : 
 Fortune is fickle, and but short her stay. 
 He comes too late that takes the farthest way. 
 
 Is this, O grandeur ! then thy envy'd state. 
 To raise men's wonder, and provoke their hate ? 
 By crimes procured, and then in fear enjoy'd. 
 By mobs applauded, and by mobs, destroy'd ! 
 Say, mighty Cunning, which deserves the prize 
 The courtier's promises, or trader's lies ? 
 Some short-lived profit all the pains rewards 
 Of bankrupt dealers, and of peijur'd lords. 
 
 Honest alike, you own, but wiser far, 
 Hbt knave upon the bench than at the bar :
 
 41^ JLORD PACiET. 
 
 Where lies the difF'rence ? only in degiee^ 
 And higher rank is greater infamy. 
 Poor rogues in chains but dangle to the wind^ 
 "Whilst rich ones live the terror of mankind. 
 
 Pomp, power, and riches, all mere trifles are. 
 When purchased by the loss of character ; 
 Chance may the wise betray, the brave defeat, 
 Eut they correct, or are above their fate. 
 Credit once lost can never be retrieved. 
 How few will trust the man who once deceived ? 
 Craft, like the mole, works only under ground. 
 Is lost in day-light, and destroy'd when found. 
 
 Nations mistaken, reasonings ill apply'd. 
 And sophisms tliat conclude on either side ; 
 Alike the unwary, and the weak, mislead. 
 Who judge of, men and things, as each succeed. 
 Did rivals fall by Borgia's vile deceit, 
 A Machiavel will call a Borgia great ; 
 The lucky cheat proclaims the villain wise. 
 And fraud and murder are but policies. 
 The same despair which made good Cato die. 
 To Caesar gave his last great victory. 
 Had right decided, and not fate, the cause, 
 Rome had preserved her Cato, and her laws. 
 3
 
 LORD PAGtT. ' 413 
 
 Fortune sets off the bad, as tawdry dress 
 Shews but the more the wearer's homeliness. 
 So mad CaUgula's vain triumph tells. 
 That all his conquests are but cockle-shells. 
 True merit shines in native splendor bright, 
 Wnilst false but glares awhile, and hurts the sight: 
 As midnight vapours cast a glimmering blaze. 
 And to the darkness owe their feeble rays. 
 The wise Egyptians when their monarch dy'd. 
 By truths sure standard all his actions try'd. 
 When no false lustre, wealtli, or pow'r appears 
 To bias judgment by its hopes or fears ; 
 Then conquering chiefs profuse of subjects' blood. 
 And lazy dotards, indolently good ; 
 That trust their people to a favourite's care. 
 Whose peaceful rapines cost 'em more than war. 
 By injured thousands, wrongs are doom'd to be 
 Perpetual marks of scorn and infamy. 
 
 ^Fortune with fools, and wit with knaves you find, 
 'Tis social virtue, shews the noble mind. 
 Above low wisdom. Cunning's mean pretence. 
 There is no counterfeiting excellence : 
 The artful head may act the honest part. 
 But all true honour rises from the heart.
 
 414 LORD PAGET. 
 
 Which served his country best, let story shew, 
 
 A guilty Clodius, or good Cicero ? 
 
 Faults are in all ; but here the difference lies, 
 
 Clodius had vices, Tully vanities. 
 
 Who loves mankind by social duty taught. 
 
 Will never think tlieir good too dearly bough^j 
 
 What tho' he sacrifice the vain desire 
 
 Of some gay baubles, which the world admire ; 
 
 Despising riches, and abhorring power. 
 
 When blasted with the name of plunderer: 
 
 Still he may taste life's greatest good, content j 
 
 For who so happy as the innocent ? 
 
 Jugurtha murder'd, bribed, and fought his way 
 
 From subject station to imperial sway j 
 
 But insecure, 'midst all his guilty state. 
 
 The man was wretched, tho' the monarch great j 
 
 Like Cromwell, daring in the doubtful fight. 
 
 But pale and trembling in the dead of night.
 
 LORD PAGET. 415 
 
 Two against One. 
 
 Our Grandsire Adam was full sad 
 
 Whilst he lived all alone j 
 On t'other hand he grew quite mad, 
 " When once he Eve had known. 
 
 He needs must let his fan: one go. 
 
 To ramble out, we find j 
 The devil picked her up j and so 
 
 They both against him joined. 
 
 Twas Two to One ! what could he do ; 
 
 In short the man was cheated j 
 Had he been wise, or she been true. 
 
 The devil had been defeated.
 
 t 415 1 
 tllCHARD WEST. 
 
 17161742. 
 
 The friend of Gray, whose friendship has preserved his 
 name and procured him a place am^ong the English Poets. 
 He had written but two Poems in his native language, 
 of which one is original. 
 
 Ode to Mat/i 
 
 Dear Gray ! that always in my heart 
 Possessest far the better part. 
 What mean these sudden blasts that rise. 
 And drive the zephyrs from the skies ? 
 O join with mine thy tuneful lay, 
 And invocate the tardy day. 
 
 Come fairest nymph ! resume thy reign. 
 Bring all the graces in thy train : 
 Witli balmy breath and flowery tread 
 Rise from thy soft ambrosial bed. 
 Where in Elysian slumber bound 
 Embowering myrtles veil thee round.
 
