you form his Heart Forget it then my Muse and change thy strain The Itch of Satire makes thee write in vain Go learn to Praise and search among the Throng Of Hero's one deserving of thy Song But oh For what would I thy Spirits raise I scarce can blunder out a Rhime for praise As soon as I indeavour thus to rise My fancy flags and all my fury dies I scratch my Head I bit my Nails in vain For all this mighty Labour of my Brain Brings nothing less unnatural abroad Than Blackmore's Poem or than C 's Ode I think I 'm rack'd when Praises must be wrote My Pen resists me and my Paper blots But when I am to rail my thoughts are fir'd Then only then I know I am Inspir'd As soon as I invoke Apollo hears The God is ready still to grant my Pray'rs I think with pleasure and I write with ease My Words my Numbers and the Subject please Were I to Paint the Raskal of the Town My Hand before I think writes T r down Were I to mark you out a perfect Sot My Pen points presently to M ot I find my Genius with my Wit agrees To mawl a trifling Rhimer as I please My Verse comes breaking like a Tempest down At once you meet with B y Banks and Crown With Y n G n P Durfey Brown And for one scribling Blockhead I have nam'd I find a Thousand more stand ready to be damn'd In Triumph then my Fury hastens on And I in private joy at what is done In vain amidst its course I would engage To stop the Impetuous Torrent of my Rage In vain I would at least some persons spare My Pen strikes all and will not one forbear When the mad Fit has master'd me you know What follows Fly if you would miss the Blow Merit however I will always prize But Fools provoke me and offend my Eyes I follow 'em as a Dog pursues his Prey And bark when e're I smell 'em in my way I know to say no more if Wit is scarce To gingle out a Rhime or tag a Verse Or Cobble wretched Prose to numerous Lines There if I have a Genius there it shines Thus tho ev'n Death with all the Fears he brings Were hov'ring o're to seize me in his ghastly Wings Tho Heaven secur'd me in a lasting Peace With all the City Pomp or Countrey Ease Tho the whole world should think themselves abus'd At what my Pen had in its rage produc'd Yet merry melancholly rich or Poor I should not cease to Rhime but write the more Poor Muse I pity thee some Fop will say Cease your Resentments and your Heats allay The fool you publish in an angry mood May quench this thirst of Satire in your Blood But why When Horace and Lucilius shew What wit in Vertues Quarrel ought to do The Vapours of their Choller thus exhal'd Their Satire faught for Vertue and prevail'd With all the Transports of a Noble Rage They baffl'd and unmask'd the Vices of the Age. Why When the furious Pen of Juvenal Ran o're with Floods of Bitterness and Gall Insulting freely o're the Roman Crimes And lashing all the Follies of the Times Yet safely to the Last the Wits did rave Not one of them was cudgell'd to his grave Why then should I a Coxcomb's anger fear Where do's my manner or my name appear I don 't like W Impudently great With Rhimes and Satires every fool I meet Or tumble o're my Verses in the Street Sometimes indeed yet what I always dread Where Satire pleases I am forc'd to read Where if they praise the work I often see They Laugh a loud at that and Low at me Perhaps I 'm pleas'd with what they disapprove And will in short still follow what I Love For when a pleasant Thought is once my own I am not easie till I write it down When with a sacred Fury I am seiz'd I can't resist whoever is displeas'd Enough No more of this let 's breath a while My Hand at last grows weary of the Toil 'T is time my Muse to end so harsh a strain Enough to morrow we 'll begin again THE Second Satire OF BOILEAU English'd Inscrib'd to Mr. O Happy Wit whose rare and fruitful Vein In writing still is ignorant of pain For whom Apollo opens every store Shews you his Mines and helps you to the Ore Who knows so well in the disputes of Wit Where sometimes to Defend and where to hit Teach me Great Master of your Art to Rhime To spare my Study and to save my time When e're you please the happy Rhimes attend And wait your Summons at the Verses end They ne're perplex you but observe your pace And where you want you find them in their place Whilst I whom Caprice