E. Eldest Son to the Marquess of H. upon his Marriage and Return 31 To the Earl of Dorset and Middlesex c. upon his Marriage with the Lady Mary Compton 33 To Sir Edward Nevil Baronet upon his Marriage 35 To my unknown Brother M r R. R. hearing he was happily married 36 To G. G. C. Esq upon the Report of his being dead 37 To P. A. Esq on his Poems and Translations c. 38 To Mr. G. F. then in the Country Writ in 1681. 39 To the Countess of Abingdon 41 To my Lady Anne Bainton on the 28 th of April 1688. 43 To Mrs. H. Key 47 Absence 50 Prologue design'd for a Play of mine 53 On the new Edition of Godfrey of Bulloign 1687. The true Fast. A Paraphrase on the 58th of Isaiah 56 The Harlot A Paraphrase on the 7th of Proverbs 60 To Madam G. with Mrs. Phillips's Poems 65 To Madam Beaw Occasioned by a Copy of Verses of my Lady Ann Bainton's 66 Instructions to a young Lady 66 Funeral Elegies To the Memory of Mr. John Oldham 67 To the Memory of Edmund Waller Esq 69 To the Memory of Colonel Edw. Cooke 71 To the Memory of Mrs. M. Peachley 73 Urania A Funeral Eclogue to the pious Memory of the Incomparable Mrs. Wharton 75 Alcander A Funeral Eclogue sacred to the Memory of Sir G. G. Baronet 82 Pindarick Poems To the Society of the Beaux Esprits 101 To the Earl of Abingdon c. 121 To the Memory of our late Sovereign Lord King Charles II. 125 Satyrs Prologue to the following Satyrs and Epistles 131 Love given over or a Satyr against the Pride Lust and Inconstancy c. of Woman 141 A Satyr against the Playhouse 161 A Satyr upon Man 195 A Satyr upon the Laureat 227 A Consolatory Epistle to a Friend made unhappy by Marriage or A Scourge for ill Wives 237 Jack Pavy aliàs Jack Adams 255 To Julian Secretary to the Muses a Consolatory Epistle in his Confinement 279 To the much honoured D. D. Esq sent him with the Satyr against Woman 282 To the Ingenious Mr. J. Knight 287 To my Lord of Abingdon c. 293 To the Reverend Mr. Francis Henry Cary c. upon my fixing in the Country 301 POEMS Chiefly consisting of SATYRS AND Satyrical Epistles SONG I. Fatal Constancy 1. CIara charming without Art The wonder of the Plain Wounded by Love's resistless Dart Had over-fondly giv'n her Heart To a regardless Swain Who though he well knew Her Passion was true Her Truth and her Beauty disdain'd While thus the fair Maid By her Folly betray'd To the rest of the Virgins complain'd 2. Take heed of Man and while you may Shun Love's Deceitful Snare For though at first it looks all Gay 'T is ten to one y' are made a Prey To Sorrow Pain and Care But if you love first Y' are certainly Curst Despair will insult in your Breast The Nature of Men Is to slight who love them And love those that slight 'em the best 3. Yet let the Conq'rour know my mind Ingrateful Celadon That he will never never find One half so true or half so kind When I am dead and gone But as she thus spoke Her tender Heart broke Death spares not the fair nor the Young So Swans when they dy Make their own Elegy And breath out their Life in a Song SONG II. No Life if no Love. 1. CAelia is Chast yet her bright Eyes Are Motives to desire Each Look each Motion does surprize And lasting Love inspire Her smiles wou'd make the Wretch rejoyce That ne're rejoyc't before And O! to hear her charming Voice Is Heav'n or something more 2. And thus adorn'd where e're she turns Fresh Conquests on her wait The trembling Restless Lover burns Nor can resist his Fate Ah! Caelia as thou' rt fair be kind Nor this small Grace deny Though Love for Love I never find Yet let me Love or Dy SONG III. Pity if you 'd be pity'd 1. WHY Caelia with that coy Behaviour Do you meet Amintor's Flame Why deny him ev'ry Favour That so much adores your Name Adores it too with such a Passion Fervent lasting and Divine That wou'd from all Hearts draw Compassion All but that hard Heart of thine 2. Gods Why thus d' ye wast your Graces Why thus Bountiful in vain Why give Devils Angels Faces First to please and then disdain Where ever was a Beauteous Creature That bore lightning in her Eye But to her Lover shew'd ill Nature And cou'd smile to see him dy 3. 