 RICflARD WEST. 417 
 
 Awake, in ali thjr glories drest, 
 Recal the zephyrs from the west ; 
 llestore the sun, revive the skies. 
 At mine and Nature's Call arise 1 
 Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay, 
 Aiid misses her accustora'd May. 
 
 See ! all her wants demand thy aid. 
 The labours of Pomona fade ; 
 A plaint is heard from every tree. 
 Each budding flow'ret calls for thee ; 
 The birds forget to love and sing. 
 With ^orms alone the forests ring. 
 
 Come then with pleasure at thy side. 
 
 Diffuse thy vernal spirit wide j 
 
 Create where'er thou tum'st thy eye 
 
 Peace, plenty, love, and harmony. 
 
 Till every being share its part. 
 
 And heaven and earth be glad at heart. 
 
 VOL. I. B B
 
 [ 4:8 ] 
 JOSIAH RELPH. 
 
 Seberghain, Cumberland, 1712 1745. 
 
 The life of this interesting man has been written with much 
 feeling by his countryman the late learned Mr. Boucher. 
 
 He was the son of a Cumberland Statesman, who on a 
 paternal inheritance which could not exceed, if it even 
 amounted to, thirty pounds a year, brought up a family 
 of three sons and a daughter, one of whom he educated 
 for a learned profession. Josiah was sent first to Appleby 
 School, one of the many excellent schools of this coun- 
 try, then to Glasgow; he afterwards engaged in a gram- 
 mar school in his native place, and succeeded to the per- 
 petual curacy there, but there is no reason to believe, 
 that his income was ever more than fifty pounds. 
 
 It appears from his diary that his step-mother was harsh and 
 unkind to him and to his sister, whom he dearly loved, 
 the father siding with his wife ; an injury which he felt 
 the more poignantly from his having either entirely, or 
 very near, made up to him all the expense he had been 
 at in his education. " In a lonely dell," says Mr. Boucher, 
 *' by a murmuring stream, under the canopy of heaven, 
 he had provided himself a table and a stool, and a little 
 raised seat or altar of sods ; hither in all his difficulties and 
 distresses, in imitation of his Saviour, he retired and 
 prayed ; rising from his knees he generally committed to 
 paper the meditation on whicli he had been employed, or 
 the resolves he had then formed. On business and emer- 
 gencies which he deemed still more momentous, he with-
 
 JOSIAH IlELPH. 419 
 
 i i^^^ drew into the church, and there walking in the aisles, in 
 that avveful solitude, poured out his soul in prayer and 
 ^ praise to his maker. His sermons were usually meditated 
 
 in the church-yard, after the evening had closed. The 
 awe which his footsteps excited at that unusual hour is 
 not yet forgotten by the villagers." 
 He continued his school when his constitution was visibly 
 giving way to that disorder which at length proved mortal, 
 ^ ^ being accelerated by his ascetick mode of living. " A 
 i 0^ few days before his death he sent for all his pupils, one by 
 
 t Ji one, into his chamber, a more affecting interview it is 
 
 not possible to conceive ; one of them, who is still living, 
 acknowledges he never thinks of it witfiout awe ; it reminds 
 him, he says, of the last judgment. He was perfectly 
 composed, collected and serene. His valedictory admo- ~ 
 nitions were not very long, but they were earnest and 
 pathetick. He addressed each of them in terms some, 
 what different, adapted to their different tempers and 
 circumstances ; but in one charge he was uniform, lead 
 a good life that your death may be easy, and you ever- 
 lastingly happy. He died of a consumption before he had 
 compleatcd his 3-2d year. After many years, a monument 
 was erected to his memory by .Mr. Boucher." 
 The charactcis as well as imagery of the Cumbrian Pastorals 
 were taken from real life ; there was hardly a person in 
 the village who could not point out those who had sate 
 for his Cursty and Peggy. The amorous maiden was well 
 known, and died a few years ago, at a very advanced age. 
 His poems evince not any indication of his ascetick dispo. 
 sition, and have been twice published, first by his pupil the 
 Reverend Mr. Denton. 
 
 U E i
 
 420 JOSIAII RELPH. 
 
 Hay-Time, or the Constant Loveri. 
 
 Warm shone the sun, the wind as warmly hlew. 
 No longer cool'd by draughts of morning dew ; 
 When in the field a faithful pair appear'd, 
 A faithful pair, full happily endear'd : 
 Hasty in rows they raked the meadows pride. 
 Then sank amid the softness, side by side. 
 To wait the withering force of wind and sun. 
 And thus their artless tale of love begun. 
 
 CUKSTY. 
 
 A finer hay-day ^eera was never seen. 
 The greenish sops already luik less green. 
 As weel^ the greenish sops will suin be dry'dj 
 As Sawney's 'bacco sprcd by th' higle-side,'^ 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 And see how finely striped the fields appear. 
 Striped like the gown ^at^ I on Sundays wear ; 
 White shows the lye, the lig<^ of Maker ^ hue. 
 The bluimeu pexxi- greenment wi' reed and blue. 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Let other lads to spworts and pastimes run. 
 
 And spoil their Sunday clease,^ and clash their shoon, 
 
 a Sure. ^ Well. c Fireside. d That, 
 
 e Bailey. f Yellower. S Pease. > Cloattws.
 
