AUTHOR Anne Finch

TITLE The Free-Thinkers

RHYME a a *

Jack: FRiend! if I'm late, excuse the failing,
And think, that Reasons much prevailing,
Have kept me, for an house, or better
(Since I receive'd your tempting Letter)
From this dear Scene, of Joy, and Drinking,
And ev'ry Licence of Free-thinking.
But, tell me, who's this rustick Fellow
That looks as Spleenatick and yellow,
As if his Rev'rend Parson aw'd him,
And with Ten Precepts weekly claw'd him?
Is he! of Parts, or Person, proper
With Men like us! to share a Supper,
To hear all Beings, prov'd Mechanick,
And Nature, resu'd from the Panic?

RHYME a a *

Tom: Be easy, Jack, and you, this Bumpkin
Shall quickly find, is good for something,
Who may be moulded to our wishes,
By Wine, and Wit, and sav'ry Dishes;
And, if he's Plyant, as his Name is,
Well worth the case, you'll find the Game is.
In Youth, Pedantick Tutors, bred him,
And with half Notions, crudely fed him,
The Town, as he'll inform you, fully,
Next, turn'd him to a Take, and Bully;
The Country, since, has been his Station,
Where he's a Patriot out of Fashion;
Stickles for Monarchy, and Orders,
With all, that on Religion borders,
On which, so shrewdly he Discourses,
He Mawls sometimes, our new rais'd Forces;

RHYME a a a b b c c 

But we're uncivil -- here's your Health Sir,
'Tis hop'd you'll pardon, we Free-thinkers
Are unconfin'd, and Lawless Drinkers,
And whatsoever suits, or pleases,
Or for our Profit, or our Ease is,
We never baulk it, or ill breeding,
Is now esteem'd, this Frank proceeding.

RHYME a a *

Plyant. I thank you, Sir, for this Instruction,
Which did not need an Introduction,
For all, that I shall see you practice
I will conclude, still, most exact is;
I, formerly, with Wits, and Roarers,
With Bully-Rocks, and bilking Scorers,
Was us'd to Herd, and call'd a Ranter,
And in the Pit, could Vizars banter,
But since, reflecting on that Folly,
I can no more be loud, and jolly;
But fort he time to come, shall spend it
Like one, that knows he soon must end it;
Yet, real Wit, that's Chast, and Sober,
Heighten'd a little with October,
Whether express'd, in Words, or Writing,
Will to my Death-Bed be delighting.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Champaigne, will surely raise it faster,
Believe me, who have been your Taster,
A Flask of this, for your half Guinea,
Will stir up all, that's bright within ye,
Support you, when enclin'd to Sinking,
And teach your Pleasure! and Free-Thinking?

RHYME a a *

Ply. Why Sir, my thoughts were never bounded,
But still, have all the Globe surrounded,
Recall'd the past, and reach'd the future,
Unhelp'd by such a costly Tutor;
But this Free-Thinking, pray what is it?
If Wit, methinks I would not miss it,

RHYME a a *

Or see again, my Native Mansion,
Unlearn'd, in any new Invention;
And sure, a Cant, will bear rehearsal,
Which is become so universal,
That even the Drawer, (to my admiring)
Answer'd me, when you for you inquiring,
You wou'd be here, I need not doubt you,
Free-Thinkers, cou'd not live without you,
That Table's his, quote he, depend on't,
He always sits at th'upper end on't,
And talks such wonders, to the Youngsters,
They know not if they're Men, or Monsters,
But yet, of this, (so clear 'tis stated)
They're sure, they never were Created,

RHYME a a *

But first sprung up, they know not where,
Now when, nor how. 'Twill make you stare
To hear him, (whilst they do adore him)
Make Fools of all, that went before him.

RHYME a a *

A Dam'sel next, both Young and Pretty,
Cry'd, welcome Land-Lord to this City;
And clapp'd me roundly on the Shoulder,
No Army Trull, was ever bolder;
And, when I ask'd her, who had taught her
Such Impudence, and hither brought her,
She answer'd (mincing in her manners)
Free-Thinkers, Sir! I thank their Honours;
Which makes me find, you've condescended
By every Rank, to be attended,
And your new Doctrine (Grave, or Frolick,)
Has spread, as if 'twere Apostolick.

RHYME a a *

Tom. We have indeed, the World enlighten'd
And Boys, and Girls, are not so frighten'd
With God, and Evi, (taught at random
In Nurseries by Palsied Gran-am)
As heretofore, were Men, and Matrons;
Free-thinking, Sir, has mighty Patrons.

RHYME a a *

Ply. But may an honest Man relie on't?
Tom. Jack, Here's a Health to Lady Plyant;
Methinks, she seldom comes to Town, Sir.
Ply. Why, 'tis so hard, to get her down, Sir
But, this Free-thinking, pray explain it?
For, if a Man should over strain it,
What sees at first, but Whim, and Notion,
May, Clash with Honour, and Devotion;
With Magna Charta, or Superiors,
And make us think, there's no Inferiors,
But all were born upon the Level,
And equally should sway, and Revel.

RHYME a a *

Jack. Intolerable! Can you like him?
Tom. He'll soon be Drunk, and then we'll strike him,
Unfold our latitude Opinions,
And add him, to our large Dominions.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Your Son, your Second,
He a Free-Thinker has been reckon'd,
A Man of wond'rou sense, and Mettal,
Fit to unhinge, and then resettle,
To lose the Bands, whch Education
Imposes, on a free born Nation;
To show, how Life shou'd slide along,
Unheeding hwat's to come, or gone;
How self! we always shou'd consider,
And follow still the fairest Bidder.
Snatch in the nick the Good that's certain,
Nor mind, what's hid behind the Curtain.

RHYME a a *

Ply. Why, if you mean young Richard Plyant,
He shall scale Heaven with any Gyant,
Who of Lycurgus talks, and Solon,
And is old Dog, at Dobbs and Toland;
Knows all Republican Defences,
And Raves on Cato Uticensis,
With t'other of that Name, and Brutus
He daily labours to confute us;
When Adam dug, and Eve set Onions,
He says, that all Men were Companions;
That Kings were made but for the People,
As for the Church was made the Steeple;
Which, tho' it highest stands, and fair is,
To make them meet, its only Care is;
And, whilst that Noise, and Pomp possesses
The People 'tis, must lay the Cesses;
That 'tis, but as the People bawl,
Unto whose share, the Ropes should fall;
And when it sinks, by Age, or Weather,
The People, must erect another.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Perfect Allusion! strong, and valid;
I ne'er heard Argument so solid,
Why here's a Lad, all Flame and Spirit,
Sir Disinherit! Disinherit!
Leave not the Eldest born, an Acre,
But raise this generous Undertaker;
In London let him still be gallant,
And much with us, to mend his Talent;
Encourag'd by our daring Papers,
And growling, talk of Spleen, and Vapors,
With Equipage, and Gold enough,
And let him be interr'd in Snuff;
And Smyrna for his House be noted,
And he, for early News, be quoted,
Which, if contested, let a Wager
Profusely big, cofute th'Engager.

RHYME a a *

Ply. How Dick!. have all, have Giles offended?
Tom. No, but your Race will thus be mended;
Hereditary, is a Jest Sir,
Right's in the strongest, and the Best Sir,
Let Dick ascend, or if the Females,
Do in your Line, outvalue the Males,
There, give the Land, and great match'em.
Ply. No, e'er I do, Old Nick shall fetch'em.

RHYME a a *

Tho' Moll coul'd spend a mighty Fortune,
And for Supplies does still Importune;
Is grown a Writer and a Rattler,
And ev'ry Moment, quotes the Tattler;
To Opera's, she sweekly Flutters,
And mirlst [sic] her talking, Verses sputters;
And, when I bid her leave that Tone,
She sings, I'll live for you alone,
I tell her, that she goes too fine,
She sings, ***Oh! Nymph of Race Divine!
I chanc'd to read upon her Toe,
She singing, scream'd out, Cupid Oh!
Besides, the Charge each time she hears it,
Wou'd buy a Shift, her Mother swears it.

RHYME a a *

Jack. She's a Free-Thinker, I imagine,
And all that's witty does engage in,
But her last Fault you'll see amended,
For Opera's will soon be ended,
Since Ridicule, that's so subduing,
Has now contriv'd it's total Ruin;
And though, indeed, it bore the Proof
Of ****Bread and Butter round the Loaf;
And still kept ground, before our Plays,
Though hack'd and hew'd, by Poet +Bays,
A waggish Title now must blast it,
And Punch's Opera will cast it.

RHYME a a *

Ply. I am glad 'twill down, but why that Tool,
Is reason, less then Ridicule,

RHYME a a *

Jack. Oh Sir, by much! all Mortals fear it,
And neither Man, nor Brute can bear it,
When I've but then my Finger pointed,
And with screw'd Looks my Face dis-jointed,
My Dog, I have uneasy seen.
Tom. Jack, you forget, he's a Machine . . .

RHYME a a *

Jack. There is a *****Tract! I'll say no more,
But, had they Rally'd heretofore,
We had not been misled and fetter'd.
Some Days kept plain, and some red Letter'd,
But, in full Liberty, had trod still,
Ply. And Heathn Idols, been our Gods still;

RHYME a a *

Yet, when lewd Wit, Thersites wasted,
All that he got, was to be basted,
Nor, wou'd the Greeks, have lost Elysium,
Shou'd he have held it in Derision,
Tho' Brittons, woul'd it seems have given
For smart Buffooning, all their Heaven.

RHYME a a *

Jack. They had reign'd to Ridiculing;
Ply. And wittily been damn'd for fooling.

RHYME a a *

Jack.. Make that, the Subject of your Laughter,
There's nothing Sir to come hereafter.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Free-Thinking, rescues from that Error,
Which keeps you in this constant Terror.

RHYME a a *

Ply. Why them, what you, Free-thinking call,
I find, is not to Think at all;
And Savages, through want of breeding,
Are what you grow, by dint of reading.
My Carter saw my Father buried,
And as to Earth, his Corps was carried,
Farewel quoth he, my good old Master,
You, and your mare who dyed last Easter,
Shall now, no more, know joys, or flashes,
But be, for ever, Dust and Ashes.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Well said, brave Hobb! is such Free-thinking
Down, to the dull Plebean Sinking?,
And so the Clowns, talk at this rate too?
Ply. Then Fools, were Socrates, and Plato,
Though once esteem'd both, wise and great,
For tracing out, a Future State.

RHYME a a *

Jack. Wou'd you be still, then so confin'd,
Nor free in Body, nor in Mind?

RHYME a a *

Ply. Why Sir, were I all Air, or Fire,
What freedom more cou'd I desire?
Wo'd not with others Rights make bold,
And what's my own, is all Free-hold.

RHYME a a *

Tom. But, where's the Taste, in such posessing?
The Pleasure, sure, is in Transgressing,
In doing, what another dare not,
And showing, we, for Statutes care not;
Were I, but stronger than my Neighbours,
I'd reap the Fruit, of all their Labours,
A Fellow, that with-held his Wife
'Cause by the Priest, bestow'd for Life,
Should instantly be sack'd, and plunder'd,
And us'd the worst, in all the Hundred;
Had I a Naboth, on each side me,
Wh had a Field, or Grove, deny'd me,
In that, my Team, by force shou'd enter,
And this, shou'd warm my Hearth in Winter;
The Church, if to my House 'was joyn'd,
Shou'd with my Orange Trees, be lin'd,
The Parson, if she still wou'd keep it,
Should trim the Boughs, and dayly sweep it,
His Surplice, in true Blue being dy'd,
Shou'd Aprons for the Work provide.

RHYME a a *

Jack. Those Fellows, are indeed a burden,
And shou'd to Plough, or to the Garden,
Who're always Preaching low Submission,
And clog the paths, to bold Ambition.

RHYME a a *

Ply. But, for this vigorous Employment,
This self providing, this Enjoyment,
I can discern no proper Season;
Unless brought in, by War, and Treason,
And, I have still, been wond'rous loath,
To violate the Allegiance Oath.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Sir, I am much surpriz'd, at finding
You think a trivial Oath, so binding,
Swearing in Taverns, or the Temple,
Differ but only in th'Example;
One leads the Mob, to soar, and Hector,
T'other, to sneak to some Protector;
For Men of Sense, 'twas ne'er intended,
But, for the Countenance they lend it.

RHYME a a *

Ply. Yet, in my Thought, there one thing more is,
Are you, Free-Thinkers, Whiggs or Tories?

RHYME a a *

Jack. They steadily, indeed, are neither,
Occasionally, can be either;
Distinction, their large Aim, disgraces;
They're of no Party, but for Places;
Scorning all Ties, Divine or Civil.
Ply. Why this Free-Thinking is the Devil!
But yet I fear, that whilst I'm trying
With this new Scheme, to be complying,
I shall some Book, be turning over,
With Clasps, and Turky-Leather Cover,
Which I'll not name (aw'd by my Betters)
As 'tis Entitl'd in Gold Letters.

RHYME a a *

Jack. You'll never stick at those Abuses,
We've put that Book, to such odd Uses,
That is has lost its ancient Credit,
Though few amongst us ever read it.

RHYME a a *

Ply. Well Gentlemen, I must be trudging,
As far as Lombard Street's my Lodging,
Where I have plac'd Five Hundred Pounds,
The Product of my Pasture Ground,
And must make hast, so to dispose it,
That Bankrupts, may not sink, or lose it.

RHYME a a *

Tom. You're for the city, Sir too late,
They've long e're this, barr'd ev'ry Gate,
And are each Lane, and Passage guarding,
As safe, as if they fear'd Bombarding:
Let me, this Night, your Presence borrow?
Ply. The Money must be paid to morrow,
'Twixt Eight, and Nine, it is appointed.
Tom. You are not with their Ways acquainted,

RHYME a a *

They'll make you wait till Twelve, or one,
Before this Business can be done;
And, you're not well, yet, of your Journey,
Give me your Letter of Attorney,
I'll take the Drudgery of staying,
And when 'tis ready for conveying,
Dispatch my Man, to give you warning,
Who may til then, sleep out the Morning;
Come, own the Truth, did not my Lady
Cry, be as careful Dear, as may be,
And, with her kind, controwling Powers,
Engage you to observe good Hours?
Then, since to night, you have transgress'd,
You must to morrow, take your rest,

RHYME a a *

Jack. ----------------Keep him waking,
Kind Fortune, and his Hand from shaking.

RHYME a a *

Ply. There, 'tis perform'd, now I'll to Bed, Sir.
Tom. You have an able Hand, and Head Sir,
No Secretary e'er was quicker.
Ply. I do best still in my Liquor.

RHYME a a *

Jack. Waiter, a Coach! the Knight is winking,
He'll wake, instructed in Free-thinking.

RHYME a a *

Tom. Why, if he thoroughly has learnt it,
The summ is large, but we have earn'd it.
For he'll so fast his stock be raising,
Beyond the ways, of Plough and Grazing,
That he'll have Cause to bless the Minute,
And those, who did inform him in it;
Mean while, towards Holland I'll be jogging
. Jack. So you had need for fear of dogging,
Or being with that Toledo haunted,
Nay, prethee Thomas, be not daunted!

RHYME a a *

Tom. Not daunted, when you talk of Murder,
What if in this we went no further.

RHYME a a *

Jack. Not any thing, wou'd them, come of it,
And the Attempt, without the Profit,
Wou'd wrong the Judgment of Free-thinkers.
Tom. Great Wits, from Dangers have been Shrinkers,
Therefore 'tis fix'd, I'll not pursue it,
Take you the Note, and boldly do it.
Who domineer, 'till shunn'd, and dreaded,
As if a Legion you had headed;

RHYME a a b b c c c 

Then, sure you're Valiant at the bottom?
Jack. I'll share the Pounds, when you have got 'em.
But all Free-thinkers in the Nation,
Know our first Rule's Self-preservation,
For once our Life cut short below,
(Although we seem to brave it so)
You guess Friend Tom where next we go.

TITLE Miscellany poems on several occasions written by a lady

RHYME a a *

As Merc'ry travell'd thro' a Wood,
(Whose Errands are more Fleet than Good)
An Elephant before him lay,
That much encumber'd had the Way:
The Messenger, who's still in haste,
Wou'd fain have bow'd, and so have past;
When up arose th' unweildy Brute,
And wou'd repeat a late Dispute,

RHYME a a *

In which (he said) he'd gain'd the Prize
From a wild Boar of monstrous Size:
But Fame (quoth he) with all her Tongues,
Who Lawyers, Ladies, Soldiers wrongs,
Has, to my Disadvantage, told
An Action throughly Bright and Bold;
Has said, that I foul Play had us'd,
And with my Weight th' Opposer bruis'd;
Had laid my Trunk about his Brawn,
Before his Tushes cou'd be drawn;
Had stunn'd him with a hideous Roar,
And twenty-thousand Scandals more:
But I defy the Talk of Men,
Or Voice of Brutes in ev'ry Den;
Th' impartial Skies are all my Care,
And how it stands Recorded there.
Amongst you Gods, pray, What is thought?
   Quoth Mercury–Then have you Fought!
  Solicitous thus shou'd I be
For what's said of my Verse and Me;

RHYME a a a b b 

Or shou'd my Friends Excuses frame,
And beg the Criticks not to blame
(Since from a Female Hand it came)
Defects in Judgment, or in Wit;
They'd but reply - Then has she Writ!

RHYME a a *

  Our Vanity we more betray,
In asking what the World will say,
Than if, in trivial Things like these,
We wait on the Event with ease;
Nor make long Prefaces, to show
What Men are not concern'd to know:
For still untouch'd how we succeed,
'Tis for themselves, not us, they Read;

RHYME a a a b b 

Whilst that proceeding to requite,
We own (who in the Muse delight)
'Tis for our Selves, not them, we Write.
Betray'd by Solitude to try
Amusements, which the Prosp'rous fly;

RHYME a a b b 

And only to the Press repair,
To fix our scatter'd Papers there;
Tho' whilst our Labours are preserv'd,
The Printers may, indeed, be starv'd.