'T is true at last Heav'ns Indignation Causeless hatred to Reprove Makes her doat with equal Passion On some Youth averse to Love One that regardless sees her languish Like a withering Lily pine O pity then Amintor's anguish Or that Fate may soon be thine SONG IV. The reāsonable Request 1. FOR pity Caelia ease my care The scorn your Eye does dart Swifter than Lightning pierces Air Runs to my trembling Heart The Pangs of Death are less severe When Souls and Bodies part But Death I 've oft invok't and shall again For what fond wretch wou'd on the Rack remain And have no use of Life but still to live in pain 2. I not presume to beg a Kiss Twou'd heighten my Desire And a kind look's a happiness That wou'd but mount it higher Nor yet your Love for that 's a Bliss Where I must ne're aspire No this is all that I request and sure A smaller Boon was never beg'd before Do but believe I love you and I ask no more SONG V. The Hopeless Comfort 1. NOT though I know she fondly lies Claspt in my Rival's Arms Can free my Heart or keep my Eyes From fixing on her Charms 2. Tell me ye Pow'rs that rule our Fate Why are frail men so vain With so much Zeal to wish for that They never can attain 3. Some Comfort 't is I 'me not alone All are like me undone And that which does like Death spare none Why shou'd I hope to shun SONG VI. The Fruitless Caution Amintor Caelia Am. TAke heed fair Caelia how you slight The Youth that courts you now For though fresh Charms like dawning Light Still flourish on your Brow Yet fairest Days must know a Night And so alas must Thou In vain in vain You 'l then complain In vain your Scorn and Cruelty bemone For none can prove So dull to love When Age approaches or when Beauty 's gone Caelia Cease Fond Amintor cease your Suit For 't is but urg'd in vain who 'd sow where they can reap no Fruit But Anguish and Disdain Your whining Passion I despise And hearken to 't no more Than the deaf Winds to Seamen's cries When all the Billows roar For if when Youth and Beauty 's gone I must be scorn'd of Men I 'le now revenge e're Age come on My Persecution then SONG VII The Wanderer fixt 1. E'Re I saw Silvia I with ease Cou'd find out many that cou'd please With Beauty fraught and free
POEMS Chiefly consisting of SATYRS AND Satyrical Epistles By ROBERT GOULD LICENSED Ian. 8 th 1688 9. LONDON Printed and are to be sold by most Booksellers in London and Westminster MDCLXXXIX TO THE Right Honourable JAMES EARL of ABINGDON c. My Lord IN all Ages the greatest and wisest of Mankind have been the Patrons of Poesie They have taken the Authors into their Converse and their Works into their Bosoms and both in the one and the other have not fail'd of an agreeable and oft a Divine Entertainment But neither of these is to be expected from Me or my Writings These Poets might pretend their Merit to the Favour and Protection of their Patrons Whereas I must consider your Lordship's Condescension to me meerly as an effect of your Goodness which because it would have me do well gave me Encouragement though to do well was not really in my Power However when Vertue and Truth were my Subjects I never fail'd to exert my Endeavours You found me my Lord an Orphan without Fortune or Friends and have rais'd me to both I have had the smiles of many Persons because they knew I had your Lordship's Your Approbation was the Stamp that made me pass almost Vnquestion'd though at the same time you knew or at least I was conscious to my self the Metal was not right Sterling Nor has your Lordship only rais'd me and left me there but setled upon me such a competence as has fixt my Ambition Showing the World you are of the same mind of Timon in Shakespear 'T is not enough to help the feeble up But to support him after But I am not the only proof by many of your Lordship's Bounty 't is of a more diffusive Nature than to be so narrowly confin'd No Man that ever had the Honour of being a Retainer to your Lordship but has known it in a high degree To be admitted your Menial is in effect a Maintainance for Life And what may the good Servant expect when even the bad such as my self meet with Rewards so unproportion'd to any Merit they can pretend by their Service Neither are these Showres of Liberality rain'd only on your Domesticks Strangers as well as they have their share The Widow the Fatherless and the Poor are the continual Objects of your Charity amid'st affairs of the highest moment in which y' are now employ'd you have a thought that stoops to the Relief of the Wretched Our Divine Herbert tells us All worldly Goods are less Than that one good of doing kindnesses This is a Principle you live up to in all its Latitude for certainly your Lordship may pass under this general Character that never any Man was known to you but to his Advantage The Oath Pindar enjoins his Muse in Praise of Theron Prince of Agrigentum might with equal Justice be said of your Lordship Swear in no City e'r before A Better Man or greater Soul was born Swear that Theron sure has sworn No Man near him shou'd be poor Swear that none e'r had such a graceful Art Fortunes Free Gifts as freely to impart With an unenvious hand and an unbounded Heart Cowley The Respect I bear to Gratitude and Truth and the unfeigned Duty I owe your Lordship wou'd not suffer me to pass by making this Declaration which possibly may be no derogation or lessening of your Fame if what I have written happen to live to Posterity They will then see bad as this Age is there was some Vertue extant that there was