 J03IAU RELPII. 421 
 
 If Peggy in the field my partner be. 
 To work at hay is better spowrt to me. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Let other lasses ride to Rosley fair. 
 And mazle ' up and down the market there, 
 I envy not their happy treats and them. 
 Happier mysell if Cursty bides at heame. , 
 
 CUKSTY. 
 
 It's hard mv ^ day the heavy scy' ' to swing. 
 But, if my lass a holesome breakfast bring, 
 Ee'n mowing-time is better far, I swear. 
 Than Curscnmas,'^ and aw its dainty chear. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Far is the gursin " off, top full the kits, o 
 But, if my Cursty bear tiie milk by fits. 
 For gallopui to wakes I ne'er gen wood, p 
 For every night's a wake, or full as good. 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Can thou remember, I remember 't weel. 
 Sin, "J call wee things, ^ we clavered ' o'er yon steel, ' 
 Lang wully-'w^n.diS " for hoops I yust * to lay y 
 To meake ray canny * lass a leady gay. 
 
 1 Wander. k All. ' Scythe. m Christmas. 
 n Pasture. o Pails. P Go mad. S Since. 
 ' Little. Clambered, Stile, u Willow. 
 X Used. y Bend. ' l-Iandsome, fine. 
 
 J- B 3
 
 422 JOSIA^EELPII. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Then dadged* we to the bog owr meadows dree, h 
 To plet a sword and seevy^-cap for thee ; 
 Set off with seevy-cap and seevy- sword 
 My Cursty luik'd as great as anny loord. 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Beneath a dyke, full many a langsome day. 
 We sat, and leelded ^ houses fine o' clay ; 
 For dishes, acorn-cups stuid dessd ^ in rows. 
 And broken pots for duller s ^ mens'd^ the waws. b 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 may we better houses get than thar, ' 
 Far larger dishes, dublers brighter far. 
 And ever mair delighted may we be 
 
 1 to meake Cursty fine, and Cursty me. 
 
 CtJRSTY. 
 
 Right oft at schuil I've spelder'd owr thy rows. 
 Full many a time I've foughten in thy cause. 
 And when in winter miry ways let in, 
 I bore thee on my back thro' thick and thin. 
 
 a Walked leisurely. b Long. = Rushy. 
 
 ^ Built. e Laid carefully together. 
 
 f Platters. g Decorated. b Walls. 
 > Thes.
 
 JOSIAII*RELPn. 4?3 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 As suin as e'er I learn'd to kest a loup k 
 Warm mittens ivapp'd i thy fingers warmly up 3 
 And when at heels I spy'd thy stockings out, 
 I dam'd them suin, or suin set on a clout. 
 
 CURSTY, 
 
 how I liked to see thee on Xhejleer ! 
 At spworts, if I was trier, to be seer 
 
 1 reach'd the fancy "^ ruddihj to thee. 
 
 For nin p danced hawf sae weel in Cursty's ee. <j 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 O how I swet, when, for the costly prize 
 Thou grupp'd some lusty lad of greater size 5 
 But when I saw him scrawlen on the plain. 
 My heart aw Jlacker'd' for't, I was sae fain. ^ 
 
 cuasTY. 
 See ! owr the field the whirling sunshine whiews, ' 
 The shadow fast the sunshine fair pursues ; 
 From Cursty thus oft Peggy seem'd to haste. 
 As faur she fled, he after her as fast. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Ay, laddy, seem'd indeed, for, truth to tell. 
 Oft wittingly I stummerd, " oft I fell, 
 
 k To knit. l Wrapt, m Floor, n The ribband, a pri 
 for dancers. Readily. P None. 1 Eye. 
 
 Fluttered. Glad. t Flics. u Stumbled, 
 E 4
 
 424 JOSIAH RELrH. 
 
 Pretendin some unlucky uramp " or strean. 
 For Cursty's kind guid-natur*d heart to mean, y 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Sweet is this kiss as smell of dwallowed^ hay^ 
 Or the fresh prumrose on the furst o' May j 
 Sweet to the teaste as pears or apples inoam, * 
 Nay, sweeter tlian the sweetest honeycomb. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 But let us rise J the sun's owr ^ Carrock-fell 
 And luik ! whaes ^ yon 'ats ^ walking to the well ? 
 Up, Cursty, up ! for God's sake let me gang. 
 For fear tlie maister put us in a sang ! 
 
 St. Agnes s Fast, or the Amorous Maiden. 
 
 How lang I've fasted, and 'tis hardly four. 
 This day I doubt ^ilh neer be ^itteii ^ owr ; 
 And theer's as lang a night, aleis ! beside, 
 I lull 8 thought fasts seek ^ fearfu' things to bide. 
 
 Fie, Roger, fie ! a sairy ' lass to wrang. 
 And let her aw this trouble undergaiwj ; 
 
 T- Wrench. Y Pity. z Withered: a IMellovc. 
 t Over. = Who is. d That is. e Will. 
 
 i Got. g Little. ^ Such. i Poor.
 
 josiAn nEDPH. 435 
 
 What gars k thee stay ? indeed its badly duin ! i 
 Come come thy ways, thou mud' as weelcome 
 
 suin ; 
 For come thou mun,^ aw mothers wise agree. 
 And mothers wise can never seer aw lee. p 
 
 As I was pou'en i pezz to scaw'd ae night 
 O' ana wl' neen ' it was my luck to light. 
 This fain I underneath my bouster laid. 
 And gat as fast as e'er I cou'd to bed : 
 I dreamt, the plpasant dre^m, I's ne'er forgit, 
 Aud ah ! tliis cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 A pippin frae an apple fair I cut. 
 