Vanity and Whim Have for my Sins I fear condemn'd to Rhime Rack my poor thoughts in such attempts as these And sweat in vain for what you find with ease When the fit takes me oft from Morn to Night I study hard but scribble Black for White To draw the Picture of a perfect Beau The Rhime obliges me to name B To name an Author of the first degree Reason's for Dryden but the Rhime for Lee Vext at these difficulties I give o're Sad weary and confus'd resolve to write no more I curse the Spright with which I am possest And swear to drive the Daemon from my Breast In vain I curse Apollo and the Nine They quickly tempt me from my late design My Fire 's rekindle I retake my Pen And spite of all my Curses write again My Oaths forgot my Paper I resume From Verse to Verse attending what will come If for a Rhime my Muse in such a sit Would frigid words and Epithites permit Or take the next I meet and tack 'em on To piece a Line 't is what the rest have done To praise a Phillis for a thousand Charms The next verse shews the Poet in her Arms When Cloris is inform'd how much he Loves The Rhime informs you that she cruel proves When he would talk of Stars or glittering Skies Will he not think of Caelia's sparkling Eyes Caelia Heavens Master-piece Divinely Fair The Rhime makes Caelia still without compare With all these shining words by chance compos'd The Noun and Verb an hundred times transpos'd How many Poems could I piece by piece Stitch to my own and fill a Book with case But when I write My Judgment trembling at the choice of words Not one improper to the sense affords It ne're allows that an insipid Phrase Should justle in to fill a vacant place But Writes and adds and razes what is done And in four words it seldom passes one Curse on the Man who in a senseless fit To Rhimes and Numbers first confin'd his wit And giving to his words a narrow bound First lost his Reason for an empty sound Had I ne're Travell'd in such dangerous ways No Pains nor Envy had disturb'd my days But o're
You have felt 'em in the Town Yet my my Thyrsis you 'll confess Fears and Dangers make 'em less Crouds Diseases seuds and noise Render 'em imperfect joys But in shades and silence given Every Extasy is Heaven THE Country Wit A Country Wit who came to Town Was wondrous willing to be known And that he might not tarry long He saw a Play and writ a Song But this however not enough He went to Will 's and borrow'd snuff From Dryden's box with many more Who beg'd the liberty before For you must know amongst the Beaux Wit always enters by the Nose And passing quickly to the Brain Comes tickling down in verse again Our Wit thus favour'd writes apace You read the Author in his face With Sonnet Elegy and Ode He crams a Book and comes abroad But Oh! the sate of human things In vain he writes in vain he sings The Town uncivilly refuse To listen to a Country Muse And scarce will condescend to damn This mighty Candidate of fame Down to his Seat the Cox-comb goes He rail's at Criticks Wits and Beaus He swears that non-sence is prefer'd That merit never meets reward That envy makes the Criticks curse His Poems while they publish worse That spite of what they think or say He 'll write or print as well as they TO The Bath and Zelinda in it OH could I change my form like Jove In show'rs like him I 'de feast my Love And mingling with the waters play Around Zelinda's breast as they Ah! happy waves you may at large Sport in the bosom of your Charge Survey her Limbs and all her Charms And wanton in her Virgin Arms. Be civil yet and have a care You be'nt too Saucy with my fair Your Rival I shall jealous grow Nor can one eager touch allow You wildly rove you kiss embrace Her body and reflect her face You 're too Officious and presume To wâ—ndâ—â— where you should not come You croud too thick you stay too long You hurt her with your eager throng But warm her into Love and stay It shall excuse your bold delay Soften her frozen heart and Move Zelinda's Soul to think of Love Ah! melt her brest for pitty do That I may be as blest as you TO Corinna SAY Corinna do you find Nothing in your bosom kind Is it never less severe Or d' ye never wish it were Yes I read it in your eyes Hear it know it by your sighs Sighs that gently steal their way Tell me all