one just Theme at least for Panegyrick amid'st our num'rous Subjects for Satyr And indeed it must be a sublime Pen that does your Lordship Right who were one of the very first that appear'd in the glorious Occasion of redeeming us from the Merciless Jaws of Popery and Slavery and once more make the reform'd Religion flourish in its primitive Purity as deliver'd to us by the holy Apostles before Innovation and Superstition had crept in and the grand Impostor trampled upon Crowns and Mitres Piety and not Power is the Rock on which the Church shou'd be founded The Fisher to convert the World began The Pride convincing of vain-glorious Man But soon his Follower grew a Sovereign Lord And Peter's Keys exchang'd for Peter's Sword Which still maintains for his adopted Son Vast Patrimonies though himself had none Wresting the Text to the old Gyant 's sense That Heav'n once more must suffer violence Denham 'T is indisputable Popery for many Years has been the source of all the Troubles and Divisions among us And nothing less than we have felt cou'd be expected from the restless Temper and diligent Malice of our Adversaries We have now a new Example though the old ones methinks might have serv'd That Nature Piety Brotherly Love and Charity with all the Sacred Ties that constitute Christianity are of no more strength to them than Sampson's Cords when his Harlot said The Philistins are upon thee Had things run on in that Chanel they had cut for 'em we are not sure the Blood had till now been running in our Veins But 't is to be hoped our Fears of the introducing that Perswasion are over It remains we should be thankful for our Deliverance Honour our Deliverers and endeavour by the Living up to the Religion we profess that Heav'n wou'd grant a Continuance of it to us But to be signal upon this Account is not the only glory of your Lordship your Life is but one continued Series of Honourable Actions which from the first as well as at the late Crisis of Affairs have been known to the Publick and every where discours'd to your Advantage Abingdon is a sound that has reacht every Ear If Poets may presume so far I cou'd methinks prophesy that in after days no name will be more generally celebrated They will ev'n then be secur'd by what has been done now and seeing their Safety Ease and Plenty with a long Uninterruption of their Religion Liberty and Property sprung from such as your Lordship who stood in the Breach when so bold a Blow was struck at the Fundamental Constitution of our happy Establisht Government they must consequently reflect on your Memoires with double Veneration The Poets too of those Times will not be ingrateful but to your Issue describing the Gallantry of their great Progenitors make 'em endeavour to tread in the same tract of Glory Nor indeed should I pass by this subject my self but that 't will be discretion to decline it since I know I am incapable of doing it Justice and for that Reason waving it will be as great a kindness as the little Modesty I have ever did me for I am now at last thoroughly satisfy'd of my inability of performing any thing well in Poesie And if a hearty Protestation of leaving off Writing in that way and betaking my self to those Studies that may make me more useful in the Station your Lordship has placed me will give me a better Title to your Lordship's
constant but their shame What Saty'rist then that honest can sit still And unconcern'd see such a Tyde of ill With an impetuous force o'erflow the Age And not strive to restrain it with his rage On Sin 's vast Army seize Wing Reer and Van And like Impartial Death not spare a Man For where alas where is that mighty He That is from Pride Deceit and Envy free Or rather is not tainted with all three Mankind is Criminal their Acts their Thoughts 'T is Charity to tell 'em of their Fau'ts And shew their failings in a faithful Glass For who won't mend that sees he is an Ass And this design 't is that employs my Muse This for her daily Theme she 's proud to chuse A Theme that she 'l have daily need to use Let other Poets flatter fawn and write To get some Guinnys and a Dinner by 't But she cou'd ne'r cringe to a Lord for meat Change sides for Int'rest hug the City-cheat Nor praise a prosp'rous Villain thô he 's great Quite contrary her Practice shall appear Unbrib'd Impartial pointed and severe That way my Nature leans compos'd of Gall I must write sharply or not write at all Tho' Thyrsis wings the Air in tow'ring flights And to a wonder Panegyrick writes Though he is still exalted and sublime Scarce to be marcht by past or present time Yet what Instruction can from hence accrue 'T is flatt'ry all too fulsom to be true Urge not for 't is to vindicate the wrong It causes Emulation in the young A thirst to Fame while some high Act they read