 And cKvose atween my thoomb and finger put, 
 
 Ihen cry'd, whore wons* my luive ? come tell 
 
 me true ! 
 And even forrct ' stright away it fleu j 
 It flew as Roger's house it wad hev " hit. 
 And ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 I laitedx last aw Hallow-Even lang, 
 
 For grnwen nuts the bussas neak'dy amang : 
 
 k Makes. * ' Done. "> Mayest. " Must. o Sure! 
 P Lie. 1 Pulling. ' Nine. Where lives. 
 
 t Forward. u Would have, x Sought, y Naked.
 
 4Sfi jaSIAH RELPir. 
 
 Wi* twea at last I met ; to aither nut 
 I gave a neame, and baith i' th' i/igle^ put j 
 Right bonnily he burnt, nor flinched a bit. 
 And ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 Turnips ae Satui'day I paired, and yell * 
 
 A pairing sav'd, my sweet-heart's nearae to tell j 
 
 Slap fell it on the fleer, aw ran to view 
 
 And cawt^ it like a C, but cawt not true ; 
 
 For nought, I's seer, but R. the scrawl wad fit. 
 
 And ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 A fortune-teller leately com about. 
 And my twea guid King Gweorge's I powt out j 
 Baith, baith, (and was not that a pity !) went. 
 And yet I cannot caw them badly spent j 
 She sign'd "^ a bonny lad and a large kit, 
 And'ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 When t' other night the bride was put to bed. 
 And we wad try whea's turn was neest^ to wed. 
 Oft owr the shoulder flung the stocking fell. 
 But not yen^ hal^ the mark, except mysell 3 
 I on her feace directly meade it bit. 
 And ah ! tliis cruel Roger comes not yet ! 
 
 2 Fire. a Whole. b Called. c Foretold. 
 
 * Next. e One. f Hit.
 
 JO SI A 11 RELPH. 
 
 But what need I to fash^' me any mair. 
 He'll be obleeged, avoid he't ne'er sae sare. 
 To come at last ; its own'd, ^ it seems, to be. 
 And, weel I waite, what's o\Mi'd yen cannot flee> 
 Or sud he never come and tliur ' fulfil, 
 Sud cruel Roger pruive sae cruel still, 
 I muii not, like a full, gang fast aw day 
 And kest mysell just wittenly away. 
 
 She said, and softly slipping cross the floor. 
 With easy fingers oped the silent door : 
 Thrice to her head she rais'd the luncheon brown. 
 Thrice lick'd her lips, and three times laid it down ; 
 Purpos'd at length the very worst . o prove, 
 'Twas easier sure to die of ought than love. 
 
 The Poet's Petition. 
 
 If Phoebus his Poet's petition would crown, 
 I'd ask a retreat in a snug country town. 
 Near which a clear stream in a valley should glide. 
 With fountains and meadows and groves by its 
 
 side ; 
 And then my ambition no fartlier should stray, :\ 
 But to better my life and to better my lay. 
 To virtue's improvement, and vice's decay. 
 
 K Facher. Fr. J" Destined. < Tlicsc.
 
 42^ JOSIAII RKI.FII. 
 
 A competent fortune should be my next call. 
 Too great for contempt, and for envy too small ; 
 I would workj not for need, but my fancy to please. 
 With various enjoyment of labour and ease. 
 
 A friend of like temper and honesty tried. 
 Should double my joys and my sorrows divide. 
 But far from my cottage let beauty remove, 
 Nor poison my innocent pleasures with love. 
 
 At town I or seldom or never would come. 
 Unless when no subject of satire's at home j 
 Or (since sweetest pleasures the soonest will cloy) 
 To give a new relish to surfeiting joy. 
 
 And when those dear pleasures no more shall bes 
 
 mine. 
 Not weary with life, nor yet loth to resign. 
 In death I would gently dissolve as in rest, 
 
 And this epitaph should be wrote in each breast. 
 The Poet's ambition no farther did stray. 
 But to better his life, and better his lay. 
 To virtue's improvement, and vice's decay.
 
 JOSIAH ftEL^H. 430 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 LoLCius, with head bent back and close-shut eyes. 
 All service-time devoutly snoring lies. 
 Its great dislike in ^es ! the parish speaks. 
 And wonders Lolllus thus the sabbath breaks. 
 But I think Lollius keeps the sabbath best> 
 For why ? ^he makes it still a day of rest. 
 
 The Worm Doctor. 
 
 Vagus, advanced on high, proclaims his skill 
 
 By cakes of wonderous force tlie worms to kill j 
 
 A scornful ear the wiser sort impart 
 
 And laugh at Vagus's pretended art ; 
 
 But well can Vagus what he boasts perform. 
 
 For Man, as Job has told us, is a Worm.
 
 [ 430 ] 
 SAMUEL SAY. 
 