that you should say Tell me when you seem serene You 're not always calm within But are vext with tumults there Such as oft disturb the fair Say Corinna is it true Say for I 'm a Lover too And can tell you what to do He that 's worthy to be blest Should be first of Truth possest Young and constant he must be Fixt like you and Fond like me One that all affronts can bear Exil's Jealousies Despair One on whom you may depend For a Lover and a Friend Plead not now for an excuse Man does naught like this produce Justice Madam bids you see All these qualities in me Justice tells you I am He. TO A GENTLEMAN ON HIS Being Jilted JIlted 'T is strange that you who know What women think as well as do Should in your guesses be deceiv'd But yet 't is stranger you believ'd Have not you often said that none About this dam'd intriguing Town Could scape your knowledge but you knew How matters went and who Kept who What Cit or Worship or my Lord Allow'd for Lodgings Pins or board What tricks the keeping fools were play'd Where when by whom and how betray'd No int'rest Sir could yours destroy You still came in and shar'd the Joy But when you pleas'd Keep your self And throw away a little Pelf Your Mistress's were all so true They would not touch a man but you F After this 't is something hard That others should be now prefer'd But come consider 't is no more Than Thousands have endur'd before Consider this will be the Trade While such as sell their Love are paid And there are Cullyes to be had Whilst women if they once begin To wanton doat upon the sin Whilst nature teaches them to cheat Or they find pleasure in deceit In short while men and women live Tho One will ask the Other give TO LUCINDA ON HER Recovery from an Indisposition HEaven Lucinda could not long Suffer one so Fair and Young Little able to sustain All the injury of pain To be toucht with a disease Which might interrupt her Ease Heaven always guards the fair Beauty 's always heavens care Yes Lucinda is we find Still the Same in face and mind See her Beauties how they shine Perfect all and all divine See how each returning grace Points her eyes and paints her face The Lilly and the rose succeed The sickly white and Glowing Red Ah! but see that cruel Pride Which we only wish had dy'd Waits at every glance again Little mortifi'd by Pain Settles in her eyes and shows Love and she will still be foes Had her Sickness with its smart Toucht and mollifi'd her Heart Then her illness wouid have prov'd Happy ills for such as Lov'd Had it made her undergo Half the Torments Lovers know Pitty would not now at least Have been a stranger to her Breast And pitty when it comes so near Tells us Passion is not far Unconcern'd at Health or Pain Still she flatters her disdain Ever fixt to be severe Se it Lovers and Despair THE Respectful Lover MY Mistress is I own above The humble proffer of my Love In Justice yet she must confess That nothing can disturb her less It never durst offend her Ear With what she is averse to hear But yielding to a just Despair 'T is modest still as she is Fair It wishes much and none that see Such Beauty are from Wishes free It hopes for little naught requires Nor yet discover'd its desires It dares not or it knows not how To tell her what she ought to know How long I have endur'd the Pain To Love and wish and not obtain To find my Passion is unknown Or what she sees she will not own Or what she coldly may regard She thinks unworthy a Reward THE Secend ODE OF ANACREON Translated out of the Greek NAture for defence affords Fins to Fish Wings to Birds Hoofs to Horses Claws to Bears Swiftness to the fearful Hares To Man their Master Wit and Sense But what have Women for defence Beauty is their shield and Arms Women's Weapons 〈◊〉 their Charms Beauties Weapons make us feel Deeper Wounds than those of Steel Beauty kindles warm desires Stronger than the fiercest Fires Strength and Wit before it fall Beauty Triumphs over all Written Extempore in a Young Lady's Almanack I. THink bright Myrtilla when you see The constant Changes of the Year That nothing is from Ruin free And Gayest things must disappear II. Think of your Glories in their Bloom The