RHYME a b b a c c d e e f 

How vain is Life! which rightly we compare
  To flying Posts, that haste away;
To Plants, that fade with the declining Day;
  To Clouds, that sail amidst the yielding Air;
Till by Extention into that they flow,
  Or, scatt'ring on the World below,
Are lost and gone, ere we can say they were;
  To Autumn-leaves, which every Wind can chace;
To rising Bubbles, on the Waters Face;
  To fleeting Dreams, that will not stay,

RHYME a b b a c d c d e f g h h g 

Nor in th' abused Fancy dance,
  When the returning Rays of Light,
Resuming their alternate Right,
Break on th' ill-order'd Scene on the fantastick Trance:
As weak is Man, whilst Tenant to the Earth;
As frail and as uncertain all his Ways,
From the first moment of his weeping Birth,
Down to the last and best of his few restless Days;
  When to the Land of Darkness he retires
From disappointed Hopes, and frustrated Desires;
  Reaping no other Fruit of all his Pain
Bestow'd whilst in the vale of Tears below,
  But this unhappy Truth, at last to know,
That Vanity's our Lot, and all Mankind is Vain.

RHYME a b b a 

If past the hazard of his tendrest Years,
  Neither in thoughtless Sleep opprest,
  Nor poison'd with a tainted Breast,
Loos'd from the infant Bands and female Cares,

RHYME a a b b c c d e e d f f f g g h h i i 

  A studious Boy, advanc'd beyond his Age,
Wastes the dim Lamp, and turns the restless Page;
  For some lov'd Book prevents the rising Day,
  And on it, stoln aside, bestows the Hours of Play;
Him the observing Master do's design
For search of darkned Truths and Mysteries Divine;
  Bids him with unremitted Labour trace
The Rise of Empires, and their various Fates,
The several Tyrants o'er the several States,
  To Babel's lofty Towers, and warlike Nimrod's Race;
Bids him in Paradice the Bank survey,
  Where Man, new-moulded from the temper'd Clay,
(Till fir'd with Breath Divine) a helpless Figure lay:
  Could he be led thus far---What were the Boast,
  What the Reward of all the Toil it cost,
What from that Land of ever-blooming Spring,
  For our Instruction could he bring,
Unless, that having Humane Nature found
Unseparated from its Parent Ground,

RHYME a b c c b a d e e d f f g g h h 

  (Howe'er we vaunt our Elevated Birth)
  The Epicure in soft Array,
  The lothsome Beggar, that before
His rude unhospitable Door,
  Unpity'd but by Brutes, a broken Carcass lay,
Were both alike deriv'd from the same common Earth?
  But ere the Child can to these Heights attain,
  Ere he can in the Learned Sphere arise;
  A guilding Star, attracting to the Skies,
A fever, seizing the o'er labour'd Brain,
  Sends him, perhaps, to Death's concealing Shade;
Where, in the Marble Tomb now silent laid,
  He better do's that useful Doctrine show,
  (Which all the sad Assistants ought to know,
  Who round the Grave his short continuance mourn)
That first from Dust we came, and must to Dust return.

RHYME a a 

A bolder Youth, grown capable of Arms,
Bellona courts with her prevailing Charms;

RHYME a b b c d c d a 

  Bids th' inchanting Trumpet sound,
  Loud as Triumph, soft as Love,
  Striking now the Poles above,
  Then descending from the Skies,
  Soften every falling Note;
As the harmonious Lark that sings and flies,
When near the Earth, contracts her narrow Throat,
  And warbles on the Ground:

RHYME a b b a c c d d e e 

Shews the proud Steed, impatient of the Check,
  'Gainst the loudest Terrors Proof,
Pawing the Valley with his steeled Hoof,
With Lightning arm'd his Eyes, with Thunder cloth'd his Neck;
  Who on the th' advanced Foe, (the Signal giv'n)
Flies, like a rushing Storm by mighty Whirlwinds driv'n;
  Lays open the Records of Fame,
No glorious Deed omits, no Man of mighty Name;
  Their Stratagems, their Tempers she'll repeat,
  From Alexander's, (truly stil'd the GREAT)

RHYME a a b c c b d d e e e f f g g h h 

  From Cæsar's on the World's Imperial Seat,
  To Turenne's Conduct, and to Conde's Heat.
'Tis done! and now th' ambitious Youth disdains
  The safe, but harder Labours of the Gown,
  The softer pleasures of the Courtly Town,
The once lov'd rural Sports, and Chaces on the Plains;
  Does with the Soldier's Life the Garb assume,
  The gold Embroid'ries, and the graceful Plume;
  Walks haughty in a Coat of Scarlet Die,
  A Colour well contriv'd to cheat the Eye,
Where richer Blood, alas! may undistinguisht lye.
  And oh! too near that wretched Fate attends;
  Hear it ye Parents, all ye weeping Friends!
  Thou fonder Maid! won by these gaudy Charms,
  (The destin'd Prize of his Victorious Arms)
  Now fainting Dye upon the mournful Sound,
That speaks his hasty Death, and paints the fatal Wound!

RHYME a b b a c d d c 

  Trail all your Pikes, dispirit every Drum,
  March in a slow Procession from afar,
  Ye silent, ye dejected Men of War!
  Be still the Hautboys, and the Flute be dumb!
  Display no more, in vain, the lofty Banner;
  For see! where on the Bier before ye lies
  The pale, the fall'n, th' untimely Sacrifice
To your mistaken Shrine, to your false Idol Honour!

RHYME a b b a c d d c e e 

  As Vain is Beauty, and as short her Power;
  Tho' in its proud, and transitory Sway,
  The coldest Hearts and wisest Heads obey
  That gay fantastick Tyrant of an Hour.
  On Beauty's Charms, (altho' a Father's Right,
  Tho' grave Seleucus! to thy Royal Side
  By holy Vows fair Stratonice be ty'd)
  With anxious Joy, with dangerous Delight,
  Too often gazes thy unwary Son,
  Till past all Hopes, expiring and undone,

RHYME a a a b c b c c b d d e e f f g g 

  A speaking Pulse the secret Cause impart;
  The only time, when the Physician's Art
Could ease that lab'ring Grief, or heal a Lover's Smart.
  See Great Antonius now impatient stand,
      Expecting, with mistaken Pride,
  On Cydnus crowded Shore, on Cydnus fatal Strand,
  A Queen, at his Tribunal to be try'd,
  A Queen that arm'd in Beauty, shall deride
  His feeble Rage, and his whole Fate command:
  O'er the still Waves her burnisht Galley moves,
  Row'd by the Graces, whilst officious Loves
  To silken Cords their busie Hands apply,
  Or gathering all the gentle Gales that fly,
  To their fair Mistress with these Spoils repair,
And from their purple Wings disperse the balmy Air.
  Hov'ring Perfumes ascend in od'rous Clouds,
  Curl o'er the Barque, and play among the Shrouds;

RHYME a b c c b a 

Whilst gently dashing every Silver Oar,
  Guided by the Rules of Art,
  With tuneful Instruments design'd
To soften, and subdue the stubborn Mind,
A strangely pleasing and harmonious Part
  In equal Measures bore.

RHYME a b b c c d e e f f g g g 

Like a new Venus on her native Sea,
  In midst of the transporting Scene,
(Which Pen or Pencil imitates in vain)
On a resplendent and conspicuous Bed,
With all the Pride of Persia loosely spread,
  The lovely Syrene lay.
  Which but discern'd from the yet distant Shore,
  Th' amazed Emperor could hate no more;
  No more a baffled Vengeance could pursue;
  But yielding still, still as she nearer drew,
  When Cleopatra anchor'd in the Bay,
  Where every Charm cou'd all its Force display,
Like his own Statue stood, and gaz'd the World away.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e e 

  Where ends alas! this Pageantry and State;
  Where end the Triumphs of this conqu'ring Face,
Envy'd of Roman Wives, and all the Female Race?
  Oh swift Vicissitude of Beauty's Fate!
  Now in her Tomb withdrawn from publick Sight,
    From near Captivity and Shame,
    The vanquish'd, the abandon'd Dame
  Proffers the Arm, that held another's Right,
  To the destructive Snake's more just Embrace,
And courts deforming Death, to mend his Leaden Pace.

RHYME a b b a 

  But Wit shall last (the vaunting Poet cries)
  Th' immortal Streams that from Parnassus flow,
  Shall make his never-fading Lawrels grow,
Above this mouldring Earth to flourish in the Skies:

RHYME a b b a c d d c c 

" And when his Body falls in Funeral Fire,
  When late revolving Ages shall consume
  The very Pillars, that support his Tomb,
" His name shall live, and his best Part aspire.
  Deluded Wretch! grasping at future Praise,
    Now planting, with mistaken Care,
  Round thy enchanted Palace in the Air,
  A Grove, which in thy Fancy time shall raise,
  A Grove of soaring Palms, and everlasting Bays;

RHYME a a b c c b d e e d 

  Could'st Thou alas! to such Reknown arrive,
  As thy Imagination wou'd contrive;
  Should numerous Cities, in a vain contest,
    Struggle for thy famous Birth;
Should the sole Monarch of the conquer'd Earth,
  His wreathed Head upon thy Volume rest;
    Like Maro, could'st thou justly claim,
    Amongst th' inspired tuneful Race,
  The highest Room, the undisputed Place;
  And after near Two Thousand Years of Fame,

RHYME a a b c c b d d e e d f f 

  Have thy proud Work to a new People shown;
    Th' unequal'd Poems made their own,
  In such a Dress, in such a perfect Stile
  As on his Labours Dryden now bestows,
  As now from Dryden's just Improvement flows,
In every polish'd Verse throughout the British Isle;
  What Benefit alas! would to thee grow?
  What Sense of Pleasure wou'dst thou know?
  What swelling Joy? what Pride? what Glory have,
  When in the Darkness of the abject Grave,
  Insensible, and Stupid laid below,
  No Atom of thy Heap, no Dust wou'd move,
For all the airy Breath that form'd thy Praise above?

RHYME a b a b a 

  True, says the Man to Luxury inclin'd;
  Without the Study of uncertain Art,
    Without much Labour of the Mind,
  Meer uninstructed Nature will impart,
That Life too swiftly flies, and leaves all good behind.

RHYME a b b c c a d a e f f e g g 

  Sieze then, my Friends, (he cries) the present Hour;
    The Pleasure which to that belongs,
  The Feasts, th' o'erflowing Bowls, the Mirth, the Songs,
  The Orange-Bloom, that with such Sweetness blows,
    Anacreon's celebrated Rose,
  The Hyacinth, with every beauteous Flower,
  Which just this happy Moment shall disclose,
Are out of Fortune's reach, and all within our Power.
  Such costly Garments let our Slaves prepare,
  As for the gay Demetrius were design'd;
  Where a new Sun of radiant Diamonds shin'd,
Where the enamel'd Earth, and scarce-discerned Air,
    With a transparent Sea were seen,
  A Sea composed of the Em'rald's Green,

RHYME a a b c c b d d e e f g g f f f 

  And with a golden Shore encompass'd round;
Where every Orient Shell, of wondrous shape was found.
  The whole Creation on his Shoulders hung,
  The whole Creation with his Wish comply'd,
Did swiftly, for each Appetite provide,
    And fed them all when Young.
  No less, th' Assyrian Prince enjoy'd,
Of Bliss too soon depriv'd, but never cloy'd,
  Whose Counsel let us still pursue,
Whose Monument, did this Inscription shew
  To every Passenger, that trod the way,
Where, with a slighting Hand, and scornful Smile
The proud Effigies, on th' instructive Pile,
  A great Example lay.
I, here Entomb'd, did mighty Kingdoms sway,
Two Cities rais'd in one prodigious Day:

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

Thou wand'ring Traveller, no longer gaze,
No longer dwell upon this useless Place;
Go Feed, and Drink, in Sports consume thy Life;
For All that else we gain's not worth a Moment's Strife.
  Thus! talks the Fool, whom no Restraint can bound,
  When now the Glass has gone a frequent round;
    When soaring Fancy lightly swims,
  Fancy, that keeps above, and dances o'er the Brims;

RHYME a b b c d d d c e e 

  Whilst weighty Reason sinks, and in the bottom's drown'd;
  Adds to his Own, an artificial Fire,
    Doubling ev'ry hot Desire,
  Till th' auxiliary Spirits, in a Flame,
  The Stomach's Magazine defy,
  That standing Pool, that helpless Moisture nigh,
  Thro' every Vital part impetuous fly,
    And quite consume the Frame;
  When to the Under-world despis'd he goes,
  A pamper'd Carcase on the Worms bestows,

RHYME a a 

  Who rioting on the unusual Chear,
As good a Life enjoy, as he could boast of here.

RHYME a b b c c a d d e f g g f f 

  But hold my Muse! thy farther Flight restrain,
    Exhaust not thy declining Force,
  Nor in a long, pursu'd, and breathless Course,
    Attempt, with slacken'd speed, to run
  Through ev'ry Vanity beneath the Sun,
  Lest thy o'erweary'd Reader, should complain,
    That of all Vanities beside,
  Which thine, or his Experience e'er have try'd,
Thou art, too tedious Muse, most frivolous and vain;
  Yet, tell the Man, of an aspiring Thought,
    Of an ambitious, restless Mind,
  That can no Ease, no Satisfaction find,
  Till neighb'ring States are to Subjection brought,
Till Universal Awe, enslav'd Mankind is taught;

RHYME a b b a c d c d e e f g g f h h 

  That, should he lead an Army to the Field,
    For whose still necessary Use,
  Th' extended Earth cou'd not enough produce,
Nor Rivers to their Thirst a full Contentment yield;
  Yet, must their dark Reverse of Fate
  Roll round, within that Course of Years,
  Within the short, the swift, and fleeting Date
  Prescrib'd by Xerxes, when his falling Tears
  Bewail'd those Numbers, which his Sword employ'd,
And false, Hyena-like, lamented and destroy'd.
  Tell Him, that does some stately Building raise,
    A Windsor or Versailles erect,
  And thorough all Posterity expect,
With its unshaken Base, a firm unshaken Praise;
  Tell Him, Judea's Temple is no more,
  Upon whose Splendour, Thousands heretofore

RHYME a b b c d d c 

Spent the astonish'd Hours, forgetful to Adore:
  Tell him, into the Earth agen is hurl'd,
  That most stupendious Wonder of the World,
  Justly presiding o'er the boasted Seven,
  By humane Art and Industry design'd,
  This! the rich Draught of the Immortal Mind,
    The Architect of Heaven.

RHYME a a b b c d d c c 

  Remember then, to fix thy Aim on High,
  Project, and build on t'other side the Sky,
  For, after all thy vain Expence below,
  Thou canst no Fame, no lasting Pleasure know;
  No Good, that shall not thy Embraces fly;
  Or thou from that be in a Moment caught,
  Thy Spirit to new Claims, new Int'rests brought,
  Whilst unconcern'd thy secret Ashes lye,
Or stray about the Globe, O Man ordain'd to Dye!

TITLE The Prevalence of Custom

RHYME a a *

A Female, to a Drunkard marry'd,
When all her other Arts miscarry'd,
Had yet one Stratagem to prove him,
And from good Fellowship remove him;
Finding him overcome with Tipple,
And weak, as Infant at the Nipple,
She to a Vault transports the Lumber,
And there expects his breaking Slumber.
A Table she with Meat provided,
And rob'd in Black, stood just beside it;
Seen only, by one glim'ring Taper,
That blewly burnt thro' misty Vapor.
At length he wakes, his Wine digested,
And of her Phantomship requested,
To learn the Name of that close Dwelling,
And what offends his Sight and Smelling;

RHYME a a *

And of what Land she was the Creature,
With outspread Hair, and ghastly Feature?
Mortal, quoth she, (to Darkness hurry'd)
Know, that thou art both Dead and Bury'd;
Convey'd, last Night, from noisie Tavern,
To this thy still, and dreary Cavern.
What strikes thy Nose, springs from the Shatters
Of Bodies kill'd with Cordial Waters,
Stronger than other Scents and quicker,
As urg'd by more spirituous Liquor.
My self attend on the Deceas'd,
When all their Earthly Train's releas'd;
And in this Place of endless Quiet,
My Bus'ness is, to find them Diet;
To shew all sorts of Meats, and Salades,
Till I'm acquainted with their Palates;
But that once known, then less suffices.
Quoth he (and on his Crupper rises)
Thou Guardian of these lower Regions,
Thou Providor for countless Legions,

RHYME a a *

Thou dark, but charitable Crony,
Far kinder than my Tisiphony,
Who of our Victuals thus art Thinking,
If thou hast Care too of our Drinking,
A Bumper fetch: Quoth she, a Halter,
Since nothing less thy Tone can alter,
Or break this Habit thou'st been getting,
To keep thy Throat in constant wetting.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Where is that World, to which the Fancy flies,
When Sleep excludes the Present from our Eyes;
Whose Map no Voyager cou'd e'er design,
Nor to Description its wild Parts confine?

RHYME a a *

Yet such a Land of Dreams We must allow,
Who nightly trace it, tho' we know not how:
Unfetter'd by the Days obtruded Rules,
We All enjoy that Paradise of Fools;
And find a Sorrow, in resuming Sense,
Which breaks some free Delight, and snatches us from thence.

RHYME a a *

  Thus! in a Dream, a Musselman was shown
A Vizir, whom he formerly had known,
When at the Port he bore deputed Sway,
And made the Nations with a Nod obey.
Now all serene, and splendid was his Brow,
Whilst ready Waiters to his Orders bow;
His Residence, an artful Garden seem'd,
Adorn'd with all, that pleasant he esteem'd;
Full of Reward, his glorious Lot appear'd,
As with the Sight, our Dreamer's Mind was chear'd;
But turning, next he saw a dreadful Sight,
Which fill'd his Soul with Wonder and Affright,

RHYME a a b b c c c d d 

Pursu'd by Fiends, a wretched Dervis fled
Through scorching Plains, which to wide Distance spread;
Whilst every Torture, gloomy Poets paint,
Was there prepar'd for the reputed Saint.
Amaz'd at this, the sleeping Turk enquires,
Why He that liv'd above, in soft Attires,
Now roll'd in Bliss, while t'other roll'd in Fires?
We're taught the Suff'rings of this Future State,
Th' Excess of Courts is likeliest to create;

RHYME a a b b b c c c 

Whilst solitary Cells, o'ergrown with Shade,
The readiest way to Paradise is made.
True, quoth the Phantom (which he dream'd reply'd)
The lonely Path is still the surest Guide,
Nor is it by these Instances deny'd.
For, know my Friend, whatever Fame report,
The Vizier to Retirements wou'd resort,
Th' ambitious Dervis wou'd frequent the Court.