 1743. 
 
 A fellow student of Watts and Hughes, at a dissenting 
 Academy. He published Poems and two Essays on 
 Metre, 4to. He was an amiable man, and an ornament 
 to his profession. It is curious to find in one of bis 
 sermons, that he has said more on the true principles of 
 the " Graces," than is to be found in all the laboured 
 letters of Lord Chesterfield. 
 
 To a Lady tvorling a Floxcered Petticoat for Cecilia. 
 
 Blest garment, that shall tliose soft limbs enfold. 
 Proud of thy flowing train and mingled gold : 
 And blest the hands, whose artful fingers form 
 The mystick stories which tliat robe adorn ! 
 Oh ! had but Nature more my make refined. 
 And witli the man the female softness join'd ; 
 Then undistinguish'd might my shape remain. 
 Like Thetis' son amid the virgin train :
 
 SAMUEL Sir. 43 1 
 
 Then for her wear my needle should have wrought 
 Embroider'd figures by my passion taught. 
 Love would direct my artless hands, and guide 
 The slender thread thro' the fine woof to slide. 
 Here I, ray sex conceal'd, the gentle fire. 
 Would into her unwary breast inspire. 
 While near me the bright Dame (aflfected pride. 
 And modest virgin-blushes laid aside) 
 In native innocence secure should stand. 
 Commend my labours, and approve my hand. 
 What nor my pen, nor faultering tongue could 
 
 dare. 
 The bolder Needle, fearless, should declare j 
 And the dumb shadow's silent voice proclaim 
 My humble love, and court the haughty dame. 
 
 The Dream. Addressed to Morpheus. 
 
 O THOU ! that with thy drowsy wand 
 Canst wakeful- eyes to rest command ; 
 Suspend the lover's anxious care. 
 And make a truce witli black Despair. 
 
 While thy mimick power, of shapes 
 Numberless, that in the cell 
 Of the busy Fancy dwell. 
 
 Pleasing dreams and visions makes.
 
 432 SAMUEL SAV 
 
 Tell me from what glorious store 
 Thou hast brought tlie richest form 
 That did ever i/ight adorn, 
 
 t Or visit sleeping minds before. 
 
 So like Belphcebe, so divine 
 Did the beauteous image shine. 
 Wretched Timias thought him blest j 
 Of the heavenly Dame possest.' 
 
 Sweet it look'd, and so it smiled 
 As when first th' indulgent maid. 
 My unweary heart beguil'd. 
 And to fatal love betray'd. 
 
 Sleep ! why shou'd'st thou.thus deceive 
 One too easy to believe ? 
 Why with his vain hopes conspire 
 To flatter thus his fond desire ? 
 
 Rather let him see disdairt 
 
 In her angjy looks appear ; 
 
 In her eyes tlie tokens clear 
 Of sad resolves t' encrease his pain, 
 1
 
 AMUZ. SAT*. 433 
 
 Let some hated Ghost, whose pride 
 Thousand hapless souls have sigh'd. 
 That knows to frown, put oh tlie facS, 
 And Belphoebe's borrow'd grace. 
 
 Bid the haughty Shadow come, *. 
 
 In her voice and in her mien 
 
 An unusual fierceness seen 
 Sternly to pronounce his doom, * 
 
 Then, perhaps, from hopeless love' , 
 Thou his wretched mind may'st move j 
 Or thy brother Death release. 
 Whom in vain you strive to ease. 
 
 * 
 But if the hand, that should save. 
 
 Never will the cure apply. 
 Let him then sleep in his grave ; 
 
 Let a wretch despair and die ! 
 
 But if you with pow'rful art. 
 Can soften minds, and change the tliought ; 
 That Belphoebe may be brought 
 To sigh, and love, and feel ray smart. 
 
 VOt. I. tw
 
 434 AMtJEL SAT. 
 
 Then may oft such dreams return. 
 When in mutual fires we burn j 
 Till our hands and hearts shall join. 
 And I shall ever call her mine ! 
 
 A JJymn on 1 Chron. xvii. l6. And David the King 
 came, mid sat before the Lord, and said. Who am 
 I, O Lord God, and "what is mine House, that thou 
 hast brought me hitherto ? 
 
 Lord I in this last concluding eve. 
 
 Thy name I will adore ; 
 Who, to my many years of life 
 
 One year hast added more. 
 
 Nor life alone, but health, and strength 
 
 Thro' all the indulgent year : 
 And liberty, than life itself 
 
 To me more justly dear. 
 
 Thy bounty has with richest store. 
 
 My table daily spread : 
 Richly am I, or Idndlier, Lord, 
 
 With food convenient fed.
 
 ^IftJEL SAT* 435 
 
 Aud when the timely hours of sleep 
 
 To needful rest invite ; 
 Thou dost my peaceful slumbers watch, 
 
 And giiard me every night. 
 
 When distant friends secure I reached. 
 
 Thy Providence I own j 
 Whilst in infected towns I lodg'd. 
 
 And travel'd roads unknown. 
 
 In deaths and dangers, every place 
 
 Did health and peace aiford : 
 Safe I went out, and safe retum'd. 
 
 For thou went witli me, i.ord ! 
 
 Oh ! may thy presence guard me stilly 
 
 And guide in all my ways j 
 For in the midst of snares I walk. 
 