Spring of Sprightely youth improve For cruel Age alas will come And then 't will be too late to Love TO Cleora I. YOU say you never think of Love Or know not what it is Nor ever had desires to prove The sweetness of the bliss II. 'T is true you say 't and we believe However strange it seems You may not wish but pray forgive If we mistrust your Dreams III. A sleep your prejudice is gone And nothing sow'rs the mind Your wishes then a pace come on And force you to be kind IV. The Angels who your slumbers guard Your tender Breast inspire With Love and Sing the dear reward Of every soft desire V. But when you wake 't is all forgot The Vision flies away And in the Night what power it got It looses in the day VI. Your Kindness is to shades confin'd And dies before the Light By day Cleora then be kind Or be it ever night OUT OF PETRONIUS An Imitation FRuition is at best but short A silly fulsom fleeting sport Which when we 've perfectly enjoy'd We 're quickly weary quickly cloy'd Let 's then no more pollute our Breasts With fires becoming only Beasts Or rush on pleasures which when known We wish it never had been done But thus Oh! thus let 's lye and Kiss Eternity away in bliss No trouble here or pain you 'll find Nor need you blush for being kind These Raptures Cloe never cease They please us now and still will please They ne're decay as others do But thus Oh! Thus are always new OUT OF CATULLUS LIsbia let us Live and Love All our little time improve Mirth and Pleasure crown our daies Spite of what the Dotard says If the Suns may set they rise Bright again and gild the Skies Put our Day depriv'd of Light Sleep succeeds and endless night An Hundred now a Thousand more Another hundred warm and close Another thousand press 'em thus Give me kisses I am poor When the thousands num'rous grow Kiss again that none may know What you lend or what I owe While I in gross with hast repay And kiss Eternity away SONG Set by Mr. Akevoyde I. FYE Coelia Scorn the little arts Which meaner Beauties use Who think they can't secure our Hearts Unless they still refuse Are coy and shy will seem to frown To raise our Passions higher But when the poor deceit is known It quickly palls desire II. Come let 's not trifle time away Or stop you know not why Your Blushes and your Eyes betray What Death you mean to dye Let all your maiden fears be gone And Love no more be crost Ah! Coelia when the Joys are known You 'll curse the Minute 's lost SONG Sung at York-Buildings Set by Mr. King IF Corinna would but hear What impatient Love could say She would banish idle sear And with ease his Laws obey She would soon approve the Song Like the Voice and bless the Tongue II. Since to Silence I 'm confin'd Sighs and Ogles must declare What Torments my thoughtful mind How I wish and how despair All the motions of my Heart Sighs and Ogles must impart SONG Set by Mr. Williams I. WHen with Flavia I am toying She with little sports gives o're Kissing is not half Enjoying Youth and Passion covet more Every touch methinks should move her And to dearer Joys invite When she knows how much I Love her And is fond of the delight II. Oh I see her young and tender Feel her Lips with passion warm See her ready to surrender When her fears dissolve the Charm Banish Flavia all suspicion All your sullen doubts destroy Trust me there 's no worse condition Than to wish and not Enjoy SONG Set by Mr. King I. THose arts which common Beauty's move Corinna you despise You think there 's nothing wise in Love Or Eloquent in Sighs You laugh at Ogle Cant and Song And promises abuse But say for I have courted long What methods shall I use II. We must not praise your Charms and Wit Nor talk of Dart and Flame But sometimes you can think it fit To smile at what you blame Your Sex's forms which you disown Alas You can't forbear But in a minute smile and frown Are tender and severe III. Corinna let us now be free No more your Arts persue Unless you suffer me to be As whimsical as you At last the vain dispute desist To Love resign the Field 'T was custom forc'd you to resist And custom bids you yield Epigram On a pert slovenly Satyrist PRithee W s don't write Satire Thou know'st nothing of the matter If thou would'st be wise and dapper Keep clean thy Face and eke thy paper Some Epigrams OF BOILEAU's Imitated IN Vain my foes have try'd a thousand ways To rob my Verses of their