That spurs 'em to the same Romantick deed As if some pow'rful magick lay in Rhimes That made men braver than at other times 'T is false and fond Hero's may huff and fight But who can merit so as he can write To hold a Glow-worm is the morning Star And that it may with ease be seen as far Were most ridiculous so wide from truth It justly wou'd deserve a sharp reproof That wretch is more to blame whose hireling Pen Calls Knaves and Coxcombs wise deserving men Says that the vitious are with vertue grac't Iudges all just and all Court-Strumpets chast If to be prais'd does give a man pretence To Glory Honour Honesty and Sense Cromwell had much to say in his defence Who though a Tyrant which all ills comprize Has been extoll'd and lifted to the Skies While living such was the applause they gave Counted High Princely Pious Just and Brave And with Encomiums waited to the Grave Who then wou'd give this for a Poet's praise Which rightly understood does but debase And blast that Reputation it wou'd raise Hence 't is and 't is a Punishment that 's fit They are condemn'd and scorn'd by men of wit 'T is true some Foplings nibble at their Praise And think it great to grace the Front of Plays Though most to that stupidity are grown They wave their Patron 's praise to write their own Yet they but seldom fail of their Rewards And Faith in that I cannot blame the Bards If Coxcombs will be Coxcombs let 'em rue If they love Flatt'ry let 'em pay for 't too 'T is one sure method to convince the Elves They spare my pains and satyrize themselves In short nought helps like Satyr to amend While in huge Volumes motly Priests contend And let their vain Disputes ne'r have an end They plunge us in those Snares we else shou'd shun Like Tinkers make ten holes in mending one Our dearest Friends too though they know our Fau'ts For pity or for shame conceal their Thoughts While we who see our failings not forbid Loosely run on in the vain Paths we did 'T is Satyr then that is our truest Friend For none before they know their Faults can mend That tells us boldly of our foulest crimes Reproves ill manners and reforms the Times How am I then too blame when all I write Is honest rage not prejudice or spight Truth is my aim with truth I shall impeach And I 'll spare none that come within it's reach On then my Muse the World before thee lies And lash the Knaves and Fools that I despise Love given over OR A SATYR Against the Pride Lust and Inconstancy c. OF WOMAN Writ in the Year 1680. TO THE Right Honourable CHARLES EARL of Dorset and Middlesex c. My Lord THE Widows Mite cast to the store Was more than all for she cou'd give no more The Rich indeed might daily Presents bring As flowing from an inexhausted Spring I say not this that you shou'd partial be Or think this more because it came from me But only that I am as poor as she As poor I mean in Sense as she in Coin Nor is that Mite originally mine 'T is true a Mite is in it self but small But vast the store that gives a Mite to all You are that Store my Lord whose boundless mind In Iudgment firm in Fancy unconfin'd Distributes Rayes of Sense to all Mankind It is but just then as the Gods inspire Earths sordid Clay with their Celestial Fire Which whensoe're the dull Mass finds a Grave Returns again to the same God that gave I shou'd that little All I have restore But blush to think that 't is improv'd no more I am My Lord Your Lordship 's Faithful And most humble Servant R. Gould Advertisement THE pious Endeavours of the Gown have not prov'd more ineffectual towards reclaiming the Errors of a vitious Age than Satyr the better way though less practised the amendment of Honesty and good Manners among us Nor is it a wonder when we consider that Women as if they had the Ingredient of Fallen-Angel in their Composition the more they are lash't are but the more hardned in Impenitence And as Children in some violent Distemper commonly spit out those cherishing Cordials which if taken might chase away the Malady so they inspir'd as 't were with a natural averseness to Vertue despise that wholsome counsel which is religiously design'd for their future good and happiness Iudge then if Satyr ever had more need of a sharper sting than now when he can look out of his Cell on no side but sees so many Objects beyond the reach of Indignation Nor is it altogether unreasonable for me while others are lashing the Rebellious times into obedience to have one fling at Woman the original of Mischief I am sensible I might as well expect to see Truth and Honesty uppermost in the World as think to be free from the bitterness of their Resentments But I have no reason to be concern'd at that since I 'm certain my design 's as far from offending the good if there are any among them that can be said to be so as those few that are good wou'd be offended at their Reception into Bliss to be there crown'd with the happy reward of their Labours As for those that are ill if it gall them it succeeds according to my wish for I have no