TITLE

RHYME a b a a b 

A Shepherd seeking with his Lass
  To shun the Heat of Day;
Was seated on the shadow'd Grass,
Near which a flowing Stream did pass,
  And Fish within it play.

RHYME a b a a b 

The Phillis he an Angle gave,
  And bid her toss the Line;
For sure, quoth he, each Fish must have,
Who do's not seek to be thy Slave,
  A harder Heart than mine.

RHYME a b a a b 

Assemble here you watry Race,
  Transportedly he cries;
And if, when you behold her Face,
You e'er desire to quit the Place,
  You see not with my Eyes.

RHYME a b a a b 
 
But you, perhaps, are by the Ear,
  More easie to be caught;
If so, I have my Bagpipe here,
The only Musick that's not dear,
  Nor in great Cities bought.

RHYME a b a a b 

So sprightly was the Tune he chose,
  And often did repeat;
That Phillis, tho' not up she rose,
Kept time with every thrilling Close,
  And jigg'd upon her Seat.

RHYME a b a a b 

But not a Fish wou'd nearer draw,
  No Harmony or Charms,
Their frozen Blood, it seems, cou'd thaw,
Nor all they heard, nor all they saw
  Cou'd woo them to such Terms.

RHYME a b a a b 

The angry Shepherd in a Pett,
  Gives o'er his wheedling Arts,
And from his Shoulder throws the Net,
Resolv'd he wou'd a Supper get
  By Force, if not by Parts.

RHYME a b a a b 

Thus stated Laws are always best
  To rule the vulgar Throng,
Who grow more Stubborn when Carest,
Or with soft Rhetorick addrest,
  If taking Measures wrong.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Reputation, Love, and Death,
(The Last all Bones, the First all Breath,
The Midd'st compos'd of Restless Fire)
From each other wou'd Retire;
Thro' the World resolv'd to stray;
Every One a several Way;
Exercising, as they went,
Each such Power, as Fate had lent;
Which, if it united were,
Wretched Mortals cou'd not bear:
But as parting Friends do show,
To what Place they mean to go,
Correspondence to engage,
Nominate their utmost Stage;

RHYME a a *

Death declar'd he wou'd be found
Near the fatal Trumpet's sound;
Or where Pestilences reign,
And Quacks the greater Plagues maintain;
Shaking still his sandy Glass,
And mowing Human Flesh, like Grass.
Love, as next his Leave he took,
Cast on both so sweet a Look,

RHYME a a *

As their Tempers near disarm'd,
One relax'd, and t'other warm'd;
Shades for his Retreat he chose,
Rural Plains, and soft Repose;
Where no Dowry e'er was paid,
Where no Jointure e'er was made;
No Ill Tongue the Nymph perplex'd,
Where no Forms the Shepherd vex'd;
Where Himself shou'd be the Care,
Of the Fond and of the Fair:
Where that was, they soon should know,
Au Revoir! then turn'd to Go.

RHYME a a *

Reputation made a Pause,
Suiting her severer Laws;
Second Thoughts, and Third she us'd,
Weighing Consequences mus'd;
When, at length to both she cry'd:
You Two safely may Divide,
To th' Antipodes may fall,
And re-ascend th' encompast Ball;

RHYME a a *

Certain still to meet agen
In the Breasts of tortur'd Men;
Who by One (too far) betray'd,
Call in t'other to their Aid:
Whilst I Tender, Coy, and Nice,
Rais'd and ruin'd in a Trice,
Either fix with those I grace,
Or abandoning the Place,
No Return my Nature bears,
From green Youth, or hoary Hairs;
If thro' Guilt, or Chance, I sever,
I once Parting, Part for ever.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c d d d e e f f g g 

Two long had Lov'd, and now the Nymph desir'd,
The Cloak of Wedlock, as the Case requir'd;
Urg'd that, the Day he wrought her to this Sorrow,
He Vow'd, that he wou'd marry her To-Morrow.
Agen he Swears, to shun the present Storm,
That he, To-Morrow, will that Vow perform.
The Morrows in their due Successions came;
Impatient still on Each, the pregnant Dame
Urg'd him to keep his Word, and still he swore the same.
When tir'd at length, and meaning no Redress,
But yet the Lye not caring to confess,
He for his Oath this Salvo chose to borrow,
That he was Free, since there was no To-Morrow;
For when it comes in Place to be employ'd,
'Tis then To-Day; To-Morrow's ne'er enjoy'd.

RHYME a a *

The Tale's a Jest, the Moral is a Truth;
To-Morrow and To-Morrow, cheat our Youth:
In riper Age, To-Morrow still we cry,
Not thinking, that the present Day we Dye;
Unpractis'd all the Good we had Design'd;
There's No To-Morrow to a Willing Mind.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c b 

GIVE me O indulgent Fate!
Give me yet, before I Dye,
A sweet, but absolute Retreat,
'Mongst Paths so lost, and Trees so high,
That the World may ne'er invade,
Through such Windings and such Shade,
My unshaken Liberty.

RHYME a a *

   No Intruders thither come!
Who visit, but to be from home;
None who their vain Moments pass,
Only studious of their Glass,
News, that charm to listning 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 Deceas'd, 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:

RHYME a a *

   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,
(Tho' to make an Angel's Feast)
In the plain, unstudied Sauce
Nor Treufle, nor Morillia was;
Nor cou'd the mighty Patriarch's Board
One far-fetch'd Ortolane afford.
Courteous Fate, then give me there
Only plain, and wholesome Fare.
Fruits indeed (wou'd Heaven bestow)
All, that did in Eden grow,
All, but the Forbidden Tree,
Wou'd be coveted by me;
Grapes, with Juice so crouded up,
As breaking thro' the native Cup;

RHYME a a *

Figs (yet growing) candy'd o'er,
By the Sun's attracting Pow'r;
Cherries, with the downy Peach,
All within my easie Reach;
Whilst creeping near the humble Ground,
Shou'd the Strawberry be found
Springing wheresoe'er I stray'd,
Thro' those Windings and that Shade.

RHYME a a *

  For my Garments; let them be
What may with the Time agree;
Warm, when Phoebus does retire,
And is ill-supply'd by Fire:
But when he renews the Year,
And verdant all the Fields appear;
Beauty every thing resumes,
Birds have dropt their Winter-Plumes;
When the Lilly full display'd,
Stands in purer White array'd,

RHYME a a *

Than that Vest, which heretofore
The Luxurious (a ) Monarch wore,
When from Salem's Gates he drove,
To the soft Retreat of Love,
Lebanon's all burnish'd House,
And the dear Egyptian Spouse.
Cloath me, Fate, tho' not so Gay;
Cloath me light, and fresh as May:
In the Fountains let me view
All my Habit cheap and new;
Such as, when sweet Zephyrs fly,
With their Motions may comply;
Gently waving, to express
Unaffected Carelessness:

RHYME a a *

No Perfumes have there a Part,
Borrow'd from the Chymists Art:
But such as rise from flow'ry Beds,
Or the falling Jasmin Sheds!
'Twas the Odour of the Field,
Esau's rural Coat did yield,
That inspir'd his Father's Pray'r,
For Blessings of the Earth and Air:
Of Gums, or Pouders had it smelt;
The Supplanter, then unfelt,

RHYME a a *

Easily had been descry'd
For One that did in Tents abide;
For some beauteous Handmaids Joy,
And his Mother's darling Boy.
Let me then no Fragrance wear,
But what the Winds from Gardens bear,
In such kind, surprizing Gales,
As gather'd from (b ) Fidentia's Vales,
All the Flowers that in them grew;
Which intermixing, as they flew,

RHYME a a *

In wreathen Garlands dropt agen,
On Lucullus, and his Men;
Who, chear'd by the victorious Sight,
Trebl'd Numbers put to Flight.
Let me, when I must be fine,
In such natural Colours shine;
Wove, and painted by the Sun,
Whose resplendent Rays to shun,
When they do too fiercely beat,
Let me find some close Retreat,
Where they have no Passage made,
Thro' those Windings, and that Shade.

RHYME a a *

  Give me there (since Heaven has shown
It was not Good to be alone)
A Partner suited to my Mind,
Solitary, pleas'd and kind;
Who, partially, may something see
Preferr'd to all the World in me;

RHYME a a *

Slighting, by my humble Side,
Fame and Splendor, Wealth and Pride.
When but Two the Earth possest,
'Twas their happiest Days, and best;
They by Bus'ness, nor by Wars,
They by no Domestick Cares,
From each other e'er were drawn,
But in some Grove, or flow'ry 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 Jealousie, and Hate,
Transports of his fallen State,
(When by Satan's Wiles betray'd)
Fly those Windings, and that Shade!

RHYME a a *

  Thus from Crouds, and Noise remov'd,
Let each Moment be improv'd;

RHYME a a *

Every Object still produce,
Thoughts of Pleasure, and of Use:
When some River slides away,
To encrease the boundless Sea;
Think we then, how Time do's haste,
To grow Eternity at last,
By the Willows, on the Banks,
Gather'd into social Ranks,
Playing with the gentle Winds,
Strait the Boughs, and smooth the Rinds,
Moist each Fibre, and each Top,
Wearing a luxurious Crop,
Let the time of Youth be shown,
The time alas! too soon outgrown;
Whilst a lonely stubborn Oak,
Which no Breezes can provoke,
No less Gusts persuade to move,
Than those, which in a Whirlwind drove,
Spoil'd the old Fraternal Feast,
And left alive but one poor Guest;

RHYME a a *

Rivell'd the distorted Trunk,
Sapless Limbs all bent, and shrunk,
Sadly does the Time presage,
Of our too near approaching Age.
When a helpless Vine is found,
Unsupported on the Ground,
Careless all the Branches spread,
Subject to each haughty Tread,
Bearing neither Leaves, nor Fruit,
Living only in the Root;

RHYME a a *

Back reflecting let me say,
So the sad Ardelia lay;
Blasted by a Storm of Fate,
Felt, thro' all the British State;
Fall'n, neglected, lost, forgot,
Dark Oblivion all her Lot;
Faded till Arminda's Love,
(Guided by the Pow'rs above)
Warm'd anew her drooping Heart,
And Life diffus'd thro' every Part;

RHYME a a *

Mixing Words, in wise Discourse,
Of such Weight and wond'rous Force,
As could all her Sorrows charm,
And transitory Ills disarm;
Chearing the delightful Day,
When dispos'd to be more Gay,
With Wit, from an unmeasured Store,
To Woman ne'er allow'd before.
What Nature, or refining Art,
All that Fortune cou'd impart,
Heaven did to Arminda send;
Then gave her for Ardelia's Friend:

RHYME a a *

To her Cares the Cordial drop,
Which else had overflow'd the Cup.
So, when once the Son of Jess,
Every Anguish did oppress,
Hunted by all kinds of Ills,
Like a Partridge on the Hills;
Trains were laid to catch his Life,
Baited with a Royal Wife,

RHYME a a *

From his House, and Country torn,
Made a Heathen Prince's Scorn;
Fate, to answer all these Harms,
Threw a Friend into his Arms.
Friendship still has been design'd,
The Support of Human-kind;
The safe Delight, the useful Bliss,
The next World's Happiness, and this.
Give then, O indulgent Fate!
Give a Friend in that Retreat
(Tho' withdrawn from all the rest)
Still a Clue, to reach my Breast.
Let a Friend be still convey'd
Thro' those Windings, and that Shade!

RHYME a a *

  Where, may I remain secure,
Waste, in humble Joys and pure,
A Life, that can no Envy yield;
Want of Affluence my Shield.

RHYME a a *

Thus, had Crassus been content,
When from Marius Rage he went,
With the Seat that Fortune gave,
The commodious ample Cave,
Form'd, in a divided Rock,
By some mighty Earthquake's Shock,
Into Rooms of every Size,
Fair, as Art cou'd e'er devise,
Leaving, in the marble Roof,
('Gainst all Storms and Tempests proof)

RHYME a a *

Only Passage for the Light,
To refresh the chearful Sight,
Whilst Three Sharers in his Fate,
On th' Escape with Joy dilate,
Beds of Moss their Bodies bore,
Canopy'd with Ivy o'er;
Rising Springs, that round them play'd,
O'er the native Pavement stray'd;

RHYME a a *

When the Hour arriv'd to Dine,
Various Meats, and sprightly Wine,
On some neighb'ring Cliff they spy'd;
Every Day a-new supply'd
By a Friend's entrusted Care;
Had He still continu'd there,
Made that lonely wond'rous Cave
Both his Palace, and his Grave;
Peace and Rest he might have found,
(Peace and Rest are under Ground)

RHYME a a *

Nor have been in that Retreat,
Fam'd for a Proverbial Fate;
In pursuit of Wealth been caught,
And punish'd with a golden Draught.
Nor had (d ) He, who Crowds cou'd blind,
Whisp'ring with a snowy Hind,
Made 'em think that from above,
(Like the great Imposter's Dove)
Tydings to his Ears she brought,
Rules by which he march'd and fought,

RHYME a a *

After Spain he had o'er-run,
Cities sack'd, and Battles won,
Drove Rome's Consuls from the Field,
Made her darling Pompey yield,
At a fatal, treacherous Feast,
Felt a Dagger in his Breast;
Had he his once-pleasing Thought
Of Solitude to Practice brought;
Had no wild Ambition sway'd;
In those Islands had he stay'd,
Justly call'd the Seats of Rest,
Truly (e ) Fortunate, and Blest,

RHYME a a *

By the ancient Poets giv'n
As their best discover'd Heav'n.
Let me then, indulgent Fate!
Let me still, in my Retreat,
From all roving Thoughts be freed,
Or Aims, that may Contention breed:

RHYME a a *

Nor be my Endeavours led
By Goods, that perish with the Dead!
Fitly might the Life of Man
Be indeed esteem'd a Span,
If the present Moment were
Of Delight his only Share;
If no other Joys he knew
Than what round about him grew:
But as those, who Stars wou'd trace
From a subterranean Place,

RHYME a a *

Through some Engine lift their Eyes
To the outward, glorious Skies;
So th' immortal Spirit may,
When descended to our Clay,
From a rightly govern'd Frame
View the Height, from whence she came;
To her Paradise be caught,
And things unutterable taught.
Given me then, in that Retreat,
Give me, O indulgent Fate!

RHYME a a *

For all Pleasures left behind,
Contemplations of the Mind.
Let the Fair, the Gay, the Vain
Courtship and Applause obtain;
Let th' Ambitious rule the Earth;
Let the giddy Fool have Mirth;

RHYME a a *

Give the Epicure his Dish,
Ev'ry one their sev'ral Wish;
Whilst my Transports I employ
On that more extensive Joy,
When all Heaven shall be survey'd
From those Windings and that Shade.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b b 

When Poets gave their God in Crete a Birth,
Then Jupiter held Traffick with the Earth,
And had a Farm to Lett: the Fine was high,
For much the Treas'ry wanted a Supply,
By Danae's wealthy Show'r exhausted quite, and dry.

RHYME a a *

But Merc'ry, who as Steward kept the Court,
So rack'd the Rent, that all who made Resort
Unsatisfy'd return'd, nor could agree
To use the Lands, or pay his secret Fee;
'Till one poor Clown (thought subt'ler than the rest,
Thro' various Projects rolling in his Breast)
Consents to take it, if at his Desire
All Weathers tow'rds his Harvest may conspire;
The Frost to kill the Worm, the brooding Snow,
The filling Rains may come, and Phoebus glow.

RHYME a a a b b b c c d d 

The Terms accepted, sign'd and seal'd the Lease,
His Neighbours Grounds afford their due Encrease
The Care of Heav'n; the Owner's Cares may cease.
Whilst the new Tenant, anxious in his Mind,
Now asks a Show'r, now craves a rustling Wind
To Raise what That had lodg'd, that he the Sheaves may bind.
The Sun, th'o'er-shadowing Clouds, the moistning Dews
He with such Contrariety does chuse;
So often and so oddly shifts the Scene,
Whilst others Load, he scarce has what to Glean.

RHYME a a b b b 

  O Jupiter! with Famine pinch'd he cries,
No more will I direct th' unerring Skies;
No more my Substance on a Project lay,
No more a sullen Doubt I will betray,
Let me but live to Reap, do Thou appoint the way.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Fortune well-Pictur'd on a rolling Globe,
With waving Locks, and thin transparent Robe,
A Man beholding, to his Neighbor cry'd,
Whoe'er would catch this Dame, must swiftly ride.
Mark, how she seems to Fly, and with her bears,
All that is worth a busie Mortal's Cares:

RHYME a a *

The gilded Air about her Statue shines,
As if the Earth had lent it all her Mines;

RHYME a a a b b c c d d e e f f g g 

At random Here a Diadem she flings,
And There a scarlet Hat with dangling Strings,
And to ten Thousand Fools ten Thousand glorious Things.
Shall I then stay at Home, Dull and Content
With Quarter-Days, and hard extorted Rent?
No, I'll to Horse, to Sea, to utmost Isles,
But I'll encounter her propitious Smiles:
Whilst you in slothful Ease may chuse to Sleep,
And scarce the few Paternal Acres keep.
Farewel, reply'd his Friend, may you advance,
And grow the Darling of this Lady Chance:
Whilst I indeed, not courting of her Grace,
Shall dwell content, in this my Native Place,
Hoping I still shall for your Friend be known:
But if too big for such Acquaintance grown,

RHYME a a a b b c c d d d e e e f f g g g 

I shan't be such a fond mistaken Sot,
To think Remembrance should become my Lot;
When you Exalted, have your self Forgot.
Nor me Ambitious ever shall you find,
Or hunting Fortune, who, they say, is Blind:
But if her Want of Sight shou'd make her Stray,
She shou'd be Welcome, if she came this way.
'Tis very like (the Undertaker cry'd)
That she her steps to these lost Paths shou'd guide:
But I lose Time, whilst I such Thoughts deride.
Away he goes, with Expectation chear'd,
But when his Course he round the World had steer'd,
And much had borne, and much had hop'd and fear'd,
Yet cou'd not be inform'd where he might find
This fickle Mistress of all Human-kind:
He quits at length the Chace of flying Game,
And back as to his Neighbor's House he came,
He there encounters the uncertain Dame;

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f g g h h i i i 

Who lighting from her gaudy Coach in haste,
To him her eager Speeches thus addrest.
Fortune behold, who has been long pursu'd,
Whilst all the Men, that have my Splendors view'd,
Madly enamour'd, have such Flatt'ries forg'd,
And with such Lies their vain Pretensions urg'd,
That Hither I am fled to shun their Suits,
And by free Choice conclude their vain Disputes;
Whilst I the Owner of this Mansion bless,
And he unseeking Fortune shall possess.
Tho' rightly charg'd as something Dark of Sight,
Yet Merit, when 'tis found, is my Delight;
To Knaves and Fools, when I've some Grace allow'd,
'T has been like scattering Money in a Croud,
To make me Sport, as I beheld them strive,
And some observ'd (thro' Age) but Half-alive;
Scrambling amongst the Vigorous and Young,
One proves his Sword, and One his wheedling Tongue,
All striving to obtain me right or wrong;

RHYME a a b b c c d d d 

Whilst Crowns, and Crosiers in the Contest hurl'd,
Shew'd me a Farce in the contending World.
Thou wert deluded, whilst with Ship, or Steed,
Thou lately didst attempt to reach my Speed,
And by laborious Toil, and endless Pains,
Didst sell thy Quiet for my doubtful Gains:
Whilst He alone my real Fav'rite rises,
Who every Thing to its just Value prizes,
And neither courts, nor yet my Gifts despises.