little praise But if the Fools would easily prevail Let P own my Works they cannot â—ail Another PIty me Sergeant I 'm undone To morrow comes my Tryal on R r comes out and you will see With the same Cannon he will roar Which mawl'd poor Shakespear heretofore And now comes thundring down on me 'T is done my fatal hour is come Not that my Muse can find her doom In any thing that he has said But yet to Answer him my friend The task would ne're be at an end Alas the Critick must be read Another AS I walk't by th' Exchange I heard a brisk Fop Disputing one day in my Bookseller's Shop That Beaumont to Burnet had never reply'd And the Case to Dick Parker was lest to be try'd Yes Sirs it was Printed I 've reason to know Cries Dick let me see 't was some 3 years ago He added beyond all dispute to remove it He 'd bring 'em an hundred fair Copies to prove it Nay quoth I coming up 't is too many you 're out I ne're heard the Book went so often about You say right Sir says he you may prove it your self Look up there 's an hundred and more on my Shelf THE Seventh Satire OF BOILEAU English'd NO more my Muse since Satire don't prevail Let 's change our Stile for once and cease to rail 'T is an ill Trade and we have often found Instead of giving we receive the wound Many a poor Poet by his Rage inflam'd Has mist his aim and seen his Writings damn'd And where perhaps he thought he rally'd best Some surly Rogue has drub'd him for the jest A tedious Panegerick coldly wrote Is bundl'd up and may at leisure rot It fears no Censures differing or unjust And has no Enemies but moth and dust But such malitious Authors are not safe Who laugh themselves and make their Readers Laugh Whom when we Read we blame yet still read on Who think that all is Lawful they have done And can't alas their merry Fits forego Tho' every grin engages them a foe A Poem soon offends if too severe For each will think he sees his Image there And he who reads it may applaud your Art Yet Curses Fears and Hates
my Bottle with a Jest and Song My pleasant Minutes would have rowl'd along Like a Fat Prebend careless and at Ease Content and Lazy I had liv'd in peace Slept well at Night and loiter'd all the Day From Passion ever free and ever gay Then limiting th' Ambition of my mind I had not courted Fortune to be kind Despising all her Pomp I should have known No state of Life more happy than my own Then fond of Rest and negligent of Fame I had ne're gone to Court to get a Name But liv'd in private and in full delight If no Malitious Power had made me write From the sad hour this frenzy first began With its black Vapours to molest my Brain That some cross Doemon Jealous of my Ease Flatter'd my Muse she had the Power to please Nail'd to my Works and adding something new Or razing out or still on the Review Still in this wretched Trade I pass my days So low that B can my Envy raise Oh! happy B thy Prodigious Muse Huge Books of Verse can in a year produce True-Rude and Dull to some she gives offence And seems Created in despite of sense Yet she will find whatever we have said Both Sots to Print her Works and Fools to read If thy verse Jingle with a lucky Rhime Ne're mind the Thought but Prosecute the Chime Unhappy those who would to Sense confine Their Verse and Genius will with Method joyn Since Fools have all the pleasure who dispence With Art in writing and despise the Sense Who always Fond of what they last brought forth Admire their skill and wonder at their worth While Wits sublime their utmost Fancies stretch To get those heights at last they cannot reach And discontented still at what they write Can't please themselves when others they delight What all the World applaud they scarce will own And wish for their repose it was undone You then who see the Ills my Muse endures Shew me a way to Rhime or teach me yours But least I should in vain your care implore Teach me Oh! how to Rhime no more TO Dr. Turberville Of Salisbury WHat was but little or but faintly known In former Ages ripens in our own The sacred Art which we did once believe Too much for man to ask or Heaven to give The bounteous God at last to you reveals Directs your skill and as you use it Heals Of old when thick Suffusion veil'd the sight 'T was Darkness all and ever during