 And tread a dangerous maze. 
 
 And whilst our errors. Lord, and all 
 
 Thy mercies I review : 
 I wonder and adore the grace 
 
 T^at brought me hitherto ! 
 
 FF 2
 
 [ 436 ] 
 HENRY CAREY. 
 
 1743. 
 
 Harry Carey, for by that name he is better known, was 
 the author of Chrononhotonthologos, and of the satires 
 which fixed upon Ambrose Philips the nickname of 
 Namby-Pamby, Though a musician by profession, he 
 hated and ridiculed the absurdity of the Italian Opera, 
 on which he wrote a burlesque, called the Dragon of 
 Wantl^', and afterwards a sequel called the Dragoness, 
 which his friend John Frederick Larape set to musick, 
 and did them both justice. The popular ballad of 
 " Sally in our Alley" is his, and was composed by him 
 in consequence of overhearing the courtship of two 
 young persons in humble life, while walking in the 
 fields. The simplicity and nature that is in it will ever 
 entitle it to favour. Carey had the rare merit of re- 
 garding decency, though he was a humourist and a 
 song-writer. His life was led without reproach, but it 
 was unfortunate, and he died by his own hands. 
 
 A Satyr on the Luxury and Effemtnact/ of the Age. 
 
 Britons ! for shame, give all these follies o'er. 
 Your antient native nobleness restore :
 
 HENRY CAREY. J^W 
 
 Learn to be manly, learn to be sincere. 
 And let the world a Briton's name revere. 
 Let not my countrymen become the sport. 
 And ridicule of every foreign court j 
 But let them well of men and things discern. 
 Their virtues follow, not their vices learn. 
 
 Where is the noble race of British youth. 
 Whose ornaments were wisdom, learning, truth ? 
 Who, e'er they travell'd, laid a good foundation 
 Of liberal arts, of manly education j 
 Nor went, as some go now, a scandal to their 
 
 nation. 
 Who travel only to corrupt the mind j 
 Import the bad, and leave the good behind. 
 
 To learning, and to manly arts estranged, 
 (As if with women sexes they'd exchanged) 
 They look like females, dressed in boys' attire. 
 Or Salmon's waxwork babies, propp'd by wire : 
 And, if a brace of powdered coxcombs meet. 
 They kiss and slabber in the open street. 
 Curse on this damn'd, Italian pathic mode. 
 To Sodom and to Hell the ready road ! 
 May they when next they kiss, together grow, 
 Ajid never after separation know. 
 Ff 3
 
 "^SB HENRT CARET. 
 
 Our petits maitres now are so polite. 
 They tliink it ungenteel to read or write ; 
 Learning with them is a rtiost heinous sin. 
 Whose only study is to dress, and grin. 
 To visit, to drink tea, gallant a fan. 
 And every foolery below a man. 
 
 Powder'd and gumm'd the plaister'd fop appears. 
 The monkey's tail hangs 'twixt the ass's ears. 
 Just emblem of the empty apish prig. 
 Who has more grin than grace, less wit than wig. 
 'Stead of a sword, their persons to secure 
 They wear a bodkin rather, or a skewer j 
 But with a tossil of prodigious make. 
 To shew they wear the weapon for the top-knot'3 
 sake. 
 
 Saucy and pert, abrupt, presumptive, loud. 
 These shadows triumph o'er the vulgar crowd ; 
 But let a man of sense and soul appear. 
 They fly before him like the timorous deer ; 
 For, be they ne'er so healthy or so young. 
 Their courage only lies upon their tongue. 
 
 They talk not of our army, 01 our fleet. 
 But of the warble of Cuzzoni sweet. 
 Of the delicious pipe of Senesino, 
 And of the squalling trull of Harlequino ;
 
 DENRT CAKET. 439 
 
 Who, were sbe English, with united rage 
 Themselves would justly hiss from off the stage : 
 With better voice, and fifty times her skill. 
 Poor Robinson is always treated ill : 
 But, such is tlie good nature of the town, 
 'Tis now the mode, to cry the English down. 
 
 Nay, there are those as warmly will debate 
 For the Academy, as for the State j 
 Nor care they whether credit rise, or fall. 
 The Opera with tliem is all in all. 
 They'll talk of tickets rising to a guinea. 
 Of pensions, dutchesses, and Bononcini j 
 Of a new eunuch in Bernard i's place. 
 And of Cuzzoni's conquest, or disgrace; 
 
 Not but I love enchanting musick's sounds 
 Willi moderation, and in Reason's bounds ; 
 But would not, for her Syren charms, reject 
 All other business, with supine neglect. 
 When leisure makes it lawful to be gay. 
 Then tune your instruments, then sing and play^ 
 Musicians ! I shall give what you deserve. 
 Yet will let not all other artists starve : 
 But ever deal with a more liberal hand 
 To him, who iings what I can understand' 
 r F 4
 
 4^ B^NRT CAREY. 
 
 I hate this singing in an unknown tongue, 
 It does our reason and our senses wrong ; 
 When words instruct, and musick cheers the 
 
 mind. 
 Then is the art of service to mankind : 
 But when a castrate wretch, of monstrous size. 
 Squeaks out a treble, shrill as infant cries, 
 I curse the unintelligible ass. 
 Who may, for ought I know, be singing mass. 
 
