the Plot-mongers stay behind whose Art Can Truth to Sham and Sham to Truth convert Who ever has an House to Build or Set His Wife his Conscience or his Oath to let Who ever has or hopes for Offices A Navy Guard or Custom-house's Place Let sharping Courtiers stay who there are great By putting the false Dice on King and State Where they who once were Grooms and Foot-boys known Are now to fair Estates and Honors grown Nor need we envy them or wonder much At their fantastick Greatness since they 're such Whom Fortune oft in her capricious freaks Is pleas'd to raise from Kennels and the Jakes To Wealth and Dignity above the rest When she is frolick and dispos'd to jest I live in London What should I do there I cannot lye nor flatter nor forswear I can't commend a Book or Piece of Wit Tho a Lord were the Author dully writ I 'm no Sir Sydrophel to read the Stars And cast Nativities for longing Heirs When Fathers shall drop off no Gadbury To tell the minute when the King shall die And you know what come in nor can I steer And tack about my Conscience whensoe're To a new Point I see Religion veer Let others pimp to Courtier 's Lechery I 'll draw no City Cuckold's Curse on me Nor would I do it tho to be made great And rais'd to the chief Ministers of State Therefore I think it fit to rid the Town Of one that is an useless member grown Besides who has pretence to Favour now But he who hidden Villany does know Whose Breast does with some burning Secret glow By none thou shalt preferr'd or valued be That trusts thee with an honest Secresie He only may to great men's Friendship reach Who Great Men when he pleases can impeach Let others thus aspire to Dignity For me I 'd not their envied Grandeur buy For all th' Exchange is worth that Pauls will cost Or was of late in the Scotch Voyage lost What would it boot if I to gain my end Forego my Quiet and my ease of mind Still fear'd at last betray'd by my great Friend Another Cause which I must boldly own And not the least for which I quit the Town Is to behold it made the Common-shore Where France does all her Filth and Ordure pour What Spark of true old English rage can bear Those who were Slaves at home to Lord it here We 've all our Fashions Language Complements Our Musick Dances Curing Cooking thence And we shall have their Pois'ning too e're long If still in the improvement we go on What would'st thou say great Harry should'st thou view Thy gawdy flutt'ring Race of English now Their tawdry Cloaths Pulvilio's Essences Their Chedreux Perruques and those Vanities Which thou and they of old did so despise What would'st thou say to see th' infected Town With the fowl Spawn of Foreigners o're-run Hither from Paris and all Parts they come The Spue and Vomit of their Goals at home To Court they flock and to S. Iames his Square And wriggle into Great Mens Service there Foot-boys at first till they from wiping Shooes Grow by degrees the Masters of the House Ready of Wit harden'd of Impudence Able with ease to put down either H Both the King's Player and King's Evidence Flippant of Talk and voluble of Tongue With words at will no Lawyer better hung Softer than flattering Court-Parasite Or City-Trader when he means to cheat No Calling or Profession comes amiss A needy Monsieur can be what he please Groom Page Valet Quack Operator Fencer Perfumer Pimp Jack-pudding Juggler Dancer Give but the word the Cur will fetch and bring Come over to the Emperor or King Or if you please fly o're the Pyramid Which I n and the rest in vain have tried Can I have patience and endure to see The paltry Forein Wretch take place of me Whom the same Wind and Vessel brought ashore That brought prohibited Goods and Dildoes o're Then pray what mighty Privilege is there For me that at my Birth drew English Air And where 's the Benefit to have my Veins Run Brittish Blood if there 's no difference 'Twixt me and him the Statute Freedom gave And made a Subject of a true-born Slave But nothing shocks and is more loath'd by me Than the vile Rascal 's fulsom Flattery By help of this false Magnifying Glass A Louse or Flea shall for a Camel pass Produce an hideous Wight more ugly far Than those ill Shapes which in old Hangings are He 'l make him strait a Beau Garçon appear Commend his Voice and Singing tho he bray Worse than Sir Martin Marr-all in the Play And if he Rhime shall praise for Standard Wit More scurvy sense than Pryn and Vickars Writ And here 's the mischief tho we say the same He is believ'd and we are thought to sham Do you but smile immediately the Beast Laughs out aloud tho he ne'er heard the jest Pretend you 're sad he 's presently in Tears Yet grieves no more than Marble when it wears Sorrow in Metaphor but speak of Heat O God! how sultry ' t is he 'l cry and sweat In depth of Winter strait if you complain Of Cold the