RHYME a a b b 

A brazen Pot, by scouring vext,
With Beef and Pudding still perplext,
Resolv'd t' attempt a nobler Life,
Urging the Jugg to share the Strife:

RHYME a a a b b b c c d d e e f f g g h h i i 

Brother, quoth he, (Love to endear)
Why shou'd We Two continue here,
To serve and cook such homely Cheer?
Who tho' we move with awkward pace,
Your stony Bowels, and my Face,
Abroad can't miss of Wealth and Place.
Then let us instantly be going,
And see what in the World is Doing.
The bloated Jugg, supine and lazy,
Who made no Wish, but to be easy,
Nor, like it's Owner, e'er did think
Of ought, but to be fill'd with Drink;
Yet something mov'd by this fine Story,
And frothing higher with Vain-glory,
Reply'd, he never wanted Metal,
But had not Sides, like sturdy Kettle,
That in a Croud cou'd shove and bustle,
And to Preferment bear the Justle;
When the first Knock would break His Measures,
And stop his Rise to Place and Treasures.

RHYME a a *

Sure (quoth the Pot ) thy Scull is thicker,
Than ever was thy muddiest Liquor:
Go I not with thee, for thy Guard,
To take off Blows, and Dangers ward?
And hast thou never heard, that Cully
Is borne thro' all by daring Bully?
Your self (reply'd the Drink-conveigher)
May be my Ruin and Betrayer:
A Superiority you boast,
And dress the Meat, I but the Toast:
Than mine your Constitution's stronger,
And in Fatigues can hold out longer;
And shou'd one Bang from you be taken,
I into Nothing shou'd be shaken.
A d'autre cry'd the Pot in scorn,
Dost think, there's such a Villain born,
That, when he proffers Aid and Shelter,
Will rudely fall to Helter-Skelter?
No more, but follow to the Road,
Where Each now drags his pond'rous Load,

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e e 

And up the Hill were almost clamber'd,
When (may it ever be remember'd!)
Down rolls the Jugg, and after rattles
The most perfidious of all Kettles;
At every Molehill gives a Jump,
Nor rests, till by obdurate Thump,
The Pot of Stone, to shivers broken,
Sends each misguided Fool a Token:
To show them, by this fatal Test,
That Equal Company is best,
Where none Oppress, nor are Opprest.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c c d d e e 

THUS Tapistry of old, the Walls adorn'd,
Ere noblest Dames the artful Shuttle scorn'd:
Arachne, then, with Pallas did contest,
And scarce th' Immortal Work was judg'd the Best.
Nor valorous Actions, then, in Books were fought;
But all the Fame, that from the Field was brought,
Employ'd the Loom, where the kind Consort wrought:
Whilst sharing in the Toil, she shar'd the Fame,
And with the Heroes mixt her interwoven Name.
No longer, Females to such Praise aspire,
And seldom now We rightly do admire.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f 

So much, All Arts are by the Men engross'd,
And Our few Talents unimprov'd or cross'd;
Even I, who on this Subject wou'd compose,
Which the fam'd Urbin for his Pencil chose,
(And here, in tinctur'd Wool we now behold
Correctly follow'd in each Shade, and Fold)
Shou'd prudently from the Attempt withdraw,
But Inclination proves the stronger Law:
And tho' the Censures of the World pursue
These hardy Flights, whilst his Designs I view;
My burden'd Thoughts, which labour for a Vent,
Urge me t'explain in Verse, what by each Face is meant.

RHYME a a b b c c 

  Of SERGIUS first, upon his lofty Seat,
With due Regard our Observations treat;
Who, whilst he thence on ELYMAS looks down,
Contracts his pensive Brow into a Frown,
With Looks inquistive he seeks the Cause
Why Nature acts not still by Natures Laws.

RHYME a a *

'Twas but a Moment, since the Sorcerer's Sight
Receiv'd the Day, and blaz'd infernal Light:
Untouch'd, the Optiques in a Moment fail'd,
Their fierce Illumination quench'd, or veil'd;
Throughout th' Extention of his ample Sway,
No Fact, like this, the Roman cou'd survey,
Who, with spread Hands, invites Mankind to gaze,
And sympathize in the profound Amaze.
To share his Wonder every one combines,
By diff'rent Aspects shewn, and diff'rent Signs.
A comely Figure, near the Consul plac'd,
With serious Mildness and Instruction grac'd,
To Others seems imparting what he saw,
And shews the Wretch with reverential Awe:
Whilst a more eager Person next we find,
Viewing the Wizard with a Skeptic's Mind;
Who his fixt Eyes so near him do's apply,
We think, enliv'ning Beams might from them fly,

RHYME a a a b b b 

To re-inkindle, by so just an Aim,
The radial Sparks, but lately check'd and tame,
As Tapers new put-out will catch approaching Flame.
But dire Surprize th' Enquiry do's succeed,
Whilst full Conviction in his Face we read,
And He, who question'd, now deplores the Deed.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e 

To sacred PAUL a younger Figure guides,
With seeming Warmth, which still in Youth presides;
And pointing forward, Elder Men directs,
In Him, to note the Cause of these Effects;
Upon whose Brow do's evidently shine
Deputed Pow'r, t' inflict the Wrath Divine;
Whilst sad and solemn, suited to their Years,
Each venerable Countenance appears,
Where, yet we see Astonishment reveal'd,
Tho' by the Aged often 'tis conceal'd;

RHYME a a *

Who the Emotions of their Souls disguize,
Lest by admiring they shou'd seem less Wise.

RHYME a a *

  But to thy Portrait, ELYMAS, we come
Whose Blindness almost strikes the Poet dumb;
And whilst She vainly to Describe thee seeks,
The Pen but traces, where the Pencil speaks.
Of Darkness to be felt, our Scriptures write,
Thou Darken'd seem'st, as thou would'st feel the Light;
And with projected Limbs, betray'st a Dread,
Of unseen Mischiefs, levell'd at thy Head.
Thro' all thy Frame such Stupefaction reigns,
As Night it self were sunk into thy Veins:
Nor by the Eyes alone thy Loss we find,
Each Lineament helps to proclaim thee Blind.
An artful Dimness far diffus'd we grant,
And failing seem all Parts through One important Want.

RHYME a a *

  Oh! Mighty RAPHAEL, justly sure renown'd!
Since in thy Works such Excellence is found;
No Wonder, if with Nature Thou'rt at strife,
Who thus can paint the Negatives of Life;
And Deprivation more expressive make,
Than the most perfect Draughts, which Others take.
Whilst to this Chiefest Figure of the Piece,
All that surround it, Heightnings do encrease:
In some, Amazement by Extreams is shewn,
Who viewing his clos'd Lids, extend their Own.
Nor can, by that, enough their Thoughts express,
Which op'ning Months seem ready to confess.

RHYME a a *

  Thus stand the LICTORS gazing on a Deed,
Which do's all humane Chastisements exceed;
Enfeebl'd seem their Instruments of smart,
When keener Words can swifter Ills impart.

RHYME a a *

  Thou, BARNABAS, though Last, not least our Care,
Seem'st equally employ'd in Praise, and Prayer,

RHYME a a *

Acknowledging th' Omnipotent Decree,
Yet soft Compassion in thy Face we see;
Whilst lifted Hands implore a kind Relief,
Tho' no Impatience animates thy Grief;
But mild Suspence and Charity benign,
Do all th' excesses of thy Looks confine.

RHYME a a *

  Thus far, our slow Imagination goes:
Wou'd the more skill'd THEANOR his disclose;
Expand the Scene, and open to our Sight
What to his nicer Judgement gives Delight;
Whose soaring Mind do's to Perfections climb,
Nor owns a Relish, but for Things sublime:
Then, wou'd the Piece fresh Beauties still present,
Nor Length of Time wou'd leave the Eye content:
As moments, Hours; as Hours the Days wou'd seem,
Observing here, taught to observe by HIM.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares,
The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs:
In vain the Alter waits his slow returns,
Where unattended Incense faintly burns:
In vain the whisp'ring Priests their Fears express,
And of the Change a thousand Causes guess.
Heedless of all their Censures He retires,
And in his Palace feeds his secret Fires;
Impatient, till from Rabbah Tydings tell,
That near those Walls the poor Uriah fell,
Led to the Onset by a Chosen Few,
Who at the treacherous Signal, soon withdrew;
Nor to his Rescue e'er return'd again,
Till by fierce Ammon's Sword they saw the Victim slain.
'Tis pass'd, 'tis done! the holy Marriage-Knot,
Too strong to be unty'd, at last is cut.

RHYME a a *

And now to Bathsheba the King declares,
That with his Heart, the Kingdom too is hers;
That Israel's Throne, and longing Monarch's Arms
Are to be fill'd but with her widow'd Charms.
Nor must the Days of formal Tears exceed,
To cross the Living, and abuse the Dead.

RHYME a a *

This she denies; and signs of Grief are worn;
But mourns no more than may her Face adorn,
Give to those Eyes, which Love and Empire fir'd,
A melting Softness more to be desir'd;
Till the fixt Time, tho' hard to be endur'd,
Was pass'd, and a sad Consort's Name procur'd:

RHYME a a *

When, with the Pomp that suits a Prince's Thought,
By Passion sway'd, and glorious Woman taught,
A Queen she's made, than Michal seated higher,
Whilst light unusual Airs prophane the hallow'd Lyre.

RHYME a a *

  Where art thou Nathan? where's that Spirit now,
Giv'n to brave Vice, tho' on a Prince's Brow?
In what low Cave, or on what Desert Coast,
Now Virtue wants it, is thy Presence lost?

RHYME a a a b b c c c 

  But lo! he comes, the Rev'rend Bard appears,
Defil'd with Dust his awful silver Hairs,
And his rough Garment, wet with falling Tears.
The King this mark'd, and conscious wou'd have fled,
The healing Balm which for his Wounds was shed:
Till the more wary Priest the Serpents Art,
Join'd to the Dove-like Temper of his Heart,
And thus retards the Prince just ready now to part.

RHYME a a *

Hear me, the Cause betwixt two Neighbors hear,
Thou, who for Justice dost the Sceptre bear:
Help the Opprest, nor let me weep alone
For him, that calls for Succour from the Throne.
Good Princes for Protection are Ador'd,
And Greater by the Shield, than by the Sword.
This clears the Doubt, and now no more he fears
The Cause his Own, and therefore stays and hears:
When thus the Prophet: ––In a flow'ry Plain
A King-like Man does in full Plenty reign;

RHYME a a *

Casts round his Eyes, in vain, to reach the Bound,
Which Jordan's Flood sets to his fertile Ground:
Countless his Flocks, whilst Lebanon contains
A Herd as large, kept by his numerous Swains,
That fill with morning Bellowings the cool Air,
And to the Cedar's shade at scorching Noon repair.
Near to this Wood a lowly Cottage stands,
Built by the humble Owner's painful Hands;

RHYME a a *

Fenc'd by a Stubble-roof, from Rain and Heat,
Secur'd without, within all Plain and Neat.
A Field of small Extent surrounds the Place,
In which One single Ewe did sport and graze:
This his whole Stock, till in full time there came,
To bless his utmost Hopes, a snowy Lamb;

RHYME a a *

Which, lest the Season yet too Cold might prove,
And Northern Blasts annoy it from the Grove,
Or tow'ring Fowl on the weak Prey might sieze,
(For with his Store his Fears must too increase)
He brings it Home, and lays it by his Side,
At once his Wealth, his Pleasure and his Pride;
Still bars the Door, by Labour call'd away,
And, when returning at the Close of Day,

RHYME a a *

With One small Mess himself, and that sustains,
And half his Dish it shares, and half his slender Gains.
When to the great Man's table now there comes
A Lord as great, follow'd by hungry Grooms:

RHYME a a b b c c c 

For these must be provided sundry Meats,
The best for Some, for Others coarser Cates.
One Servant, diligent above the rest
To help his Master to contrive the Feast,
Extols the Lamb was nourished with such Care,
So fed, so lodg'd, it must be Princely Fare;
And having this, my Lord his own may spare.

RHYME a a *

In haste he sends, led by no Law, but Will,
Not to entreat, or purchase, but to Kill.
The Messenger's arriv'd: the harmless Spoil,
Unus'd to fly, runs Bleating to the Toil:
Whilst for the Innocent the Owner fear'd,
And, sure wou'd move, cou'd Poverty be heard.
Oh spare (he cries) the Product of my Cares,
My Stock's Encrease, the Blessing on my Pray'rs;

RHYME a a *

My growing Hope, and Treasure of my Life!
More was he speaking, when the murd'ring Knife
Shew'd him, his Suit, tho' just, must be deny'd,
And the white Fleece in its own Scarlet dy'd;
Whilst the poor helpless Wretch stands weeping by,
And lifts his Hands for Justice to the Sky.

RHYME a a b b b 

  Which he shall find, th' incensed King replies,
When for the proud Offence th' Oppressor dies.
O Nathan! by the Holy Name I swear,
Our Land such Wrongs unpunished shall not bear
If, with the Fault, th' Offender thou declare.

RHYME a a *

  To whom the Prophet, closing with the Time,
Thou art the Man replies, and thine th' ill-natur'd Crime.
Nor think, against thy Place, or State, I err;
A Pow'r above thee does this Charge prefer;
Urg'd by whose Spirit, hither am I brought
T' expostulate his Goodness and thy Fault;

RHYME a a b b b 

To lead thee back to those forgotten Years,
In Labour spent, and lowly Rustick Cares,
When in the Wilderness thy Flocks but few,
Thou didst the Shepherd's simple Art pursue
Thro' crusting Frosts, and penetrating Dew:

RHYME a a *

Till wondring Jesse saw six Brothers past,
And Thou Elected, Thou the Least and Last;
A Sceptre to thy Rural Hand convey'd,
And in thy Bosom Royal Beauties laid;
A lovely Princess made thy Prize that Day,
When on the shaken Ground the Giant lay
Stupid in Death, beyond the Reach of Cries
That bore thy shouted Fame to list'ning Skies,
And drove the flying Foe as fast away,
As Winds, of old, Locusts to Egypt's Sea.

RHYME a a a b b c c 

Thy Heart with Love, thy Temples with Renown,
Th' All-giving Hand of Heav'n did largely crown,
Whilst yet thy Cheek was spread with youthful Down.
What more cou'd craving Man of God implore?
Or what for favour'd Man cou'd God do more?
Yet cou'd not These, nor Israel's Throne, suffice
Intemp'rate Wishes, drawn thro' wand'ring Eyes.

RHYME a a *

One Beauty (not thy own) and seen by chance,
Melts down the Work of Grace with an alluring Glance;
Chafes the Spirit, fed by sacred Art,
And blots the Title AFTER GOD'S OWN HEART;
Black Murder breeds to level at his Head,
Who boasts so fair a Part'ner of his Bed,
Nor longer must possess those envy'd Charms,
The single Treasure of his House, and Arms:
Giving, by this thy Fall, cause to Blaspheme
To all the Heathen the Almighty Name.
For which the Sword shall still thy Race pursue,
And, in revolted Israel's scornful View,

RHYME a a *

Thy captiv'd Wives shall be in Triumph led
Unto a bold Usurper's shameful Bed;
Who from thy Bowels sprung shall seize thy Throne,
And scourge thee by a Sin beyond thy own.

RHYME a a *

Thou hast thy Fault in secret Darkness done;
But this the World shall see before the Noonday's Sun.

RHYME a a *

  Enough! the King, enough! the Saint replies,
And pours his swift Repentance from his Eyes;
Falls on the Ground, and tears the Nuptial Vest,
By which his Crime's Completion was exprest:
Then with a Sigh blasting to Carnal Love,
Drawn deep as Hell, and piercing Heaven, above
Let Me (he cries) let Me attend his Rod,
For I have sinn'd, for I have lost my God.

RHYME a a b b c c c 

  Hold! (says the Prophet ) of that Speech beware,
God ne'er was lost, unless by Man's Despair.
The Wound that is thus willingly reveal'd,
Th' Almighty is as willing should be heal'd.
Thus wash'd in Tears, thy Soul as fair does show
As the first Fleece, which on the Lamb does grow,
Or on the Mountain's top the lately fallen Snow.