 Or when an Englishman, a trimming rogue. 
 Compounds his English with a foreign brogue. 
 Or spoils Italiap; with an English tone, 
 (Which is of late a mighty fashion grown,) 
 It throws me out of patience, makes me sick, 
 I wish the squalling rascal at old Nick j 
 Far otherwise it is with honest Dick : 
 Like Clytus he, with noble Graecian pride. 
 Throws all unrnanly Persian arts aside j 
 Sings when he's ask'd, his singing at an end. 
 He's then a boon, facetious, witty friend. 
 How much unlike those fools who sing or play. 
 Yet for themselves have scarce a word to say : 
 Who shall one moment with their music please, 
 fti? next with stupid conversation teaze !
 
 HENRY CARET. 441 
 
 But above all those men are most my jest. 
 Who, like uncleanly birds, bewray their nest. 
 When Englishmen implicitly despise 
 Their own produce, can English merit rise ? 
 J^ipp'd in the bud, nor suffered once to blow. 
 How can it ever to perfection grow ? 
 
 Yet erst for arts and arras we've been renown'd. 
 Our heroes and our bards with garlands crown'd ; 
 Are we at last so despicable grown. 
 That foreigners must reign in arts alone. 
 And Britain boast no genius of its own ? 
 
 Can then our British Syrens charm no more. 
 That we import these foreign minstrels o'er. 
 At such expence from the Italian shore ? 
 Are all our English women ravens grown > 
 And liave they lost their melody of tone ? 
 Must Music's science be alone denj'd 
 To us, who shine in every art beside ? 
 Is then our language grown a very joke. 
 Not fit by human creatures to be spoke ? 
 Are we so barbarous, so unpolite ? 
 We but usurp superior merit's right. 
 Let us to tliem our wealth, our dwellings yield. 
 To graze with savage brutes in open field ;
 
 442 HENKT CARET. 
 
 And when we've learn'd to squeak Italian, then. 
 If they so please we may come home again. 
 Is musick then of such importance grown 
 All other knowledge must be overthrown ? 
 Let then the learned Judge resign the bench 
 To some fine singer, some Italian wench : 
 Let the Divine forget the laboured text. 
 With tones and semi-tones to be perplext : 
 The Merchant too regard his trade no more. 
 But learn to sing at sight and write in score ; 
 Let us forget our ancient barbarous speech. 
 And utter nought but what Italians teach : 
 Let's send our useless dross beyond the sea 
 To fetch polite Imperial and Bohea : 
 Let our Toupets to such a length extend. 
 That vanquished France shall copy, but not mend ; 
 .And Italy itself be forced to say 
 We fiddle and we sing as well as they. 
 
 The Jiisiressed Father ; or the Author's Tears over its 
 dear Daughter Rachel. 
 
 Oh ! lead me where my darling lies. 
 Cold as the marble stone ; 
 I will recal her with my cries. 
 And wake her with my moan.
 
 HENRY CARET. 443 
 
 Come from thy bed of clay, my dear I 
 See ! where thy father stands j 
 His soul he sheds out tear by tear. 
 And wrings his wretched hands. 
 
 But ah^ alas, thou canst not rise, 
 Alas, thou canst not hear. 
 Or at tliy tender father's cries. 
 Thou surely would'st appear. 
 
 Since then my love, my soul's delight. 
 Thou canst not come to me. 
 Rather than want thy pleasing sight, 
 I'll dig my way to thee. 
 
 To the Memory of Mr. George Hat/don, Author qf 
 many excellent Compositions in Micsick, 
 
 Ha YD ON ! these little legacies of thine 
 Glow with the tincture of a warmth divine : 
 The master shines in all that tliou hast done ; 
 And Envy's self must now tliy merit own. 
 I loved thee living, and thy shade revere. 
 What more but silence, and a friendly tear.
 
 [ 444 J 
 RICHARD SAVAGE. 
 
 London, 16971743- 
 
 The strange misfortunes of this worthless man^ has secured 
 hira a farae which his writings would never otherwise 
 liave obtained. 
 
 Verses to a young l^ady. 
 
 X oLLYj from me, though now a love- sick youth. 
 Nay though a poet hear the voice of truth ! 
 Polly, you're not a beauty, yet you're pretty j 
 So grave, yet gay ; so silly, yet so witty } 
 A heart of softness, yet a tongue of satire j 
 You've cruelty, yet even with that, good nature : 
 Now you are free, and now reserved awluje j 
 Now a forced frown betrays a willing smile. 
 Reproach'd for absence, yet your sight denied ; 
 My tongue you silence, yet ray silence chide. 
 How would you chide me, should your sex defame ! 
 Yet, should they praise, grow jealous, and exclaim.
 
 AICUAfiD SAVACG. 445 
 
 If you despair, with some kind look you bless ; 
 
 But if I hope, at once all hope suppress. 
 
 You scorn ; yet should my passion change or fail. 
 
 Too late you'd wimper out a softer tale. 
 
 You love ; yet from your lover's wish retire j 
 
 Doubt, yet discern j deny, and yet desire. 
 
 Such Polly, are your sex part truth, part fiction. 
 
 Some thought, much whim, and all a contradiction. 
 