Weather-glass is sunk again Then he 'l call for his Frize-Campaign and swear 'T is beyond Eighty he 's in Greenland here Thus he shifts Scenes and oft'ner in a day Can change his Face than Actors at a Play There 's nought so mean can scape the flatt'ring Sot Not his Lord's Snuff-box nor his Powder-Spot If he but Spit or pick his Teeth he 'l cry How every thing becomes you let me die Your Lordship does it most judiciously And swear 't is fashionable if he Sneeze Extremely taking and it needs must please Besides there 's nothing sacred nothing free From the hot Satyr's rampant Lechery Nor Wife nor Virgin-Daughter can escape Scarce thou thy self or Son avoid a Rape All must go pad-lock'd if nought else there be Suspect thy very Stables Chastity By this the Vermin into Secrets creep Thus Families in awe they strive to keep What living for an English man is there Where such as these get head and domineer Whose use and custom 't is never to share A Friend but love to reign without dispute Without a Rival full and absolute Soon as the Insect gets his Honor's ear And fly-blows some of 's pois'nous malice there Strait I 'm turn'd off kick'd out of doors discarded And all my former Service dis-regarded But leaving these Messieurs for fear that I Be thought of the Silk-Weavers Mutiny From the loath'd subject let us hasten on To mention other Grievances in Town And further what Respect at all is had Of poor men here and how 's their Service paid Tho they be ne'r so diligent to wait To sneak and dance attendance on the Great No mark of Favour is to be obtain'd By one that sues and brings an empty hand And all his merit is but made a sport Unless he
POEMS AND Translations By the AUTHOR of The Satyrs upon the Iesuits LONDON Printed for Ios. Hindmarsh Bookseller to his Royal Highness at the Black Bull in Cornhil 1683. Advertisement THE Author of the following Pieces must be excused for their being hudled out so confusedly They are Printed just as he finished them off and some things there are which he design'd not ever to expose but was fain to do it to keep the Press at work when it was once set a going If it be their Fate to perish and go the way of all mortal Rhimes 't is no great matter in what method they have been plac'd no more than whether Ode Elegy or Satyr have the honor of Wiping first But if they and what he has formerly made Publick be so happy as to live and come forth in an Edition all together perhaps he may then think them worth the sorting in better Order By that time belike he means to have ready a very Sparkish Dedication if he can but get himself known to some Great Man that will give a good parcel of Guinnies for being handsomly flatter'd Then likewise the Reader for his farther comfort may expect to see him appear with all the Pomp and Trappings of an Author his Head in the Front very finely cut together with the Year of his Age Commendatory Verses in abundance and all the Hands of the Poets of Quorum to confirm his Book and pass it for Authentick This at present is content to come abroad naked Undedicated and Unprefac'd without one kind Word to shelter it from Censure and so let the Criticks take it amongst them THE TABLE MOnsieur Boileau's Satyr upon Man imitated Page 1 Juvenal's thirteenth Satyr imitated 25 David's Lamentation for the Death of Saul and Jonathan paraphras'd Ode 49 The Ode of Aristotle in Athenaeus paraphras'd 66 Vpon the Works of Ben. Johnson Ode 69 The ninth Ode of the third Book of Horace imitated 87 Vpon a Lady who by overturning of a Coach had her Coats behind flung up and what was under shewn to the view of the Company 90 Catullus Epigram 7. imitated 97 The fourth Elegy of the second Book of Ovid's Amours imitated 99 The fifth Elegy of the same Book imitated 104 The tenth Elegy of the same Book imitated 110 A Fragment of Petronius paraphras'd 114 An Ode of Anacreon paraphras'd 116 An Allusion to Martial Book 1. Epigr. 118. 120 The Dream An Elegy 122 A Satyr touching Nobility Out of French 127 A Satyr address'd to a Friend that is about to leave the Vniversity and come abroad in the world 137 Presenting a Book to Cosmelia Elegy 149 The Parting Elegy 153 Complaining of Absence Elegy 156 Promising a Visit. Elegy 158 The careless Good Fellow Song 160 A Satyr concerning Poetry 164 The third Satyr of Juvenal imitated 180 A Dithyrambick The Drunkards Speech in a Mask 206 THE EIGHTH SATYR OF Monsieur BOILEAV Imitated Written in October 1682. The POET brings himself in as discoursing with a Doctor of the Vniversity upon the Subject ensuing OF all the Creatures in the world that be Beast Fish or Fowl that go or swim or fly Throughout the Globe from London to Iapan The arrant'st Fool in my opinion's Man What strait I 'm taken up an Ant a Fly A tiny Mite which we can hardly see Without a Perspective a silly Ass Or freakish