Selected quad for the lemma: book_n
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A53278
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The works of Mr. John Oldham, together with his Remains; Works. 1684
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Oldham, John, 1653-1683.; Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D. Metamorphoses.
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1684
(1684)
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Wing O225; ESTC R5199
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181,282
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676
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wed My Ladies antiquated Waiting-maid In Dressing only skill'd and Marmalade Let others who such meannesses can brook Strike Countenance to every Great man's Look Let those that have a mind turn slaves to ear And live contented by another's Plate I rate my Freedom higher nor will I For Food and Rayment truck my Liberty But if I must to my last shifts be put To fill a Bladder and twelve yards of Gut Rather with counterfeited wooden Leg And my right Arm tied up I 'll chuse to beg I 'll rather chuse to starve at large than be The gawdiest Vassal to Dependency 'T has ever been the top of my Desires The utmost height to which my wish aspires That Heav'n would bless me with a small Estate Where I might find a close obscure retreat There free from Noise and all ambitious ends Enjoy a few choice Books and fewer Friends Lord of my self accountable to none But to my Conscience and my God alone There live unthought of and unheard of die And grudge Mankind my very memory But since the Blessing is I find too great For me to wish for or expect of Fate Yet maugre all the spight of Destiny My Thoughts 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 Favourite 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 mould 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 Honour Sir but this I only take the Freedom to advise That you 'd a little lay your Roughness by And learn to practice 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 Mastiffs Neck to view all worn and bare This when his Comrade 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 VERSE 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 Nor 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 the attonement 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 chaste
That knew the Fellow's humour passing well Glad of the sight I joyn him we stand still Whence came you Sir and whither go you now And such like questions pass'd betwixt us two Strait I begin to pull him by the sleeve Nod wink upon him touch my Nose and give A thousand hints to let him know that I Needed his help for my delivery He naughty Wag with an Arch fleering smile Seems ignorant of what I mean the while I grow stark wild with rage Sir said not you You 'd somewhat to discourse not long ago With me in private I remember 't well Some other time be sure I will not fail Now I am in great haste upon my word A Messenger came for me from a Lord That 's in a bad condition like to die Oh! Sir he can't be in a worse than I Therefore for God's sake do not stir from hence Sweet Sir your pardon 't is of consequence I hope you 're kinder than to pross my stay Which may be Heav'n knows what out of my way This said he left me to my murderer Seeing no hopes of my relief appear Confounded be the Stars said I that sway'd This fatal day would I had kept my Bed With sickness rather than been visited With this worse Pâ—…gue what ill have I e're done To pull this eurâ—…e this heavy Judgment down While I was thus lamenting my ill hap Comos aid at length a brace of Bailiffs clap The Rascal on the back Here take your Fees Kind Gentlemen said I for my release He would have had me Bail Excuse me Sir I've made a Vow ne're to be Surety more My Father was undone by 't hereâ—…ofore Thus I got off and bless'd the Fates that he Was Pris'ner made I set at liberty Paraphrase upon HORACE BOOK I. ODE XXXI Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem Vates c. 1. WHat does the Poet 's modest Wish require What Boon does he of gracious Heav'n desire Not the large Corps of Esham's goodly Soil Which tire the Mower's and the Reaper's toil Not the soft Flocks on hilly Cotswold fed Nor Lemster Fields with living Fleeces clad He does not ask the Grounds where gentle Thames Or Severn spread their fat'ning Streams Where they with wanton windings play And eat their widen'd Banks insensibly away He does not ask the Wealth of Lombard-street Which Consciences and Souls are pawn'd to get Nor those exhaustless Mines of Gold Which Guinny and Peru in their rich bosoms hold 2. Let those that live in the Canary Isles On which indulgent Nature ever smiles Take pleasure in their plenteous Vintages And from the juicy Grape its racy Liquor press Let wealthy Merchants when they Dine Run o're their costly names of Wine Their Chests of Florence and their Mont-Alchine Their Mants Champagns Chablees Frontiniacks tell Their Aums of Hock of Backrag and Moselle He envies not their Luxury Which they with so much pains and danger buy For which so many Storms and Wrecks they bear For which they pass the Streights so oft each year And scape so narrowly the Bondage of Argier 3. He wants no Cyprus Birds nor Ortolaâ—…s Nor Daintics fetch'd from far to please his Sense Cheap wholsom Herbs content his frugal Board The food of unfaln Innocence Which the mean'st Village Garden does afford Grant him kind Heav'n the sum of his desires What Nature not what Luxury requires He only does a Competency claim And when he has it wit to use the same Grant him sound Health impair'd by no Disease Nor by his own Excess Let him in strength of Mind and Body live But not his Reason nor his Sense survive His Age if Age he e're must live to see Let it from want Contempt and Care be free But not from Mirth and the delights of Poetry Grant him but this he 's amply satisfi'd And scorns whatever Fate can give beside Paraphrase upon HORACE BOOK II. ODE XIV Eheu fugaces Posthume Posthume Labuntur anni c. 1. ALas dear Friend alas time hastes away Nor is it in our pow'r to bribe its stay The rolling years with constant motion run Lo while I speak the present minute 's gone And following hours urge the foregoing on 'T is not thy Wealth 't is not thy Power 'T is not thy Piety can thee secure They 're all too feeble to withstand Grey Hairs approaching Age and thy avoidless end When once thy fatal Glass is run When once thy utmost Thread is spun 'T will then be fruitless to expect Reprieve Could'st thou ten thousand Kingdoms give In purchase for each hour of longer life They would not buy one gasp of breath Not move one jot inexorable Death 2. All the vast stock of humane Progeny Which now like swarms of Insects â—…wl Upon the Surface of Earth's spacious Ball Must quit this Hillock of Mortality And in its Bowels buried lie The mightiest King and proudest Potentate In spight of all his Pomp and all his State Must pay this necessary Tribute unto Fate The busie restless Monarch of the times which now Keeps such a pother and so much ado To fill Gazettes alive And after in some lying Annal to survive Ev'n He ev'n that great mortal Man must die And stink and rot as well as thou and I As well as the poor tatter'd Wretch that begs his bread And is with scraps out of the common Basket sed 3. In vain from dangers of the bloudy Field we keep In vain we escape The sultry Line and stormy Cape And all the treacheries of the faithless Deep In vain for health to forein Countries we repair And change our English for Mompellier Air In hope to leave our fears of dying there In vain with costly far fetch'd Drugs we strive To keep the wasting vital Lamp alive In vain on Doctors feeble Art rely Against resistless Death there is no remedy Both we and they for all their skill must die And fill alike the Bedrols of Mortality 4. Thou must thou must resign to Fate my Friend And leave thy House thy Wife and Family behind Thou must thy fair and goodly Mannors leave Of these thy Trees thou shalt not with thee take Save just as much as will thy Coffin make Nor wilt thou be allow'd of all thy Land to have But the small pittance of a six-foot Grave Then shall thy prodigal young Heir Lavish the Wealth which thou for many a year Hast hoarded up with so much pains and care Then shall he drain thy Cellars of their Stores Kept sacred now as vaults of buried Ancestors Shall set th' enlarged Butts at liberty Which there close Pris'ners under durance lie And wash these stately Floors with better Wine Than that of consecrated Prelates when they dine The PRAISE of HOMER ODE 1. HAil God of Verse pardon that thus I take in vain Thy sacred everlasting Name And in unhallow'd Lines blaspheme Pardon that with strange Fire thy Altars I profane Hail thou to whom we mortal Bards our Faith submit Whom we acknowledg