 The Gentleman. Addressed to John JoUiffe, Esq. 
 
 A DECENT mien, an elegance of dress. 
 Words, which, at ease, each winning grace express j 
 A life, where love, by wisdom polish'd shines. 
 Where Wisdom's self again, by love, refines; 
 Where we to chance for friendship never trust. 
 Nor ever dread from sudden whim disgust ; 
 To social manners, and the heart humane, 
 A nature ever great, and never vain ; 
 A wit, that no licentious pertness knows ; 
 The sense, that unassuming candour shows ; 
 Reason, by narrow principles uncheck'd. 
 Slave to no party, bigot to no sect } 
 Knowledge of various life, of learning too ; 
 Thence taste, thence truth, which will from taste 
 ensue :
 
 446 RICHARD SAVAGf*. 
 
 Unwilling censure, though a judgment clear; 
 
 A smile indulgent, and that smile sincere j 
 
 An humble, though an elevated mind j 
 
 A pride, its pleasure but to serve mankind : 
 
 If these esteem and admiration raise ; 
 
 Give true delight, and gain unflattering praise. 
 
 In one wish'd view, th' accomplish'd man we see j 
 
 These graces all are thine, and thou art he. 
 
 The Poefs Dependance on a Statesman. 
 
 Some seem to hint, and others proof will bring. 
 That, from neglect, my numerous hardships spring. 
 Seek the great man ! they cry 'tis then decreed. 
 In him, if I court fortune, I succeed. 
 
 What friends to second? who for me should 
 sue. 
 Have interests, partial to themselves, in view. 
 They own my matchless fate compassion draws } 
 They all wish well, lament, but drop my cause. 
 
 There are who ask no pension, want no place. 
 No title wish, and would accept no grace. 
 Can I intreat, they should for me obtain 
 The least, who greatest for themselves disdain ?
 
 mCRARD SAVAGE. 447 
 
 A statesman, knowing this, unkind, will cry. 
 Those love him : let those serve him ! why 
 
 should I ? 
 Say, shall I turn where lucre points my views ; 
 At first desert my friends, at length abuse ? 
 But, on less terms, in promise he complies : 
 Years bury years, and hopes on hopes arise j 
 I trust,, .am trusted on my fairy gain ; 
 And woes on woes attend, an endless train. 
 
 Be posts disposed at will !-r-I have, for these. 
 
 No gold to plead, no impudence to teaze. 
 
 All secret service from my soul I hate j 
 
 All dark intrigues of pleasure, or of state, 
 
 I have no power, election votes to gain ; 
 
 No will to hackney out polemick strain j 
 
 To shape, as time shall serve my verse or prose. 
 
 To flatter thence, nor slur, a courtier's foes ; 
 
 Nor him to daub with praise, if I prevail; 
 
 Nor shock'd by him with libels to assail. 
 
 Where these are not, what claim to me Ijelongs ? 
 
 Though mine the muse and virtue, birth and wrong*. 
 
 Where lives the Statesman, so in honour chear. 
 To give where he has nought to hope, or fear ? 
 No ! there to seek, is but to find fresh pain : 
 The promise broke^ renewed an4 broke again j
 
 448 RICHARD SAVAGE. 
 
 To be, as humour deigns, received, refns'd ; 
 By turns affronted, and by turns amus'd j 
 To lose that time, which wortliier thoughts requin 
 To lose the health, which should those though 
 
 inspire j 
 To starve and hope j or like caraelions fare 
 On ministerial faith, which means but air. 
 
 But still, undrooping, I the crew disdain. 
 Who, or by jobs, or libels wealth obtain. 
 Ne'er let me be, through those, from want exem 
 In one man's favour, in the world's contempt : 
 Worse in my own ! ^through those to posts Wi 
 
 rise. 
 Themselves, in secret, must themselves despise j 
 Vile, and more vile, till they, at length, disclaim 
 Nqt sense alone of glory, but of shame. 
 
 What though I hourly see the servile herd. 
 For meanness honoured, and for guilt prefer'd ; 
 See selfish passion, public virtue seem j 
 And public virtue an enthusiast dream j 
 See favoured falsehood innocence belie'd. 
 Meekness depreess'd and power-elated pride j 
 A scene will sfiow, all-righteous vision haste j 
 The meek exalted, and the proud debas'd l-^- 
 3
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE. 449 
 
 Oh to be there to tread that friendly shore 
 Where falsehood, pride, and statesmen are no 
 
 more ! 
 But ere indulged ere Fate my breath shall claim, 
 A Poet still is anxious after fame. 
 What future fame would my ambition crave ? 
 This were my wish could aught my memory 
 
 save. 
 Say, when in death my sorrows lie reposed. 
 That ray past life no venal view disclosed; 
 Say, I well knew, while in a state obscure. 
 Without the being base, the being poor j 
 Say, I had parts, too moderate to transcend. 
 Yet sense to mean, and virtue not t* offend. 
 My heart supplying what my head denied j 
 Say, that by Pope esteem'd I lived and died. 
 Whose writings, tlie best rules to write could give j 
 Whose life, the nobler science how to live. 
 
 BND OF THE FIRST VOLUMK. 
 
 Printed by S. HoUlDgtwvrth, Crane-court, Fleet-street.
 
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