RHYME a a b b c c 

Yet to the World that Justice may appear
Acting her Part impartial, and severe,
The Offspring of thy Sin shall soon resign
That Life, for which thou must not once repine;
But with submissive Grief his Fate deplore,
And bless the Hand, that does inflict no more.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e

  Shall I then pay but Part, and owe the Whole?
My Body's Fruit, for my offending Soul?
Shall I no more endure (the King demands)
And 'scape thus lightly his offended Hands?
Oh! let him All resume, my Crown, my Fame;
Reduce me to the Nothing, whence I came;
Call back his Favours, faster than he gave;
And, if but Pardon'd, strip me to my Grave:
  Since (tho' he seems to Lose ) He surely Wins,
Who gives but earthly Comforts for his Sins.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f 

WHY, to our Wonder, in this Place is seen,
Thus discompos'd, and alter'd, Juda's Queen?
May we demand, what Terrors seize your Breast,
Or, why your Steps are to this House addrest,
Where your unguarded Person stands expos'd
To secret Foes, within its Walls inclos'd?
Can it be thought that you remit that Hate?
No more! but Both observe what I relate:
Not, that I mean (recalling Times of Blood)
To make you Judges of the Paths I trod,
When to the empty'd Throne I boldly rose,
Treating all Intercepters as my Foes.

RHYME a a *

'Twas Heav'ns Decree, that I should thus succeed,
Whose following Favour justifies the Deed,
Extending my unlimited Command
From Sea to Sea o'er the obedient Land:
Whilst your Jerusalem all Peace enjoys,
Nor now the' encroaching Philistine destroys,
Nor wandring Arab his Pavilion spreads,
Near Jordan's Banks, nor wastes his flow'ry Meads.
The great Assyrian, Terror of your Kings,
Who bought his Friendship with their holiest Things,
Yields that a Sister, of his pow'rful Race,
Should sway these Realms, and dignify the Place.
Nor need we add the late insulting Foe,
The furious Jehu does this Sceptre know,
And sinks beneath the Load of conscious Fears,
When in Samaria he my Actions hears.
Distrest by Foes, which I've against him rais'd,
He sees me unmolested, fix'd, and pleas'd;

RHYME a a *

At least, till now thus glorious was my State;
But something's threatned from relaxing Fate,
And the last Night, which should have brought me Rest,
Has all these great Ideas dispossest.
A Dream, a Vision, an apparent View
Of what, methinks, does still my Steps pursue,
Hangs on my pensive Heart, and bears it down
More than the weight of an objected Crown,
My Mother (be the Name with Rev'rence spoke!)
Ere chearful Day thro' horrid Shades had broke,

RHYME a a b b c c d d d 

Approach'd my Bed, magnificent her Dress,
Her Shape, her Air did Jesabel confess:
Nor seem'd her Face to have refus'd that Art,
Which, in despight of Age, does Youth impart,
And which she practis'd, scorning to decay,
Or to be vanquish'd ev'n in Nature's way.
Thus all array'd, in such defying Pride
As when th' injurious Conqu'ror she descry'd,
And did in height of Pow'r for ill-got Pow'r deride.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f g g h h 

To me she spake, these Accents to me came:
"Thou worthy Daughter of my soaring Fame,
"Tho' with a more transcendent Spirit fill'd,
"Tho' struggling Pow'rs attempt thy Life to shield,
"The Hebrew's God (Oh, tremble at the sound!)
"Shall Thee and Them, and all their Rights confound.
A pitying Groan concludes, no Word of Aid.
My Arms I thought to throw about the Shade
Of that lov'd Parent, but my troubled Sight
No more directed them to aim aright,
Nor ought presented, but a heap of Bones,
For which fierce Dogs contended on the Stones,
With Flakes of mangled Flesh, that quiv'ring still
Proclaim'd the Freshness of the suffer'd Ill;
Distain'd with Blood the Pavement, and the Wall,
Appear'd as in that memorable Fall–

RHYME a a 

Oh! just avenging Heaven!
Sure, Dreams like these are for Prevention given.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e e f f f g g 

What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape?
  Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind,
  Who never yet thy real Cause cou'd find,
Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape.
  Still varying thy perplexing Form,
  Now a Dead Sea thou'lt represent,
  A Calm of stupid Discontent,
Then, dashing on the Rocks wilt rage into a Storm.
  Trembling sometimes thou dost appear,
  Dissolv'd into a Panick Fear;
  On Sleep intruding dost thy Shadows spread,
  Thy gloomy Terrours round the silent Bed,
And croud with boading Dreams the Melancholy Head:
  Or, when the Midnight Hour is told,
And drooping Lids thou still dost waking hold,

RHYME a b b a c d d e e c 

  Thy fond Delusions cheat the Eyes,
  Before them antick Spectres dance,
Unusual Fires their pointed Heads advance,
  And airy Phantoms rise.
  Such was the monstrous Vision seen,
When Brutus (now beneath his Cares opprest,
And all Rome's Fortunes rolling in his Breast,
  Before Philippi's latest Field,
Before his Fate did to Octavius lead)
  Was vanquish'd by the Spleen.

RHYME a a b b c c c 

  Falsly, the Mortal Part we blame
  Of our deprest, and pond'rous Frame,
  Which, till the First degrading Sin
  Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in,
  Still with the Other did comply,
Nor clogg'd the Active Soul, dispos'd to fly,
And range the Mansions of it's native Sky.

RHYME a b b a c d d c c d d 

  Nor, whilst in his own Heaven he dwelt,
  Whilst Man his Paradice possest,
His fertile Garden in the fragrant East,
  And all united Odours smelt,
  No armed Sweets, until thy Reign,
  Cou'd shock the Sense, or in the Face
  A flusht, unhandsom Colour place.
Now the Jonquille o'ercomes the feeble Brain;
We faint beneath the Aromatick Pain, [a ]
Till some offensive Scent thy Pow'rs appease,
And Pleasure we resign for short, and nauseous Ease.

RHYME a a b b c c 

  In ev'ry One thou dost possess,
  New are thy Motions, and thy Dress:
  Now in some Grove a list'ning Friend
  Thy false Suggestions must attend,
Thy whisper'd Griefs, thy fancy'd Sorrows hear,
Breath'd in a Sigh, and witness'd by a Tear;

RHYME a a b c d e e d c 

  Whilst in the light, and vulgar Croud,
  Thy Slaves, more clamorous and loud,
By Laughters unprovok'd, thy Influence too confess.
In the Imperious Wife thou Vapours art,
  Which from o'erheated Passions rise
  In Clouds to the attractive Brain,
  Until descending thence again,
  Thro' the o'er-cast, and show'ring Eyes,
  Upon her Husband's soften'd Heart,

RHYME a a b b b 

  He the disputed Point must yield,
Something resign of the contested Field;
Til Lordly Man, born to Imperial Sway,
Compounds for Peace, to make that Right away,
And Woman, arm'd with Spleen, do's servilely Obey.

RHYME a a b b 

  The Fool, to imitate the Wits,
  Complains of thy pretended Fits,
  And Dulness, born with him, wou'd lay
  Upon thy accidental Sway;

RHYME a a b c c b d d d e e f f g h h g i i 

  Because, sometimes, thou dost presume
  Into the ablest Heads to come:
  That, often, Men of Thoughts refin'd,
  Impatient of unequal Sence,
Such slow Returns, where they so much dispense,
Retiring from the Croud, are to thy Shades inclin'd.
  O'er me, alas! thou dost too much prevail:
  I feel thy Force, whilst I against thee rail;
I feel my Verse decay, and my crampt Numbers fail.
Thro' thy black Jaundice I all Objects see,
  As Dark, and Terrible as Thee,
My Lines decry'd, and my Employment thought
An useless Folly, or presumptuous Fault:
  Whilst in the Muses Paths I stray,
Whilst in their Groves, and by their secret Springs
My Hand delights to trace unusual Things,
And deviates from the known, and common way;
  Nor will in fading Silks compose
  Faintly th' inimitable Rose,

RHYME a a a 

Fill up an ill-drawn Bird, or paint on Glass
The Sov'reign's blurr'd and undistinguish'd Face,
The threatning Angel, and the speaking Ass.

RHYME a a b b c d d c c d 

  Patron thou art to ev'ry gross Abuse,
    The sullen Husband's feign'd Excuse,
When the ill Humour with his Wife he spends,
And bears recruited Wit, and Spirits to his Friends.
    The Son of Bacchus pleads thy Pow'r,
    As to the Glass he still repairs,
    Pretends but to remove thy Cares,
Snatch from thy Shades one gay, and smiling Hour,
And drown thy Kingdom in a purple Show'r.
When the Coquette, whom ev'ry Fool admires,

RHYME a b b a 

    Wou'd in Variety be Fair,
    And, changing hastily the Scene
    From Light, Impertinent, and Vain,
  Assumes a soft, a melancholy Air,

RHYME a b c b c a 

  And of her Eyes rebates the wand'ring Fires,
  The careless Posture, and the Head reclin'd,
    The thoughtful, and composed Face,
  Proclaiming the withdrawn, the absent Mind,
  Allows the Fop more liberty to gaze,
  Who gently for the tender Cause inquires;

RHYME a a b c c b d d e e e 

  The Cause, indeed, is a Defect in Sense,
Yet is the Spleen alleg'd, and still the dull Pretence.
    But these are thy fantastic Harms,
    The Tricks of thy pernicious Stage,
    Which do the weaker Sort engage;
  Worse are the dire Effects of thy more pow'rful Charms.
    By Thee Religion, all we know,
    That shou'd enlighten here below,
    Is veil'd in Darkness, and perplext
  With anxious Doubts, with endless Scruples vext,
And some Restraint imply'd from each perverted Text.

RHYME a a b b c c c 

  Whilst Touch not, Taste not, what is freely giv'n,
Is but thy niggard Voice, disgracing bounteous Heav'n.
  From Speech restrain'd, by thy Deceits abus'd,
  To Desarts banish'd, or in Cells reclus'd,
  Mistaken Vot'ries to the Pow'rs Divine,
  Whilst they a purer Sacrifice design,
Do but the Spleen obey, and worship at thy Shrine.

RHYME a a b b b c c d d d 

  In vain to chase thee ev'ry Art we try,
    In vain all Remedies apply,
    In vain the Indian Leaf infuse,
    Or the parch'd Eastern Berry bruise;
Some pass, in vain, those Bounds, and nobler Liquors use.
    Now Harmony, in vain, we bring,
    Inspire the Flute, and touch the String.
    From Harmony no help is had;
Musick but soothes thee, if too sweetly sad,
And if too light, but turns thee gayly Mad.


RHYME a b b a c d d c e e e f f 

    Tho' the Physicians greatest Gains,
    Altho' his growing Wealth he sees
    Daily increas'd by Ladies Fees,
  Yet dost thou baffle all his studious Pains.
    Not skilful Lower thy Source cou'd find,
  Or thro' the well-dissected Body trace
    The secret, the mysterious ways,
By which thou dost surprize, and prey upon the Mind.
  Tho' in the Search, too deep for Humane Thought,
    With unsuccessful Toil he wrought,
  'Til thinking Thee to've catch'd, Himself by thee was caught,
    Retain'd thy Pris'ner, thy acknowleg'd Slave,
And sunk beneath thy Chain to a lamented Grave.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

WITH such a Pulse, with such disorder'd Veins,
Such lab'ring Breath, as thy Disease constrains;
With failing Eyes, that scarce the Light endure,
(So long unclos'd, they've watch'd thy doubtful Cure)
To his Hephæstion Alexander writes,
To soothe thy Days, and wing thy sleepless Nights,
I send thee Love: Oh! that I could impart,
As well my vital Spirits to thy Heart!
That, when the fierce Distemper thine wou'd quell,
They might renew the Fight, and the cold Foe repel.
  As on Arbela's Plains we turn'd the Day,
When Persians through our Troops had mow'd their way,
When the rough Scythians on the Plunder run,
And barb'rous Shouts proclaim'd the Conquest won,

'Till o'er my Head (to stop the swift Despair)
The Bird of Jove fans the supporting Air,
Above my Plume does his broad Wings display,
And follows wheresoe'er I force my way:
Whilst Aristander, in his Robe of White,
Shews to the wav'ring Host th' auspicious Sight;
New Courage it inspires in ev'ry Breast,
And wins at once the Empire of the East.
Cou'd He, but now, some kind Presage afford,
That Health might be again to Thee restor'd;
Thou to my Wishes, to my fond Embrace;
Thy Looks the same, the same Majestick Grace,
That round thee shone, when we together went
To chear the Royal Captives in their Tent,
Where Sysigambis, prostrate on the Floor,
Did Alexander in thy Form adore;
Above great Æsculapius shou'd he stand,
Or made immortal by Apelles Hand.
But no reviving Hope his Art allows,
And such cold Damps invade my anxious Brows,

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e e 

As, when in Cydnus plung'd, I dar'd the Flood
T' o'er-match the Boilings of my youthful Blood.
But Philip to my Aid repair'd in haste;
And whilst the proffer'd Draught I boldly taste,
As boldly He the dangerous Paper views,
Which of hid Treasons does his Fame accuse.
More thy Physician's Life on Thine depends,
And what he gives, his Own preserves, or ends.
If thou expir'st beneath his fruitless Care,
To Rhadamanthus shall the Wretch repair,
And give strict Answer for his Errors there.

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

  Near thy Pavilion list'ning Princes wait,
Seeking from thine to learn their Monarch's State.
Submitting Kings, that post from Day to Day,
To keep those Crowns, which at my Feet they lay,
Forget th' ambitious Subject of their Speed,
And here arriv'd, only Thy Dangers heed.
The Beauties of the Clime, now Thou'rt away,
Droop, and retire, as if their God of Day

RHYME a a *

No more upon their early Pray'rs would shine,
Or take their Incense, at his late Decline.
Thy Parisatis whom I fear to name,
Lest to thy Heat it add redoubl'd Flame;
Thy lovely Wife, thy Parisatis weeps,
And in her Grief a solemn Silence keeps.
Stretch'd in her Tent, upon the Floor she lies,
So pale her Looks, so motionless her Eyes,
As when they gave thee leave at first to gaze
Upon the Charms of her unguarded Face;
When the beauteous Sisters lowly knelt,
And su'd to those, who more than Pity felt.
To chear her now Statira vainly proves,
And at thy Name alone she sighs, and moves.

RHYME a a a 

  But why these single Griefs shou'd I expose?
The World no Mirth, no War, no Bus'ness knows,
But, hush'd with Sorrow stands, to favour thy Repose.

RHYME a a b b c c d d d 

Ev'n I my boasted Title now resign,
Not Ammon's Son, nor born of Race Divine,
But Mortal all, oppress'd with restless Fears,
Wild with my Cares, and Womanish in Tears.
Tho' Tears, before, I for lost Clytus shed,
And wept more Drops, than the old Hero bled;
Ev'n now, methinks, I see him on the Ground,
Now my dire Arms the wretched Corpse surround,
Now the fled Soul I wooe, now rave upon the Wound.

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

Yet He, for whom this mighty Grief did spring,
Not Alexander valu'd, but the King.
Then think, how much that Passion must transcend,
Which not a Subject raises but a Friend:
An equal Partner in the vanquished Earth,
A Brother, not impos'd upon my Birth,
Too weak a Tye unequal Thoughts to bind,
But by the gen'rous Motions of the Mind.

RHYME a a a b b b c c 

My Love to thee for Empire was the Test,
Since him, who from Mankind cou'd chuse the best,
The Gods thought only fit for Monarch o'er the rest.
Live then, my Friend; but if that must not be,
Nor Fate will with my boundless Mind agree,
Affording, at one time, the World and Thee;
To the most Worthy I'll that Sway resign,
And in Elysium keep Hyphæstion mine.

TITLE

RHYME a b b a b 

  CUPID one day ask'd his Mother,
  When she meant that he shou'd Wed?
You're too Young, my Boy, she said:
  Nor has Nature made another
  Fit to match with Cupid's Bed.

RHYME a b a b 

Cupid then her Sight directed
  To a lately Wedded Pair;
Where Himself the Match effected;
  They as Youthful, they as Fair.

RHYME a b a b 

Having by Example carry'd
  This first Point in the Dispute;
WORSELEY next he said's not Marry'd:
  Her's with Cupid's Charms may suit.

RHYME a a b b c c 

On the Banks of the Severn a desperate Maid
(Whom some Shepherd, neglecting his Vows, had betray'd,)
Stood resolving to banish all Sense of the Pain,
And pursue, thro' her Death, a Revenge on the Swain.
Since the Gods, and my Passion, at once he defies;
Since his Vanity lives, whilst my Character dies;

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

No more (did she say) will I trifle with Fate,
But commit to the Waves both my Love and my Hate.
And now to comply with that furious Desire,
Just ready to plunge, and alone to expire,
Some Reflection on Death, and its Terrors untry'd,
Some Scorn for the Shepherd, some Flashings of Pride
At length pull'd her back, and she cry'd, Why this Strife,
Since the Swains are so Many, and I've but One Life?

RHYME a a a 

Why was that baleful Creature made,
Which seeks our Quiet to invade,
And screams ill Omens through the Shade?

RHYME a a a 

'Twas, sure, for every Mortals good,
When, by wrong painting of her Brood,
She doom'd them for the Eagle's Food:

RHYME a a a 

Who proffer'd Safety to her Tribe,
Wou'd she but shew them or describe,
And serving him, his Favour bribe.

RHYME a a a 

When thus she did his Highness tell;
In Looks my Young do all excel,
Nor Nightingales can sing so well.

RHYME a a a 

You'd joy to see the pretty Souls,
With wadling Steps and frowzy Poles,
Come creeping from their secret Holes.

RHYME a a a 

But I ne'er let them take the Air,
The Fortune-hunters do so stare;
And Heiresses indeed they are.

RHYME a a a 

This ancient Yew three hundred Years,
Has been possess'd by Lineal Heirs:
The Males extinct, now All is Theirs.

RHYME a a a 

I hope I've done their Beauties right,
Whose Eyes outshine the Stars by Night;
Their Muffs and Tippets too are White.

RHYME a a a 

The King of Cedars wav'd his Power,
And swore he'd fast ev'n from that Hour,
Ere he'd such Lady Birds devour.

RHYME a a a 

Th' Agreement seal'd, on either part,
The Owl now promis'd, from her Heart,
All his Night-Dangers to divert;

RHYME a a a 

As Centinel to stand and whoop,
If single Fowl, or Shoal, or Troop
Should at his Palace aim or stoop.

RHYME a a a 

But home, one Evening without Meat,
The Eagle comes, and takes his Seat,
Where they did these Conditions treat.

RHYME a a a 

The Mother-Owl was prol'd away,
To seek abroad for needful Prey,
And forth the Misses came to play.