Ape Dare you affirm that these Have greater sense than Man Ay questionless Doctor I find you 're shock'd at this discourse Man is you cry Lord of the Vniverse For him was this fair frame of Nature made And all the Creatures for his use and aid To him alone of all the living kind Has bounteous Heav'n the reas'ning gift assign'd True Sir that Reason ever was his lot But thence I argue Man the greater Sot This idle talk you say and rambling stuff May pass in Satyr and take well enough With Sceptick Fools who are dispos'd to jeer At serious things but you must make 't appear By solid proof Believe me Sir I 'll do 't Take you the Desk and let 's dispute it out Then by your favour tell me first of all What 't is which you grave Doctors Wisdom call You answer 'T is an evenness of Soul A steddy temper which no cares controul No passions ruffle nor desires inflame Still constant to its self and still the same That does in all its slow Resolves advance With graver steps than Benchers when they dance Most true yet is not this I dare maintain Less us'd by any than the Fool call'd Man The wiser Emmet quoted just before In Summer time ranges the Fallows o're With pains and labour to lay in his store But when the blust'ring North with ruffling blasts Saddens the year and Nature overcasts The prudent Insect hid in privacy Enjoys the fruits of his past industry No Ant of sense was e're so awkard seen To drudg in Winter loiter in the Spring But sillier Man in his mistaken way By Reason his false guide is led astray Tost by a thousand gusts of wavering doubt His restless mind still rolls from thought to thought In each resolve unsteddy and unfixt And what he one day loaths desires the next Shall I so fam'd for many a tuant jest On wiving now go take a jilt at last Shall I turn Husband and my station choose Amongst the reverend Martyrs of the Noose No there are fools enough besides in Town To furnish work for Satyr and Lampoon Few months before cried the unthinking Sot Who quickly after hamper'd in the knot Was quoted for an instance by the rest And bore his Fate as tamely as the best And thought that Heav'n from some miraculous side For him alone had drawn a faithful Bride This is our image just such is that vain That foolish fickle motly Creature Man More changing than a Weathercock his Head Ne'er wakes with the same thoughts he went to bed Irksome to all beside and ill at ease He neither others nor himself can please Each minute round his whirling humors run Now he 's a Trooper and a Priest anon To day in Buff to morrow in a Gown Yet pleas'd with idle whimsies of his brain And puft with pride this haughty thing would fain Be thought himself the only stay and prop That holds the mighty frame of Nature up The Skies and Stars his properties must seem And turn-spit Angels tread the spheres for him Of all the Creatures he 's the Lord he cries More absolute than the French King of his And who is there say you that dares deny So own'd a truth That may be Sir do I. But to omit the controversie here Whether if met the Passenger and Bear This or the other stands in greater fear Or if an Act of Parliament should pass That all the Irish Wolves should quit the place They 'd strait obey the Statutes high command And at a minutes warning rid the Land This boasted Monarch of the world that aws The Creatures
and Actions are and shall be free A certain Author very grave and sage This Story tells no matter what the Page One time as they walk'd forth e're break of day The Wolf and Dog encounter'd on the way Famish'd the one meager and lean of plight As a cast Poet who for Bread does write The other fat and plump as Prebend was Pamper'd with Luxury and holy Ease Thus met with Complements too long to tell Of being glad to see each other well How now Sir Towzer said the Wolf I pray Whence comes it that you look so sleek and gay While I who do as well I 'm sure deserve For want of Livelihood am like to starve Troth Sir replied the Dog 'thas been my Fate I thank the friendly Stars to hap of late On a kind Master to whose care I owe All this good Flesh wherewith you see me now From his rich Voider every day I 'm fed With Bones of Fowl and Crusts of finest Bread With Fricassee Ragoust and whatsoe're Of costly Kickshaws now in fashion are And more variety of Boil'd and Roast Than a Lord Mayor's Waiter e're could boast Then Sir 't is hardly credible to tell How I 'm respected and belov'd by all I 'm the Delight of the whole Family Not darling Shock more Favorite than I I never sleep abroad to Air expos'd But in my warm apartment am inclos'd There on fresh Bed of Straw with Canopy Of Hutch above like Dog of State I lie Besides when with high Fare and Nature fir'd To generous Sports of Youth I am inspir'd All the proud shee s are soft to my Embrace From Bitch of Quality down