the day and Rapture of the night The Reins that guide us in our wild Careres And the Supporter of our feeble years No no 't is contradiction rather far They are the cause of all our Bosom-War The very source and fountain of our Woe From whence Despair and Doubt for ever flow The Gall that mingles with our best delight Rank to the tast and nauseous to the sight A days the weight of care that clogs the Breast At night the hag that does disturb our rest Our mortal Sickness in the mid'st of health Chains in our Freedom Poverty in Wealth Th' Eternal Pestilence and Plague of Life Th' original and Spring of all our strife These rather are the Vertues of a clam'rous Wife O why ye awful Powers why was 't your will To mix our solid good with so much ill But you foresaw our Crimes wou'd soar too high And so made them your Vengeance to supply For not the wild destructive wast of War Nor all the endless Lab'rinths of the Bar Famine Revenge Perpetual loss of health No nor that grinning Fiend despair it self When it insults with most Tyrannick sway Can plague or torture man so much as they But hold don't let me blame the Power 's divine Or at the wond'rous works they made repine All first was good form'd by th' eternal will Though much has since degenerated to ill Ev'n Woman was they say made chast and good But ah not long in that blest State she stood Swift as a Meteor glides through air she fell And shew'd to love that Sex too much is one sure way to Hell. Beware then dull deluded Man beware And let not vitious Women be the snare To make you the Companions of 'em there Scorn their vain smiles their little arts despise And your content at that just value prize As not to let those rav'nous Thieves of Prey Rifle and bear the sacred Guest away 'T is they 't is they that rob us of that Gem How cou'd we lose it were it not for them Avoid 'em then with all the gaudy Arts They daily practise to amuse our hearts Avoid 'em as you wou'd avoid their Crimes Which like a Torrent loose o'erflow the Times But now shou'd some for 't is too sure we may Find many Coxcombs that will own their sway Shou'd such revile the wholsom Rules I give And in contempt of what is spoke still live Like base-soul'd Slaves and Fetters chuse to wear When they may be as unconfin'd as Air Or the wing'd Racers that Inhabit there May all the Plagues an ill Wife can invent Pursue 'em with eternal Punishment May they but stay my Curses I forestal For in that one I 've comprehended all But say Sir if some Pilot on the Main Shou'd be so mad so resolutely vain To steer his Vessel on that fatal shore Where he has seen ten thousand wrack't before Though he shou'd perish there say wou'd you not Bestow a Curse on the notorious Sot Trust me the Man 's as much to blame as he Who ventures his frail Bark out willfully On the rough rocky Matrimonial Sea Selfish his Breast is with vain hopes possest For why shou'd he speed better than the rest THE PLAY-HOUSE A SATYR Writ in the Year 1685. TO THE Right Honourable CHARLES EARL of Dorset and Middlesex c. My Lord DEny'd the Press forbid the Publick view This Trifle for a Refuge flies to You To You my Lord in whom we well may see What a true English Noble-Man shou'd be Firm to his Honour to his Prince sincere Kind to desert and think it worth his care But to the servile Flatterer severe 'T is him we ought to fear of all Mankind He 's never without mischief in his mind The sweetest words still hide destructive Gall For 't was a gawdy outside damn'd us all But such you scorn their Poison can repell Yet spite of your Example Fools will use 'em well Who strives by noble ways to raise his name And makes true worth the Centre of his aim Can never miss of an establisht Fame He marks the Vices that disgrace the Age Flutter to Court and flourish on the Stage Does shun 'em too silence the Knavish Tongue And rescue injur'd Honesty from wrong This is the Man to whom our Praise is due And this Man treads in the same Path with You. There hardly e'r was known so good a thing But felt the subtle point of Envy's sting She seldom vents her rage on worthless Game Good Actions and good Men are still her aim But here we may and speak it too with Pride Say more of You than all Mankind beside Y' are Envy-proof and so is all y' ave writ For no Man e're was so presuming yet To fix a brand on your unquestion'd Wit So good I durst ev'n hope you will excuse This rude address of my unpollish't Muse What greater proof who in return will raise Her Wings above the usual pitch to sing her Patron 's praise Your Actions still their Parent-Soul confest And shew'd they took