RHYME a a a 

What's here! the hungry Monarch cry'd,
When near him living Flesh he spy'd,
With which he hop'd to be supply'd.

RHYME a a a 

But recollecting, 'twas the Place,
Where he'd so lately promis'd Grace
To an enchanting, beauteous Race;

RHYME a a a 

He paus'd a while, and kept his Maw,
With sober Temperance, in awe,
Till all their Lineaments he saw.

RHYME a a a 

What are these Things, and of what Sex,
At length he cry'd, with Vultur's Becks
And Shoulders higher than their Necks?

RHYME a a a 

These wear no Palatines, nor Muffs
Italian Silks, or Doyley Stuffs,
But motley Callicoes, and Ruffs.

RHYME a a a 

Nor Brightness in their Eyes is seen,
But through the Film a dusky Green,
And like old Margery is their Mien.

RHYME a a a 

Then for my Supper they're design'd,
Nor can be of that lovely Kind,
To whom my Pity was inclin'd.

RHYME a a a 

No more Delays; as soon as spoke,
The Plumes are stripped, the Grisles broke,
And near the Feeder was to choak.

RHYME a a a 

When now return'd the grizly Dame,
(Whose Family was out of Frame)
Against League-Breakers does exclaim.

RHYME a a a 

How! quoth the Lord of soaring Fowls,
(Whilst horribly she wails and howls)
Were then your Progeny but Owls?

RHYME a a a 

I thought some Phoenix was their Sire,
Who did those charming Looks inspire,
That you'd prepar'd me to admire.

RHYME a a a 

Upon your self the Blame be laid;
My Talons you've to Blood betray'd,
And ly'd in every Word you said.

RHYME a a 

Faces or Books, beyond their Worth extoll'd,
Are censur'd most, and thus to pieces pulled.

TITLE

RHYME a a b a a b 

A Fond Athenian Mother brought
A Sculptor to indulge her Thought,
  And carve her Only Son;
Who to such strange perfection wrought,
That every Eye the Statue caught
  Nor ought was left undone.

RHYME a a b a a b 

A youthful Smile adorn'd the Face,
The polish gave that Smile a Grace;
  And through the Marble reigns
(Which well the Artist's Skill cou'd trace,
And in their due Positions place)
  A Thread of purple Veins.

RHYME a a b a a b 

The Parasites about it came,
(Whose Praises were too large to name)
  And to each other said;
The Man so well had reach'd his Aim,
Th' Original cou'd o'er it claim
  Only a native Red.

RHYME a a b a a b 

Mean while a Sage, amidst the Croud,
Thus, with a Precept wise and loud,
  Check'd the Vain-glorious Boy;
By telling him, who now grew proud,
That tho' with Beauty 'twas endow'd,
  The Figure was a Toy:

RHYME a a b a a b 

Of no Advantage to the State,
'Twou'd neither combate, nor debate,
  But idly stand alone;
Bids him beware, whilst Men create
In Stone thus his Resemblance great,
  He proves not like the Stone.

RHYME a b a b 

The Hog, the Sheep, and Goat, carrying to a FAIR.
  Who does not wish, ever to judge aright,
    And, in the Course of Life's Affairs,
  To have a quick, and far extended Sight,

RHYME a a 

    Tho' it too often multiplies his Cares?
And who has greater Sense, but greater Sorrow shares?

RHYME a b a b b 

  This felt the Swine, now carrying to the Knife;
    And whilst the Lamb and silent Goat
  In the same fatal Cart lay void of Strife,
    He widely stretches his foreboding Throat,
Deaf'ning the easy Crew with his outragious Note.

RHYME a b a b b 

  The angry Driver chides th'unruly Beast,
    And bids him all this Noise forbear;
  Nor be more loud, nor clamorous than the rest,
    Who with him travel'd to the neighb'ring Fair.
And quickly shou'd arrive, and be unfetter'd there.

RHYME a b a b b 

  This, quoth the Swine, I do believe, is true,
    And see we're very near the Town;
  Whilst these poor Fools of short, and bounded View,
    Think 'twill be well, when you have set them down,
And eas'd One of her Milk, the Other of her Gown.

RHYME a b a b b 

  But all the dreadful Butchers in a Row,
    To my far-searching Thoughts appear,
  Who know indeed, we to the Shambles go,
    Whilst I, whom none but Belzebub wou'd shear,
Nor but his Dam wou'd milk, must for my Carcase fear.

RHYME a b a b b 

  But tell me then, will it prevent thy Fate?
    The rude unpitying Farmer cries;
  If not, the Wretch who tastes his Suff'rings late,
    Not He, who thro' th'unhappy Future prys,
Must of the Two be held most Fortunate and Wise.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b b c c d d e e e f f g g 

Soothing his Passions with a warb'ling Sound,
A Shepherd-Swain lay stretch'd upon the Ground;
Whilst all were mov'd, who their Attention lent,
Or with the Harmony in Chorus went,
To something less than Joy, yet more than dull Content.
(Between which two Extreams true Pleasure lies,
O'er-run by Fools, unreach'd-at by the Wise )
But yet, a fatal Prospect to the Sea
Wou'd often draw his greedy Sight away.
He saw the Barques unlading on the Shore,
And guess'd their Wealth, then scorn'd his little Store.
Then wou'd that Little lose, or else wou'd make it more.
To Merchandize converted is the Fold,
The Bag, the Bottle, and the Hurdles sold;
The Dog was chang'd away, the pretty Skell
Whom he had fed, and taught, and lov'd so well.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f f 

In vain the Phillis wept, which heretofore
Receiv'd his Presents, and his Garlands wore.
False and upbraided, he forsakes the Downs,
Nor courts her Smiles, nor fears the Ocean's Frowns.
For smooth it lay, as if one single Wave
Made all the Sea, nor Winds that Sea cou'd heave;
Which blew no more than might his Sails supply:
Clear was the Air below, and Phoebus laugh'd on high.
With this Advent'rer ev'ry thing combines,
And Gold to Gold his happy Voyage joins;
But not so prosp'rous was the next Essay,
For rugged Blasts encounter'd on the way,
Scarce cou'd the Men escape, the Deep had all their Prey.

RHYME a a b b c c 

Our broken Merchant in the Wreck was thrown
Upon those Lands, which once had been his own;
Where other Flocks now pastur'd on the Grass,
And other Corydons had woo'd his Lass.
A Servant, for small Profits, there he turns,
Yet thrives again, and less and less he mourns;

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

Re-purchases in time th'abandon'd Sheep,
Which sad Experience taught him now to keep.
When from that very Bank, one Halcyon Day,
On which he lean'd, when tempted to the Sea,
He notes a Calm; the Winds and Waves were still,
And promis'd what the Winds nor Waves fulfill,
A settl'd Quiet, and Conveyance sure,
To him that Wealth, by Traffick, wou'd procure.

RHYME a a *

But the rough part the Shepherd now performs,
Reviles the Cheat, and at the Flatt'ry storms.
Ev'n thus (quoth he) you seem'd all Rest and Ease,
You sleeping Tempests, you untroubl'd Seas,
That ne'er to be forgot, that luckless Hour,
In which I put my Fortunes in your Pow'r;
Quitting my slender, but secure Estate,
My undisturb'd Repose, my sweet Retreat,
For Treasures which you ravish'd in a Day,
But swept my Folly, with my Goods, away.
Then smile no more, nor these false Shews employ,
Thou momentary Calm, thou fleeting Joy;

RHYME a a a 

No more on me shall these fair Signs prevail,
Some other Novice may be won to Sail,
Give me a certain Fate in the obscurest Vale.

TITLE

RHYME a b a a b 

To view his stately Walks and Groves,
  A Man of Pow'r and Place
Was hast'ning on; but as he roves,
His Foe the slighted Bramble proves,
  And stops his eager Pace.

RHYME a b a a b 

That Shrub was qualify'd to Bite;
  And now there went a Tale,
That this injurious partial Wight
Had bid his Gard'ner rid it quite,
  And throw it o'er the Pail.

RHYME a b a a b 

Often the Bry'r had wish'd to speak,
  That this might not be done;
But from the Abject and the Weak,
Who no important Figure make,
  What Statesman does not run?

RHYME a b a a b 

But clinging now about his Waste,
  Ere he had time to fly,
My Lord (quoth he) for all your haste,
I'll know why I must be displac'd,
  And 'mongst the Rubbish lie.

RHYME a b a a b 

Must none but buffle-headed Trees
  Within your Ground be seen?
Or tap'ring Yews here court the Breeze,
That, like some Beaux whom Time does freeze,
  At once look Old and Green?

RHYME a b a a b 

I snarl, 'tis true, and sometimes scratch
  A tender-footed Squire;
Who does a rugged Tartar catch,
When me he thinks to over-match,
  And jeers for my Attire.

RHYME a b a a b 

As to Yourself, who 'gainst me fret,
  E'en give this Project o'er:
For know, where'er my Root is set,
These rambling Twigs will Passage get,
  And vex you more and more.

RHYME a b a a b 

No Wants, no Threatnings, nor the Jail
  Will curb an angry Wit:
Then think not to chastise, or rail;
Appease the Man, if you'd prevail,
  Who some sharp Satire writ.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b 

Silvia, let's from the Croud retire;
  For, What to you and me
(Who but each other do desire)
  Is all that here we see?

RHYME a b a b 

Apart we'll live, tho' not alone;
  For, who alone can call
Those, who in Desarts live with One,
  If in that One they've All?

RHYME a b a b 

The World a vast Meander is,
  Where Hearts confus'dly stray;
Where Few do hit, whilst Thousands miss
  The happy mutual Way:

RHYME a b a b 

Where Hands are by stern Parents ty'd,
  Who oft, in Cupid's Scorn,
Do for the widow'd State provide,
  Before that Love is born:

RHYME a b a b 

Where some too soon themselves misplace;
  Then in Another find
The only Temper, Wit, or Face,
  That cou'd affect their Mind.

RHYME a b a b 

Others (but oh! avert that Fate!)
  A well-chose Object change:
Fly, Silvia, fly, ere 'tis too late;
  Fall'n Nature's prone to range.

RHYME a b a b 

And, tho' in heat of Love we swear
  More than perform we can;
No Goddess, You, but Woman are,
  And I no more than Man.

RHYME a b a b 

Th' impatient Silvia heard thus long;
  Then with a Smile reply'd;
Those Bands cou'd ne'er be very strong,
  Which Accidents divide.

RHYME a b a b 

Who e'er was mov'd yet to go down,
  By such o'er-cautious Fear;
Or for one Lover left the Town,
  Who might have Numbers here?

RHYME a b a b 

Your Heart, 'tis true, is worth them all,
  And still preferr'd the first;
But since confess'd so apt to fall,
  'Tis good to fear the worst.

RHYME a b a b 

In ancient History we meet
  A flying Nymph betray'd;
Who, had she kept in fruitful Crete,
  New Conquest might have made.

RHYME a b a b 

And sure, as on the Beach she stood,
  To view the parting Sails;
She curs'd her self, more than the Flood,
  Or the conspiring Gales.

RHYME a b a b 

False Theseus, since thy Vows are broke,
  May following Nymphs beware:
Methinks I hear how thus she spoke,
  And will not trust too far.

RHYME a b a b 

In Love, in Play, in Trade, in War
  They best themselves acquit,
Who, tho' their Int'rests shipwreckt are,
  Keep unreprov'd their Wit.

TITLE
RHYME a a *

O King of Terrors, whose unbounded Sway
All that have Life, must certainly Obey;
The King, the Priest, the Prophet, all are Thine,
Nor wou'd ev'n God (in Flesh) thy Stroke decline.
My Name is on thy Roll, and sure I must
Encrease thy gloomy Kingdom in the Dust.
My soul at this no Apprehension feels,
But trembles at thy Swords, thy Racks, thy Wheels;
Thy scorching Fevers, which distract the Sense,
And snatch us raving, unprepar'd from hence;
At thy contagious Darts, that wound the Heads
Of weeping Friends, who wait at dying Beds.
Spare these, and let thy Time be when it will;
My Bus'ness is to Dye, and Thine to Kill.
Gently thy fatal Sceptre on me lay,
And take to thy cold Arms, insensibly, thy Prey.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e e 

Cou'd our First Father, at his toilsome Plough,
Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow,
Cloath'd only in a rude, unpolish'd Skin,
Cou'd he a vain Fantastick Nymph have seen,
In all her Airs, in all her antick Graces,
Her various Fashions, and more various Faces;
How had it pos'd that Skill, which late assign'd
Just Appellations to Each several Kind!
A right Idea of the Sight to frame;
T'have guest from what New Element she came;
T'have hit the wav'ring Form, or giv'n this Thing a Name.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b 

FOR Socrates a House was built,
  Of but inferiour Size;
Not highly Arch'd, nor Carv'd, nor Gilt;
  The Man, 'tis said, was Wise.

RHYME a b a b 

But Mob despis'd the little Cell,
  That struck them with no Fear;
Whilst Others thought, there should not dwell
  So great a Person there.

RHYME a b a b 

How shou'd a due Recourse be made
  To One, so much Admir'd?
Where shou'd the spacious Cloth be laid,
  Or where the Guests retir'd?

RHYME a b a b 

Believe me, quoth the list'ning Sage,
  'Twas not to save the Charge;
That in this over-building Age,
  My House was not more large.

RHYME a b a b 

But this for faithful Friends, and kind,
  Was only meant by me;
Who fear that what too streight you find,
  Must yet contracted be.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Since the Road of Life's so ill;
I, to pass it, use this Skill,
My frail Carriage driving home
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.
Justice first, in Harness strong,
Marches stedfastly along:
Charity, to smooth the Pace,
Fills the next adjoining Trace:
Independance leads the Way,
Whom no heavy Curb do's sway;

RHYME a a *

Truth an equal Part sustains,
All indulg'd the loosen'd Reins:
In the Box fits vig'rous Health,
Shunning miry Paths of Wealth:
Gaiety with easy Smiles,
Ev'ry harsher Step beguiles;
Whilst of Nature, or of Fate
Only This I wou'd intreat:
The Equipage might not decay,
Till the worn Carriage drops away.

RHYME a a *

No Cautions of a Matron, Old and Sage,
Young Rattlehead to Prudence cou'd engage;
But forth the Offspring of her Bed wou'd go,
Nor reason gave, but that he wou'd do so.
Much Counsel was, at parting, thrown away,
Ev'n all, that Mother-Rat to Son cou'd say;

RHYME a a a b b c c d d 

Who follow'd him with utmost reach of Sight,
Then, lost in Tears, and in abandon'd Plight,
Turn'd to her mournful Cell, and bid the World Good-Night.
But Fortune, kinder than her boding Thought,
In little time the Vagrant homewards brought,
Rais'd in his Mind, and mended in his Dress,
Who the Bel-air did every way confess,
Had learnt to flow'r his Wigg, nor brusht away
The falling Meal, that on his Shoulders lay;

RHYME a a b b 

And from a Nutshell, wimbl'd by a Worm,
Took Snuff, and cou'd the Government reform.
The Mother, weeping from Maternal Love,
To see him thus prodigiously improve,

RHYME a a b b c c c 

Expected mighty Changes too, within,
And Wisdom to avoid the Cat, and Gin.
Whom did you chiefly note, Sweetheart, quoth she,
Of all the Strangers you abroad did see?
Who grac'd you most, or did your Fancy take?
The younger Rat than curs'd a noisy Rake,
That barr'd the best Acquaintance he cou'd make;

RHYME a a b b c c c d d e e 

And fear'd him so, he trembl'd ev'ry Part;
Nor to describe him, scarce cou'd have the Heart.
High on his Feet (quoth he) himself he bore,
And terribly, in his own Language, swore;
A feather'd Arm came out from either Side,
Which loud he clapp'd, and Combatants defy'd,
And to each Leg a Bayonette was ty'd:
And certainly his Head with Wounds was sore;
For That, and both his Cheeks a Sanguine Colour wore.
Near Him there lay the Creature I admir'd,
And for a Friend by Sympathy desir'd:

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

His Make, like Ours, as far as Tail and Feet,
With Coat of Furr in parallel do meet;
Yet seeming of a more exalted Race,
Tho' humble Meekness beautify'd his Face:
A purring Sound compos'd his gentle Mind,
Whilst frequent Slumbers did his Eye-lids bind;
Whose soft, contracted Paw lay calmly still,
As if unus'd to prejudice, or kill.

RHYME a a b b c c d d d e e f f g g h h i i 

I paus'd a while, to meditate a Speech,
And now was stepping just within his reach;
When that rude Clown began his hect'ring Cry,
And made me for my Life, and from th' Attempt to fly.
Indeed 'twas Time, the shiv'ring Beldam said,
To scour the Plain, and be of Life afraid.
Thou base, degen'rate Seed of injur'd Rats,
Thou veriest Fool (she cry'd) of all my Brats;
Would'st thou have shaken Hands with hostile Cats,
And dost not yet thine Own, and Country's Foe,
At this expence of Time, and Travel know?
Alas! that swearing, staring, bullying Thing,
That tore his Throat, and blustered with his Wing,
Was but some paltry, Dunghill, Craven Cock,
Who serves the early Household for a Clock.
And We his Oats, and Barley often steal,
Nor fear, he shou'd revenge the pilfer'd Meal:
Whilst that demure, and seeming harmless Puss
Herself, and mewing Chits regales with Us.

RHYME a a b b b 

If then, of useful Sense thou'st gain'd no more,
Than ere thou'dst past the Threshold of my Door;
Be here, my Son, content to Dress and Dine,
Steeping the List of Beauties in thy Wine,
And neighb'ring Vermin with false Gloss outshine.

RHYME a a b b c c d d d e e 

  Amongst Mankind a Thousand Fops we see,
Who in their Rambles learn no more than Thee;
Cross o'er the Alpes, and make the Tour of France,
To learn a paltry Song, or antick Dance;
Bringing their Noddles, and Valizes pack'd
With Mysteries, from Shops and Taylors wreck'd:
But what may prejudice their Native Land;
Whose Troops are raising, or whose Fleet is mann'd,
Ne'er moves their Thoughts, nor do they understand.
Thou, my dear Rattlehead, and such as These
Might keep at home, and brood on Sloth and Ease:

RHYME a a a 

Whilst Others, more adapted to the Age,
May vig'rously in Warlike Feats engage,
And live on foreign Spoils, or dying thin the Stage.