night The wretch despair'd and sought no more for Aid But yeilded to the Horror of the shade You quickly now the Solid Clouds dispel The fogs disperse the rising Vapours Quell You force you melt you drive the mists away And shew the Ravish'd Patient Gladsom Day The Sun before with useless Lustre shin'd On half the World for they Alas were blind Till his full Empire was by you restor'd And Man receiv'd the Blessing he Implor'd Lookt on the Light beheld it and Ador'd Pretenders tho they do not understand Their Art by chance may have a Lucky hand Yet if one sees amongst a thousand Blind They strive to help we think their fortune kind But when you touch you give a certain cure Speedy and Gentle as the methods sure Like Fate you Doom and where you promise Light The Patient rises from the threatned Night Or sinks beyond the hopes of human care When Heaven and you confine him to Despair A common Knowledge weak Distempers cures But great are left for such advice as yours And fam'd Physitians for a known disease Start at the Wonders you perform with ease To you the Blind in every case repair The Old the Young the Ugly and the Fair In all their wants your Judgments you Display The Old grow strong and the unhandsom Gay Their Sight by you defended from the rage Of sickness force of Accident and Age. Ev'n Beauty is indebted to your aid For many of the Conquests it has made Those Eyes where Love before in triumph sate Remov'd we thought above the rage of fate Wore once the Token of a rude Disease And scarce had left the little charm to please Hopeless of help from any other powers To you they come and find relief by yours At your command the Vapours disappear The Clouds are scatter'd and the Sight is clear Their Eyes shake off the Burthen of the Night And break thro all with the returning Light With vast success they reassume their state As the Sun rises Brighter than he sate New Graces in those radiant Circles move And what before we pity'd now we Love With grateful Souls your Wonders they Proclaim They wish you were Immortal as your Fame But Nature shortly will we fear decline And Death succeed to make you more Divine Oh! Could our Pray'rs th' Amighty pow'r Engage To spare you yet below another Age Another still we should be apt to crave And scarce consent to yield you to the Grave Whilst Darkness spreads and there are men to save For robb'd of you they must Embrace their Doom And Grope for ever in a Starless Gloom TO A Young Lady Who Commanded me To write Satire YOur Sex Lucinda other Theams should choose And not impose such hardships on a Muse Who ne'r durst venture yet on nobler flights Than those which every common Rhimer writes Feilds flowry Meadows shady Woods and Groves The Nymphs diversions and the Shepherds Loves But now you bid me change an Idle tale To stretch my Voice and use my self to Rail A thousand wrongs provoke me to the Fight And what is more Lucinda bids me write My Coward Muse yet durst not trust her wings And only what she can with safety sings She knows that Satire is a dangerous course And calls for wit sublimity and force That ev'ry Scribler ought not to engage To fall on vice with despicable rage For vertue suffers by the vain pretence When Fools affect to draw in its defence When such as by their Spleen and Choller fir'd On every Whim shall think themselves Inspir'd Who rob the Markets Billingsgate and stews Of names and terms and Curses which they use Or furnish'd by their breeding with enough Of such base matter and Plebeian stuff Publish their senseless Ribaldry for Rage And pass the cheat on a believing Age. Thus we have known a strange uneasy fool Come snarling up to Town from Country School Fall on the World with Impudence and Noise And as much freedom as he Whâ—pt his Boys None in his Brutal passion he â—â—uld spare Ev n Vertues self his insolence must be â—â— Nor aw'd 〈◊〉 â—â—mper'd by a form so bright He grow inâ—â—â—â—d and 〈◊〉 â—t the â—ight â—â—â—â—â—g'd his fury and dâ—vulg'd his shame The Mob approv'd it and the Soâ— had Fame You know Lucinda we by Satire mean No course Lampoon uncivil or obscene Where a vile Wit shall nauseous railing use Or to his passion prostitute his Muse A Libâ—ller might then pretend to sense Whose only property is Impudence Then common