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
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
1695. TO N. B Esq At ENFIELD I Receiv'd from you lately a very Sententious and Grave Epistle suitable indeed to the importance and dignity of the Subject being in Praise of Matrimony but why you should Address such a Discourse to me of all Mankind is what at first I could not easily comprehend You know very well I was never one of those Witty Gentlemen who are always railing at Women and Marriage as some People make Speeches against the Court with a design to get Places there I find the Trick miscarries so often and see so many of these Satirist Live with the scandal of old Batchelors that I am resolv'd to make my Peace with the Fair as soon as possible You were not wholly Ignorant of this disposition of mine when you wrote your Letter and on serious consideration of your proceedings I must tell you plainly that unless you had some further design in it you would have thrown away a great deal of very good Morality abundance of fine Sayings and Quotations to no purpose in the World They had been all lost on me for I was as fully perswaded before of what you say as I believe you to be sincere when you writ it However I am surpris'd at your excellent Temper and Moderation for upon some accounts I should have sooner expected from you a Satire than a Panegirick on a Marri'd Life and when you speak well of it it must be confest you show your self the most impartial and freest from Prejudice of any Man since your own Provocations cannot tempt you to speak against your Conscience This Letter of yours were it to be Publish'd and your Circumstances a little better known were enough to convert some of our most obstinate Marriage-haters they would see here a person who has suffer'd from Marriage the injury of Relations and the inconvenience of a Wife yet offering himself to Vindicate it to the last This would be a stronger Argument for it than any of those you have us'd to me and they would be apt to fancy there are those Secret pleasures in this blessed state perhaps in the disturbances of it which none know but such as are in it My Friend Mr. Oldmixon has seen your Letter and joins with me in admiring the Sagacity of it he is no Marriage-hater I assure you but what he says makes him wonder most is that being sensible how vexatious it must be to have a Wife out of her Wits you should still preserve your own and that being deni'd the priviledg of a Husband you should never take the liberties of a Batchelour in this he thinks you might have some relief if you were not so well contented and so much in Love with your Condition And you must certainly be very well pleas'd with it when you are always tempting others to Conform to the Doctrine of Matrimony unless as we are told in some other cases you design to betray us into the noose that you may have Companions in your Misfortune and laugh at the mischief you have done And you give me Sir some reasons to mistrust your intention at the close of your Letter when you recommend the ill Natur'd Lady to me for a Mistress I cannot help suspecting that you would be very glad to have me as near you own Circumstances as possible when the choice you have made for me so nearly resembles that which you were pleas'd to make for your self Well Sir I agree to your sage Councels and will give you the Honour of making me a Convert since you seem so much to affect it tho I assure you I was far from being in a necessity of your Admonition in this matter and to speak my mind freely if I had not been prepossest before with an ill Opinion of my present state your Reasons would not have had so compleat a Victory as you may now boast of the fine froward Lady you wish me to might have still liv'd without a Servant and have lost a very pretty opportunity to show her Talent at Scolding I wish to God you could change that fault of hers for any other I can never beat it out of my Head but there must be a great deal of plague in Noise Peevishness c. tho you know best indeed how far that is tollerable and I am resolv'd to take the Advice of People of Experience Bring me then to my Mistriss as soon as you please secure me in all her other Fair Endowments give me your promise that I shall clear my self of my Spouse as easily as you got rid of yours and see if I am not her and Lond. Jan. 30. 1696. SIR Your most Humble Servant T. S. TO Mr. Freeman SIR IF I were of all Men the most Extravagant and Whimsical you who were once guilty of the same weaknesses should be the last to Condemn me since the Passion that robs me of my Reason has before had the same effects on your self you have been long enough blest by it to forget its former Injuries and were I to be as happy in my Love as you have been in yours I would give you no more cause to complain of my being troublesome or disturbing your Conversation with Sighs Groans Rants and an Innumerable multitude of Complaints c. I mistrust indeed there are a great many persons in the World who would believe me a very improper Man to make a Husband were they to see me in some of those fits which you Advise me to be Cur'd of But these are persons who never felt the Power of Love 'T is true they are Husbands and we ought to suppose that all in those Circumstances were first in Minâ— We ought to suppose it if we did not see every day that a Man may easily be an Husband without being a Lover or concerning himself any farther about his Mistress than adjusting her Portion and Compounding the Settlement These are your Modern Husbands and your Modern Lovers and this is the reason why the Age is so plentifully Stock'd with a sort of Animals which the Antients us'd to shew for Monsters as we would now a Rhinoceros or an Vnicorn But thanks to our Stars Custom has prevail'd on us to look on them with less Astonishment and even our Children can now play with them without being Frighted I know some Men who if they were to Marry I should suspect they would serve their Wives as a Friend of mine â—â—es his Books lay them on the Shelf 〈◊〉 â—ever touch them but when they 〈◊〉 so much in his way that he cannot â—â—â—pe them who when ever he favours 〈◊〉 Author so far as to bring him into his Closet we know presently he never intends to Read him But we that are his Friends are asham'd to see a good Library grow mouldy for want of use and tumble it over as freely as if it were our own Property The negligence and disrespect of the generality of Husbands would be prevented if People were neâ—â—â— to Marry before