TITLE

RHYME a b a a b 

Strephon, whose Person ev'ry Grace
  Was careful to adorn;
Thought, by the Beauties of his Face,
In Silvia's Love to find a place,
  And wonder'd at her Scorn.

RHYME a b a a b 

With Bows, and Smiles he did his Part;
  But Oh! 'twas all in vain:
A Youth less Fine, a Youth of Art
Had talk'd himself into her Heart,
  And wou'd not out again.

RHYME a b a a b 

Strephon with change of Habits press'd,
  And urg'd her to admire;
His Love alone the Other dress'd,
As Verse, or Prose became it best,
  And mov'd her soft Desire.

RHYME a b a a b 

This found, his courtship Strephon ends,
  Or makes it to his Glass;
There, in himself now seeks amends,
Convinc'd, that where a Wit pretends,
  A Beau is but an Ass.

RHYME a a b b b 

A Greedy Heir long waited to fulfill,
As his Executor, a Kinsman's Will;
And to himself his Age repeated o'er,
To his Infirmities still adding more;
And nicely kept th' Account of the expected Store:

RHYME a a *

When Death, at last, to either gave Release,
Making One's Pains, the Other's Longings cease:
Who to the Grave must decently convey,
Ere he Possession takes the kindred Clay,
Which in a Coach was plac'd, wherein he rides,
And so no Hearse, or following Train provides;
Rejecting Russel, who wou'd make the Charge
Of one dull tedious Day, so vastly Large.
When, at his Death, the humble Man declar'd,
He wished thus privately to be Interr'd.
And now, the Luggage moves in solemn State,
And what it wants in Number, gains in Weight.

RHYME a a b b b c c 

The happy Heir can scarce contain his Joy,
Whilst sundry Musings do his Thoughts employ,
How he shalt act, now Every thing's his Own,
Where his Revenge, or Favour shall be shown;
Then recollecting, draws a counterfeited Groan.
The Avenues, and Gardens shall be chang'd,
Already he the Furniture has ranged.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f g g g 

To ransack secret Draw'rs his Phancy flies,
Nor can th' appearing Wealth his Mind suffice.
Thus he an Age runs o'er betwixt the Porch
Of his Friend's House, and the adjacent Church:
Whilst the slow Driver, who no reck'ning kept
Of what was left, indulging Nature, slept;
Till on a Bank, so high, the Wheel was borne
That in a Moment All must overturn:
Whilst the rich Heir now finds the giving Dead
Less weighty in his Gold, than in his Lead;
Which falling just on his contriving Breast,
Expell'd the Soul, leaving the corpse to rest
In the same Grave, intended for his Friend.
Then why shou'd We our Days in Wishes spend,
Which, e'er we see fulfill'd, are often at an End?

TITLE

RHYME a a *

CUPID, ere depriv'd of Sight,
Young and apt for all Delight,
Met with Folly on the way,
As Idle and as fond of Play.
In gay Sports the time they pass;
Now run, now wrestle on the Grass;
Their painted Wings then nimbly ply,
And ev'ry way for Mast'ry try:
'Till a Contest do's arise,
Who has won th' appointed Prize.
Gentle Love refers the Case
To the next, that comes in Place;
Trusting to his flatt'ring Wiles,
And softens the Dispute with Smiles.
But Folly, who no Temper knows,
Words pursues with hotter Blows:
'Till the eyes of Love were lost,
Which has such Pain to Mortals cost.

RHYME a a *

Venus hears his mournful Crys,
And repeats 'em, in the Skys,
To Jupiter in Council set,
With Peers for the Occasion met;
In her Arms the Boy she bears,
Bathing him in falling Tears;
And whilst his want of Eyes is shown,
Secures the Judges by her Own.
Folly to the Board must come,
And hear the Tryal and the Doom;
Which Cytherea loudly prays
May be as heavy as the Case:
Which, when All was justly weigh'd,
Cupid's Wings now useless made,
That a staff, his Feet must guide,
Which wou'd still be apt to slide;
This Decree at last was read,
That Love by Folly shou'd be lead.

RHYME a a *

A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred,
With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed;
Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest,
How chim'd his Pulse, and how he took his Rest:
If shudd'ring Cold by Burnings was pursu'd,
And at what time the Aguish Fit renew'd.
The waining Wretch, each day become more faint,
In like proportion doubles his Complaint;

RHYME a a a b b c c 

Now swooning Sweats he begs him to allay,
Now give his Lungs more liberty to play,
And take from empty'd Veins these scorching Heats away:
Or if he saw the Danger did increase,
To warn him fair, and let him part in Peace.
My Life for yours, no Hazard in your Case
The Quack replies; your Voice, your Pulse, your Face,

RHYME a a *

Good Signs afford, and what you seem to feel
Proceeds from Vapours, which we'll help with Steel.
With kindled Rage, more than Distemper, burns
The suff'ring Man, who thus in haste returns:
No more of Vapours, your belov'd Disease,
Your Ignorance's Skreen, your What-you-please,
With which you cheat poor Females of their Lives,
Whilst Men dispute not, so it rid their Wives.
For me, I'll speak free as I've paid my Fees;
My Flesh consumes, I perish by degrees:

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e 

And as thro' weary Nights I count my Pains,
No Rest is left me, and no Strength remains.
All for the Better, Sir, the Quack rejoins:
Exceeding promising are all these Signs.
Falling-away, your Nurses can confirm,
Was ne'er in Sickness thought a Mark of Harm.
The want of Strength is for the Better still;
Since Men of Vigour Fevers soonest kill.
Ev'n with this Gust of Passion I am pleas'd;
For they're most Patient who the most are seiz'd.

RHYME a a a b b c c d d 

But let me see! here's that which all repels:
Then shakes, as he some formal Story tells,
The Treacle-water, mixt with powder'd Shells.
My Stomach's gone (what d'you infer from thence?)
Nor will with the least Sustenance dispense.
The Better; for, where appetite endures,
Meats intermingle, and no Med'cine cures.
The Stomach, you must know, Sir, is a Part–
But, sure, I feel Death's Pangs about my Heart.

RHYME a a b b c c 

  Nay then Farewel! I need no more attend
The Quack replies. A sad approaching Friend
Questions the Sick, why he retires so fast;
Who says, because of Fees I've paid the Last,
And, whilst all Symptoms tow'rd my Cure agree,
Am, for the Better, Dying as you see.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e e f f g g 

Observe this Piece, which to our Sight does bring
The fittest Posture for the Swedish King;
(Encompass'd, as we think, with Armies round,
Tho' not express'd within this narrow Bound)
Who, whilst his warlike and extended Hand
Directs the foremost Ranks to Charge or Stand,
Reverts his Face, lest That, so Fair and Young,
Should call in doubt the Orders of his Tongue:
Whilst the excited, and embolden'd Rear
Such Youth beholding, and such Features there,
Devote their plainer Forms, and are asham'd to Fear.
Thus! ev'ry Action, ev'ry Grace of thine,
O latest Son of Fame, Son of Gustavus Line!
Affects thy Troops, with all that can inspire
A blooming Sweetness, and a martial Fire,

RHYME a a a 

Fatal to none, but thy invading Foe.
So Lightnings, which to all their Brightness shew,
Strike but the Man alone, who has provok'd the Blow.

RHYME a a *

'Tis fit SERENA shou'd be sung.
High-born SERENA, Fair and Young,
Shou'd be of ev'ry Muse and Voice
The pleasing, and applauded Choice.
But as the Meanest of the Show
Do First in all Processions go:
So, let my Steps pursue that Swain
The humblest of th' inspired Train;
Whose well-meant Verse did just appear,
To lead on the preceding Year:

RHYME a a *

So let my Pen, the next in Fame,
Now wait on fair SERENA's Name;
The second Tribute gladly pay,
And hail this blest returning Day.
But let it not attempt to raise
Or rightly speak SERENA's Praise:
Since with more ease we might declare
How Great her Predecessors were;
How Great that more distinguish'd Peer, 
To whom she owes her Being here;
In whom our Britain lets us see
What once they were, and still shou'd be;
As, when the earliest Race was drown'd,
Some Patterns, from amongst them found,
Were kept to shew succeeding Times
Their Excellence without their Crimes:
More easily we might express
What Vertues do her Mother dress;
What does her Form and Mind adorn,
Of whom th' engaging Nymph was born;

RHYME a a *

What Piety, what generous Love,
Does the enlarged Bosom move
Of Her, whose Fav'rite she appears,
Who more than as a Niece endears.
Such full Perfections obvious lie,
And strike, at first, a Poet's Eye.
Deep Lines of Honour all can hit,
Or mark out a superior Wit;
Consummate Goodness all can show,
And where such Graces shine below:
But the more tender Strokes to trace,
T' express the Promise of a Face,
When but the Dawnings of the Mind
We from the Air unripen'd find;

Which alt'ring, as new Moments rise,
The Pen or Pencil's Art defies;
When Flesh and Blood in Youth appears,
Polish'd like what our Marble wears;
Fresh as that Shade of op'ning Green,
Which first upon our Groves is seen;

RHYME a a *

Enliven'd by a harmless Fire,
And brighten'd by each gay Desire;
These nicer Touches wou'd demand
A Cowley's or a Waller's Hand,
T'explain, with undisputed Art,
What 'tis affects th'enlighten'd Heart,
When ev'ry darker Thought gives way,
Whilst blooming Beauty we survey;
To shew how All, that's soft and sweet,
Does in the fair SERENA meet;
To tell us, with a sure Presage,
The Charms of her maturer Age.

RHYME a a *

When Hothfeild shall (as heretofore
From its far-sought and virtuous Store
It Families of great Renown
Did with illustrious Hymens crown)
When Hothfeild shall such Treasure know,
As fair SERENA to bestow:
Then shou'd some Muse of loftier Wing
The Triumphs of that Season sing;

RHYME a a *

Describe the Pains, the Hopes, the Fears
Of noble Youths, th'ambitious Cares
Of Fathers, the long-fram'd Design,
To add such Splendour to their Line,
Whilst all shall strive for such a Bride
So Educated, and Ally'd.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

A WIT, transported with Inditing,
Unpay'd, unprais'd, yet ever Writing;
Who, for all Fights and Fav'rite Friends,
Had Poems at his Fingers Ends;
For new Events was still providing;
Yet now desirous to be riding,
He pack'd-up ev'ry Ode and Ditty
And in Vacation left the City;
So rapt with Figures, and Allusions,
With secret Passions, sweet Confusions;

RHYME a a *

With Sentences from Plays well-known,
And thousand Couplets of his own;
That ev'n the chalky Road look'd gay,
And seem'd to him the Milky Way.
But Fortune, who the Ball is tossing,
And Poets ever will be crossing,
Misled the Steed, which ill he guided,
Where several gloomy Paths divided.
The steepest in Descent he follow'd,
Enclos'd by Rocks, which Time had hollow'd;

RHYME a a *

Till, he believ'd, alive and booted,
He'd reach'd the Shades by Homer quoted.
But all, that he cou'd there discover,
Was, in a Pit with Thorns grown over,
Old Mammon digging, straining, sweating,
As Bags of Gold he thence was getting;
Who, when reprov'd for such Dejections
By him, who liv'd on high Reflections,
Reply'd; Brave Sir, your Time is ended,
And Poetry no more befriended.

RHYME a a *

I hid this Coin, when Charles was swaying;
When all was Riot, Masking, Playing;
When witty Beggars were in fashion,
And Learning had o'er-run the Nation,
But, since Mankind is so much wiser,
That none is valued like the Miser,
I draw it hence, and now these Sums
In proper Soil grow up to Plumbs;
Which gather'd once, from that rich Minute
We rule the World, and all that's in it.

RHYME a a *

But, quoth the Poet,can you raise,
As well as Plumb-trees, Groves of Bays?
Where you, which I wou'd chuse much rather,
May Fruits of Reputation gather?
Will Men of Quality, and Spirit,
Regard you for intrinsick Merit?
And seek you out, before your Betters,
For Conversation, Wit, and Letters?

RHYME a a *

Fool, quoth the Churl, who knew no Breeding;
Have these been Times for such Proceeding?
Instead of Honour'd, and Rewarded,
Are you not Slighted, or Discarded?
What have you met with, but Disgraces?
Your PRIOR cou'd not keep in Places;
And your VAN-BRUG had found no Quarter,
But for his dabbling in the Morter.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

ROWE no Advantages cou'd hit on,
Till Verse he left, to write North-Briton.
PHILIPS, who's by the Shilling known,
Ne'er saw a Shilling of his own.
Meets (b ) PHILOMELA, in the Town
Her due Proportion of Renown?
What Pref'rence has ARDELIA seen,
T'expel, tho' she cou'd write the Spleen?
Of Coach, or Tables, can you brag,
Or better Cloaths than Poet RAG?
Do wealthy Kindred, when they meet you,
With Kindness, or Distinction, greet you?
Or have your lately flatter'd Heroes
Enrich'd you like the Roman Maroes?

RHYME a a *

  No–quoth the Man of broken Slumbers:
Yet we have Patrons for our Numbers;
There are Mecænas's among 'em.
  Quoth Mammon,pray Sir, do not wrong 'em;
But in your Censures use a Conscience,
Nor charge Great Men with thriftless Nonsense:

RHYME a a a b b c c d d 

Since they, as your own Poets sing,
Now grant no Worth in any thing
But so much Money as 'twill bring.
Then, never more from your Endeavours
Expect Preferment, or less Favours.
But if you'll 'scape Contempt, or worse,
Be sure, put Money in your Purse;
Money! which only can relieve you
When Fame and Friendship will deceive you.

RHYME a a *

  Sir, (quoth the Poet humbly bowing,
And all that he had said allowing)
Behold me and my airy Fancies
Subdu'd, like Giants in Romances.
I here submit to your Discourses;
Which since Experience too enforces,
I, in that solitary Pit,
Your Gold withdrawn, will hide my Wit:
Till Time, which hastily advances,
And gives to all new Turns and Chances,
Again may bring it into use;
Roscommons may again produce;

RHYME a a *

New Augustean Days revive,
When Wit shall please, and Poets thrive.
Till when, let those converse in private,
Who taste what others don't arrive at;
Yielding that Mammonists surpass us;
And let the Bank out-swell Parnassus.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

POOR River, now thou'rt almost dry,
What Nymph, or Swain, will near thee lie?
Since brought, alas! to sad Decay,
What Flocks, or Herds, will near thee stay?
The Swans, that sought thee in thy Pride,
Now on new Streams forgetful ride:
And Fish, that in thy Bosom lay,
Chuse in more prosp'rous Floods to play.
All leave thee, now thy Ebb appears,
To waste thy sad Remains in Tears;
Nor will thy mournful Murmurs heed.
Fly, wretched Stream, with all thy speed,
Amongst those solid Rocks thy Griefs bestow;
For Friends, like those alas! thou ne'er did'st know.
And thou, poor Sun! that sat'st on high;
But late, the Splendour of the Sky;

RHYME a a *

What Flow'r, tho' by thy Influence born,
Now Clouds prevail, will tow'rds thee turn?
Now Darkness sits upon thy Brow,
What Persian Votary will bow?
What River will her Smiles reflect,
Now that no Beams thou can'st direct?
By watry Vapours overcast,
Who thinks upon thy Glories past?
If present Light, nor Heat we get,
Unheeded thou may'st rise, and set.
Not all the past can one Adorer keep,
Fall, wretched Sun, to the more faithful Deep.

RHYME a a b b c c d d 

  Nor do thou, lofty Structure! boast,
Since undermin'd by Time and Frost:
Since thou canst no Reception give,
In untrod Meadows thou may'st live.
None from his ready Road will turn,
With thee thy wretched Change to mourn.
Not the soft Nights, or chearful Days
Thou hast bestow'd, can give thee Praise.

RHYME a a *

No lusty Tree that near thee grows,
(Tho' it beneath thy Shelter rose)
Will to thy Age a Staff become.
Fall, wretched Building! to thy Tomb.
Thou, and thy painted Roofs, in Ruin mixt,
Fall to the Earth, for That alone is fixt.

RHYME a a *

  The same, poor Man, the same must be
Thy Fate, now Fortune frowns on thee.
Her Favour ev'ry one pursues,
And losing Her, thou all must lose.
No Love, sown in thy prosp'rous Days,
Can Fruit in this cold Season raise:
No Benefit, by thee conferr'd,
Can in this time of Storms be heard.
All from thy troubl'd Waters run;
Thy stooping Fabrick all Men shun.
All do thy clouded Looks decline,
As if thou ne'er did'st on them shine.
O wretched Man! to other World's repair;
For Faith and Gratitude are only there.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

PEACE! where art thou to be found?
Where, in all the spacious Round,
May thy Footsteps be pursu'd?
Where may thy calm Seats be view'd?
On some Mountain dost thou lie,
Serenely near the ambient Sky,
Smiling at the Clouds below,
Where rough Storms and Tempests grow?
Or, in some retired Plain,
Undisturb'd dost thou remain?
Where no angry Whirlwinds pass,
Where no Floods oppress the Grass.

RHYME a a b b c c c d d 

High above, or deep below,
Fain I thy Retreat wou'd know.
Fain I thee alone wou'd find,
Balm to my o'er-weary'd Mind.
Since what here the World enjoys,
Or our Passions most employs,
Peace opposes, or destroys.
Pleasure's a tumultuous thing,
Busy still, and still on Wing;

RHYME a a *

Flying swift, from place to place,
Darting from each beauteous Face;
From each strongly mingled Bowl
Through th'inflam'd and restless Soul.
Sov'reign Pow'r who fondly craves,
But himself to Pomp enslaves;
Stands the Envy of Mankind,
Peace, in vain, attempts to find.
Thirst of Wealth no Quiet knows,
But near the Death-bed fiercer grows;

RHYME a a *

Wounding Men with secret Stings,
For Evils it on Others brings.
War who not discreetly shuns,
Thorough Life the Gauntlet runs.
Swords, and Pikes, and Waves, and Flames,
Each their Stroke against him aims.
Love (if such a thing there be)
Is all Despair, or Extasie.
Poetry's the feav'rish Fit,
Th' o'erflowing of unbounded Wit. 