to Turn-spit Race Each day I try new Mistrisses and Loves Nor envy Sovereign Dogs in their Alcoves Thus happy I of all enjoy the best No mortal Cur on Earth yet half so bless'd And farther to enhance the Happiness All this I get by idleness and ease Troth said the Wolf I envy your Estate Would to the Gods it were but my good Fate That I might happily admitted be A Member of your bless'd Society I would with Faithfulness discharge my place In any thing that I might serve his Grace But think you Sir it would be feasible And that my Application might prevail Do but endeavour Sir you need not doubt I make no question but to bring 't about Only rely on me and rest secure I 'll serve you to the utmost of my Pow'r As I 'm a Dog of Honor Sir but this I only take the Freedom to advise That you 'd a little lay your Roughness by And learn to practise Complaisance like me For that let me alone I 'll have a care And top my part I warrant to a hair There 's not a Courtier of them all shall vie For Fawning and for Suppleness with me And thus resolv'd at last the Travellers Towards the House together shape their course The Dog who Breeding well did understand In walking gives his Ghest the upper hand And as they walk along they all the while With Mirth and pleasant Raillery beguile The tedious Time and Way till Day drew near And Light came on by which did soon appear The Mastiff's Neck to view all worn and bare This when his Camrade spi'd What means said he This Circle bare which round your Neck I see If I may be so bold Sir you must know That I at first was rough and fierce like you Of Nature curs'd and often apt to bite Strangers and else who ever came in sight For this I was tied up and underwent The Whip sometimes and such light Chastisement Till I at length by Discipline grew tame Gentle and tractable as now I am 'T was by this short and slight severity I gain'd these Marks and Badges which you see But what are they Allons Monsieur let 's go Not one step farther Sir excuse me now Much joy t' ye of your envied bless'd Estate I will not buy Preferment at that rate A Gods name take your golden Chains for me Faith I 'd not be a King not to be free Sir Dog your humble Servant so Godbw'y SOME VERSES Written in Septemb. 1676. Presenting a Book to COSMELIA GO humble Gift go to that matchless Saint Of whom thou only wast a Copy meant And all that 's read in thee more richly find Compriz'd in the fair Volume of her mind That living System where are fully writ All those high Morals which in Books we meet Easie as in soft Air there writ they are Yet firm as if in Brass they graven were Nor is her Talent lazily to know As dull Divines and holy Canters do She acts what they only in Pulpits prate And Theory to Practice does translate Not her own Actions more obey her Will Than that obeys strict Virtues dictates still Yet does not Virtue from her Duty flow But she is good because she will be so Her Virtue scorns at a low pitch to flie 'T is all free Choice nought of Necessity By such soft Rules are Saints above confin'd Such is the Tie which them to Good does bind The scatter'd Glories of her happy Sex In her bright Soul as in their Center mix And all that they possess but by Retail She hers by just Monopoly can call Whose sole Example does more Virtues shew Than Schoolmen ever taught or ever knew No Act did e're within her Practice fall Which for th' atonement of a Bush could call No word of hers e're greeted any ear But what a Saint at her last gasp might hear Scarcely her Thoughts have ever sullied been With the least print or stain of native Sin Devout she is as holy Hermits are Who share their time 'twixt Extasie and Prayer Modest as infant Roses in their Bloom Who in a Blush their fragrant Lives consume So chast the Dead themselves are only more Who lie divorc'd from Objects and from Power So pure could Virtue in a Shape appear 'T would chuse to have no other Form but Her So much a Saint I scarce dare call her so For fear to wrong her with a name too low Such the Seraphick Brightness of her mind I hardly can believe her Womankind But think some nobler Being does appear Which to instruct the World has left the Sphere And condescends to wear a Body here Or if she mortal be and meant to show The greater Art by being form'd below Sure Heaven preserv'd her by the Fall uncurs'd To tell how good the Sex was made at first THE PARTING TOO happy had I been indeed if Fate Had made it lasting as she made it great But 't was the Plot of unkind Destiny To lift me to then snatch me from my Joy She rais'd my Hopes and brought them just in view And then in spight the pleasing Scene withdrew So He of old the promis'd Land survey'd Which he might only see but never tread So Heav'n was by that damned Caitiff seen He saw 't but with a mighty Gulf between He saw 't to be more