RHYME a a *

Farewel, lov'd Youth! since 'twas the Will of Heaven
So soon to take, what had so late been giv'n;
And thus our Expectations to destroy,
Raising a Grief, where we had form'd a Joy;

RHYME a a *

Who once believ'd, it was the Fates Design
In Him to double an Illustrious Line,
And in a second Channel spread that Race
Where ev'ry Virtue shines, with every Grace.
But we mistook, and 'twas not here below
That this engrafted Scion was to grow;
The Seats above requir'd him, that each Sphere
Might soon the Offspring of such Parents share.

RHYME a a b b b c c d d e e 

Resign him then to the supream Intent,
You, who but Flesh to that blest Spirit lent.
Again disrob'd, let him to Bliss retire,
And only bear from you, amidst that Choir,
What, Precept or Example did inspire,
A Title to Rewards, from that rich store
Of Pious Works, which you have sent before.
Then lay the fading Reliques, which remain,
In the still Vault (excluding farther Pain);
Where Kings and Counsellors their Progress close,
And his renowned Ancestors repose;

RHYME a a *

Where COVENTRY withdrew All but in Name, 
Leaving the World his Benefits and Fame;
Where his Paternal Predecessor lies, 
Once large of Thought, and rank'd among the Wise;
Whose Genius in Long-Leat we may behold
(A Pile, as noble as if he'd been told
By WEYMOUTH, it shou'd be in time possest,
And strove to suit the Mansion to the Guest.)
Nor favour'd, nor disgrac'd, there ESSEX sleeps, 
Nor SOMERSET his Master's Sorrows weeps, 
Who to the shelter of th' unenvy'd Grave
Convey'd the Monarch, whom he cou'd not save;
Though, Roman-like, his own less-valu'd Head
He proffer'd in that injur'd Martyr's stead.
Nor let that matchless Female 'scape my Pen, 
Who their Whole Duty taught to weaker Men,
And of each Sex the Two best Gifts enjoy'd,
The Skill to write, the Modesty to hide;

RHYME a a *

Whilst none shou'd that Performance disbelieve,
Who led the Life, might the Directions give.
With such as These, whence He deriv'd his Blood,
Great on Record, or eminently Good,
Let Him be laid, till Death's long Night shall cease,
And breaking Glory interrupt the Peace.
Mean-while, ye living Parents, ease your Grief
By Tears, allow'd as Nature's due Relief.
For when we offer to the Pow'rs above,
Like You, the dearest Objects of our Love;
When, with that patient Saint in Holy Writ,
We've learnt at once to Grieve, and to Submit;
When contrite Sighs, like hallow'd Incense, rise
Bearing our Anguish to th' appeased Skies;
Then may those Show'rs, which take from Sorrow birth,
And still are tending tow'rd this baleful Earth,
O'er all our deep and parching Cares diffuse,
Like Eden's Springs, or Hermon's soft'ning Dews.

RHYME a a b b b c c c d d e e f f g g h h 

But lend your Succours, ye Almighty Pow'rs,
For as the Wound, the Balsam too is Yours.
In vain are Numbers, or persuasive Speech,
What Poets write, or what the Pastors teach,
Till You, who make, again repair the Breach.
For when to Shades of Death our Joys are fled,
When for a Loss, like This, our Tears are shed,
None can revive the Heart, but who can raise the Dead.
But yet, my Muse, if thou hadst softer Verse
Than e'er bewail'd the melancholy Herse;
If thou hadst Pow'r to dissipate the Gloom
Inherent to the Solitary Tomb;
To rescue thence the Memory and Air
Of what we lately saw so Fresh, so Fair;
Then shou'd this Noble Youth thy Art engage
To shew the Beauties of his blooming Age,
The pleasing Light, that from his Eyes was cast,
Like hasty Beams, too Vigorous to last;

RHYME a a *

Where the warm Soul, as on the Confines, lay
Ready for Flight, and for Eternal Day.
Gently dispos'd his Nature shou'd be shown,
And all the Mother's Sweetness made his Own.
The Father's Likeness was but faintly seen,
As ripen'd Fruits are figur'd by the Green.
Nor cou'd we hope, had he fulfill'd his Days,
He shou'd have reach'd WEYMOUTH's unequal'd Praise.
Still One distinguish'd plant each Lineage shews,
And all the rest beneath it's Stature grows.
Of Tully's Race but He possess'd the Tongue,
And none like Julius from the Caesars sprung.
Next, in his harmless Sports he shou'd be drawn
Urging his Courser, o'er the flow'ry Lawn;
Sprightly Himself, as the enliven'd Game,
Bold in the Chace, and full of gen'rous Flame;
Yet in the Palace, Tractable and Mild,
Perfect in all the Duties of a Child;

RHYME a a *

Which fond Reflection pleases, whilst it pains,
Like penetrating Notes of sad Harmonious Strains.
Selected Friendships timely he began,
And siezed in Youth that best Delight of Man,
Leaving a growing Race to mourn his End,
Their earliest and their Ages promis'd Friend.
But far away alas! that Prospect moves,
Lost in the Clouds, like distant Hills and Groves,
Whilst with encreasing Steps we all pursue
What Time alone can bring to nearer View,
That Future State, which Darkness yet involves,
Known but by Death, which ev'ry Doubt resolves.

RHYME a a *

Weary, at last, of the Pindarick way,
Thro' which advent'rously the Muse wou'd stray;
To Fable I descend with soft Delight,
Pleas'd to Translate, or easily Endite:

RHYME a a *

Whilst aery Fictions hastily repair
To fill my Page, and rid my Thoughts of Care,
As they to Birds and Beasts new Gifts impart,
And Teach, as Poets shou'd, whilst they Divert.

RHYME a a a b b 

But here, the Critick bids me check this Vein.
Fable, he crys, tho' grown th' affected Strain,
But dies, as it was born, without Regard or Pain.
Whilst of his Aim the lazy Trifler fails,
Who seeks to purchase Fame by childish Tales.

RHYME a a a b b c c 

Then, let my Verse, once more attempt the Skies,
The easily persuaded Poet cries,
Since meaner Works you Men of Taste despise.
The Walls of Troy shall be our loftier Stage,
Our mighty Theme the fierce Achilles Rage.
The Strength of Hector, and Ulysses Arts
Shall boast such Language, to adorn their Parts,

RHYME a a b b c c 

As neither Hobbes, nor Chapman cou'd bestow,
Or did from Congreve, or from Dryden flow.
Amidst her Towers, the dedicated Horse
Shall be receiv'd, big with destructive Force;
Till Men shall say, when Flames have brought her down.
" Troy is no more, and Ilium was a Town.

RHYME a a b b b 

Is this the way to please the Men of Taste,
The Interrupter cries, this old Bombast?
I'm sick of Troy, and in as great a Fright,
When some dull Pedant wou'd her Wars recite,
As was soft Paris, when compell'd to Fight.

RHYME a a b b b c c 

To Shades and Springs shall we awhile repair,
The Muse demands, and in that milder Air
Describe some gentle Swain's unhappy Smart
Whose folded Arms still press upon his Heart,
And deeper drive the too far enter'd Dart?
Whilst Phillis with a careless pleasure reigns
The Joy, the Grief, the Envy of the Plains;

RHYME a a 

Heightens the Beauty of the verdant Woods,
And softens all the Murmurs of the Floods.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e 

Oh! stun me not with these insipid Dreams,
Th' Eternal Hush, the Lullaby of Streams.
Which still, he cries, their even Measures keep,
Till both the Writers, and the Readers sleep.
But urge thy Pen, if thou wouldst move our Thoughts,
To shew us private, or the publick Faults.
Display the Times, High-Church or Low provoke;
We'll praise the Weapon, as we like the Stroke,
And warmly sympathizing with the Spite
Apply to Thousands, what of One you write.

RHYME a a a b b 

Then, must that single Stream the Town supply,
The harmless Fable-writer do's reply,
And all the Rest of Helicon be dry?
And when so many choice Productions swarm,
Must only Satire keep your Fancies warm?

RHYME a a a 

Whilst even there, you praise with such Reserve,
As if you'd in the midst of Plenty starve,
Tho' ne'er so liberally we Authors carve.

RHYME a a 

Happy the Men, whom we divert with Ease,
Whom Opera's and Panegyricks please.

RHYME a a a b b c c 

Through ev'ry Age some Tyrant Passion reigns:
Now Love prevails, and now Ambition gains
Reason's lost Throne, and sov'reign Rule maintains.
Tho' beyond Love's, Ambition's Empire goes;
For who feels Love, Ambition also knows,
And proudly still aspires to be possest
Of Her, he thinks superior to the rest.

RHYME a a b b 

As cou'd be prov'd, but that our plainer Task
Do's no such Toil, or Definitions ask;
But to be so rehears'd, as first 'twas told,
When such old Stories pleas'd in Days of old.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f f 

  A King, observing how a Shepherd's Skill
Improv'd his Flocks, and did the Pastures fill,
That equal Care th' assaulted did defend,
And the secur'd and grazing Part attend,
Approves the Conduct, and from Sheep and Curs
Transfers the Sway, and changed his Wool to Furrs.
Lord-Keeper now, as rightly he divides
His just Decrees, and speedily decides;
When his sole Neighbor, whilst he watch'd the Fold,
A Hermit poor, in Contemplation old,
Hastes to his Ear, with safe, but lost Advice,
Tells him such Heights are levell'd in a trice,
Preferments treach'rous, and her Paths of Ice:

RHYME a a *

And that already sure 't had turn'd his Brain,
Who thought a Prince's Favour to retain.
Nor seem'd unlike, in this mistaken Rank,
The sightless Wretch, who froze upon a Bank
A Serpent found, which for a Staff he took,
And us'd as such (his own but lately broke)
Thanking the Fates, who thus his Loss supply'd,
Nor marking one, that with amazement cry'd,
Throw quickly from thy Hand that sleeping Ill;
A Serpent 'tis, that when awak'd will kill.

RHYME a a b b c c d d d 

A Serpent this! th' uncaution'd Fool replies:
A Staff it feels, nor shall my want of Eyes
Make me believe, I have no Senses left,
And thro' thy Malice be of this bereft;
Which Fortune to my Hand has kindly sent
To guide my Steps, and stumbling to prevent.
No Staff, the Man proceeds; but to thy harm
A Snake 'twill prove: The Viper, now grown warm
Confirm'd it soon, and fasten'd on his Arm.

RHYME a a *

  Thus wilt thou find, Shepherd believe it true,
Some Ill, that shall this seeming Good ensue;
Thousand Distastes, t' allay thy envy'd Gains,
Unthought of, on the parcimonious Plains.
So prov'd the Event, and Whisp'rers now defame
The candid Judge, and his Proceedings blame.
By Wrongs, they say, a Palace he erects,
The Good oppresses, and the Bad protects.
To view this Seat the King himself prepares,
Where no Magnificence or Pomp appears,
But Moderation, free from each Extream,
Whilst Moderation is the Builder's Theme.
Asham'd yet still the Sycophants persist,
That Wealth he had conceal'd within a Chest,

RHYME a a *

Which but attended some convenient Day,
To face the Sun, and brighter Beams display.
The Chest unbarr'd, no radiant Gems they find,
No secret Sums to foreign Banks design'd,
But humble Marks of an obscure Recess,
Emblems of Care, and Instruments of Peace;

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e f f 

The Hook, the Scrip, and for unblam'd Delight
The merry Bagpipe, which, ere fall of Night,
Cou'd sympathizing Birds to tuneful Notes invite.
Welcome ye Monuments of former Joys!
Welcome! to bless again your Master's Eyes,
And draw from Courts, th' instructed Shepherd cries.
No more dear Relicks! we no more will part,
You shall my Hands employ, who now revive my Heart.
No Emulations, nor corrupted Times
Shall falsely blacken, or seduce to Crimes
Him, whom your honest Industry can please,
Who on the barren Down can sing from inward Ease.

RHYME a a b b 

  How's this! the Monarch something mov'd rejoins.
With such low Thoughts, and Freedom from Designs,
What made thee leave a Life so fondly priz'd,
To be in Crouds, or envy'd, or despis'd?

RHYME a a b b b 

  Forgive me, Sir, and Humane Frailty see,
The Swain replies, in my past State and Me;
All peaceful that, to which I vow return.
But who alas! (tho' mine at length I mourn)
Was e'er without the Curse of some Ambition born.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c d c d 

URANIA, whom the Town admires,
  Whose Wit and Beauty share our Praise;
This fair URANIA who inspires
  A thousand Joys a thousand ways,
She, who cou'd with a Glance convey
  Favours, that had my Hopes outdone,
Has lent me Money on that Day,
  Which our Acquaintance first begun.

RHYME a b a b 

Nor with the Happiness I taste,
  Let any jealous Doubts contend:
Her Friendship is secure to last,
  Beginning where all others end.

RHYME a b a b c c d d e e 

And thou, known Cheat! upheld by Law,
  Thou Disappointer of the craving Mind,
BASSETTE, who thy Original dost draw
  From Venice (by uncertain Seas confin'd);
Author of Murmurs, and of Care,
  Of pleasing Hopes, concluding in Despair:
To thee my strange Felicity I owe,
  From thy Oppression did this Succour flow.
Less had I gained, had'st thou propitious been,
  Who better by my Loss hast taught me how to Win.

RHYME a b c a c b d e d e 

Yet tell me, my transported Brain!
  (whose Pride this Benefit awakes)
Know'st thou, what on this Chance depends?
  And are we not exalted thus in vain,
Whilst we observe the Money which she lends,
  But not, alas! the Heart she takes,
The fond Engagements, and the Ties
  Her fatal Bounty does impose,
Who makes Reprisals, with her Eyes,
  For what her gen'rous Hand bestows?

RHYME a b b a 

And tho' I quickly can return
  Those useful Pieces, which she gave;
Can I again, or wou'd I have
  That which her Charms have from me borne?

RHYME a a b b c d c d d c 

Yet let us quit th' obliging Score;
And whilst we borrow'd Gold restore,
Whilst readily we own the Debt,
And Gratitude before her set
  In its approved and fairest Light;
Let her effectually be taught
  By that instructive, harmless Slight,
That also in her turn she ought
  (Repaying ev'ry tender Thought)
Kindness with Kindness to requite.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Fair Youth! who wish the Wars may cease,
We own you better form'd for Peace.
Nor Pallas you, nor Mars shou'd follow;
Your Gods are Cupid and Apollo;
Who give sweet Looks, and early Rhimes,
Bespeaking Joys, and Halcyon Times.
Your Face, which We, as yet, may praise,
Calls for the Myrtle, and the Bays.
The Martial Crowns Fatigues demand,
And laurell'd Heroes must be tann'd;
A Fate, we never can allow
Shou'd reach your pleasing, polish'd Brow.
But granting what so young you've writ,
From Nature flow'd, as well as Wit;
And that indeed you Peace pursue,
We must begin to Treat with you.

RHYME a a *

We Females, Sir, it is I mean:
Whilst I, like BRISTOL for the QUEEN,
For all the Ladies of your Age
As Plenipo' betimes engage;
And as first Article declare,
You shall be Faithful as you're Fair:
No Sighs, when you shall know their Use,
Shall be discharg'd in Love's Abuse;
Nor kindling Words shall undermine,
Till you in equal Passion join.
Nor Money be alone your Aim,
Tho' you an Over-weight may claim,
And fairly build on your Desert,
If with your Person goes your Heart.
But when this Barrier I have gain'd,
And trust it will be well maintain'd;
Who knows, but some imprudent She
Betraying what's secur'd by me,
Shall yield thro' Verse, or stronger Charms,
To Treat anew on easier Terms?

RHYME a a a 

And I be negligently told�
You was too Young, and I too Old,
To have our distant Maxims hold.

RHYME a a b b c c d d d e e 

Sooner I'd praise a Cloud which Light beguiles,
Than thy rash Hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air controul,
Which to us paints the fair CLEONE's Soul.
'Tis vain to boast of Rules or labour'd Art;
I miss the Look that captivates my Heart,
Attracts my Love, and tender Thoughts inspires;
Nor can my Breast be warm'd by common Fires;
Nor can ARDELIA love but where she first admires.
Like Jupiter's, thy Head was sure in Pain
When this Virago struggl'd in thy Brain;

RHYME a a *

And strange it is, thou hast not made her wield
A mortal Dart, or penetrating Shield,
Giving that Hand of disproportion'd size
The Pow'r, of which thou hast disarm'd her Eyes:
As if, like Amazons, she must oppose,
And into Lovers force her vanquish'd Foes.
Had to THEANOR thus her Form been shown
To gain her Heart, he had not lost his own;
Nor, by the gentlest Bands of Human Life,
At once secur'd the Mistress and the Wife.

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e e 

For still CLEONE's Beauties are the same,
And what first lighten'd, still upholds his Flame.
Fain his Compassion wou'd thy Works approve,
Were pitying thee consistent with his Love,
Or with the Taste which Italy has wrought
In his refin'd and daily heighten'd Thought,
Where Poetry, or Painting find no place,
Unless perform'd with a superior Grace.
Cou'd but my Wish some Influence infuse,
Ne'er shou'd the Pencil, or the Sister-Muse
Be try'd by those who easily excuse:

RHYME a a b b c c d d e e 

But strictest Censors shou'd of either judge,
Applaud the Artist, and despise the Drudge.
Then never wou'd thy Colours have debas'd
CLEONE's Features, and her Charms defac'd:
Nor had my Pen (more subject to their Laws)
Assay'd to vindicate her Beauty's Cause.
A rigid Fear had kept us both in Awe,
Nor I compos'd, nor thou presum'd to draw;
But in CLEONE viewing with Surprize
That Excellence, to which we ne'er cou'd rise,

RHYME a a b b c c d d d 

By less Attempts we safely might have gain'd
That humble Praise which neither has obtain'd,
Since to thy Shadowings, or my ruder Verse,
It is not giv'n to shew, or to rehearse
What Nature in CLEONE's Face has writ,
A soft Endearment, and a chearful Wit,
That all-subduing, that enliv'ning Air
By which, a sympathizing Joy we share,
For who forbears to smile, when smil'd on by the Fair?