birth from a Gallant Breast A Breast which all the full-blown worth displays That can transmit a name to after days A generous temper and untainted mind A Conversation pleasant and refin'd Made up of all the Charms that can delight Mankind Courage enough to quell the Age's Crimes And firmly Loyal in Rebellious Times Then 't is he who a heart unshaken brings Is touch't found right and fit for glorious things Stands Bullwark in the Gap and ev'n obliges Kings Reflecting on all this how dare I bring To your strict view so mean an Offering Yet since truth made me write perhaps you may In its perusal throw an hour away For here my Lord you 'l meet with Knaves chastis'd Buffoons and Bullys equally despis'd Strumpets not spar'd whate'r is their degree If bad what is their Quality to me Ill Plays and Doggrel Poets damn'd in shoals With their devout admirers Coquets Fops and Fools But this perhaps might make its value less And for the Publick thought too fit a Dress For to write truth is one sure way to be deny'd the Press I am My Lord Your Lordship 's most humble And Devoted Servant R. Gould THE PLAY-HOUSE A SATYR OF all the things which at this guilty time Have felt the honest Satyr's wholsome Rhime The Play-house has scap't best been most forborn Though it of all things most deserves our scorn I then inspir'd with bold Satyrick rage A sworn Foe to the mercenary Stage And yet a Foe no further than to show The World what weed in that rank Soil does grow Will strip it bare of all the gay attire Which Women love and Fools so much admire Ye biting Scorpions for I 've heard of such And as for Spleen I cannot have too much Aid me I beg you with inveterate spite Instruct me how to stab each word I write Or if my Pen's too weak this Tyde to stem Lend me your Stings and I will write with them
this way have grown both great and rich Preferment you can't miss and be a Bitch This is the train that sooths her swift to Vice So she be fine she cares not at what price Though her lewd Body rot and her good name Be all one blot of Infamy and shame For with good rigging though they have no skill They 'l find out Keepers be they ne'r so ill How great a Brute is Man a Nymph that 's true Lovely and Wealthy nay and Vertuous too Of which alas we know there are but few Ev'n such they can despise throw from their Arms And think a thrice fluxt Player has more Charms A greater Curse for these I cannot find Than wishing they continue in that mind Now for the Men and those too we shall find As vile as vain as vitious in their kind Here one who once was as an Author notes A Hawker sold old Books Gazets and Votes Is grown prime Vizier now a Man of parts The very load-stone that attracts all Hearts In 's own conceit that is for ne'r was Elf So very much Enamor'd of himself But 't is no matter let him be so still It gives us the more scope to think him ill No Parts no Learning Sense or Breeding yet He sets up for th' only Judge of Wit. If all cou'd judge of Wit that think they can The arrant'st Ass wou'd be the Wittiest Man. In what e'r Company he does engage He is as formal as upon the Stage Dotard and thinks his stiff comportment there A Rule for his Behaviour every where To this we 'll add his Lucre Lust and Pride And Knav'ry which in vain he strives to hide For through the thin disguise the Canker'd heart is spy'd Let then his acting ne'r so much be priz'd 'T is sure his converse is much more despis'd Another you may see a Comick Spark Aims to be Lacy but ne'r hits the mark Yet that he can make sport must be confest But Echo-like he but repeats the Jest. To be well laught at is his whole delight And 'faith in that we do the Coxcomb right Though the Comedian makes the Audience roar When off the Stage the Booby tickles more When such are born sure some soft Planet rules He is too dull ev'n to converse with Fools A third a punning drolling Bant'ring Ass Cocks up and fain wou'd for an Author pass His Face for Farce nature at first design'd And matcht it too with as Burlesque a mind Made him pert vain a Maggot vile ill-bred And gave him heels of Cork and brains of lead To speak 'em all were tedious to discuss But if you 'l take 'em by the Lump they 're thus A pack of idle pimping spunging Slaves A Miscellany of Rogues Fools and Knaves A Nest of Leachers worse than Sodom bore And justly merit to be punish't more Diseas'd in Debt and every moment dun'd By all good Christians loath'd and their own Kindred shun'd To say more of 'em wou'd be loss of time For it with Justice may be thought a Crime To let such Rubbish have a place in Rhime Now hear a wonder that will well declare How extravagantly lewd some Women are For ev'n these men base as they are and vain Our Punks of highest Quality maintain Supply their daily wants which are not slight But 't is that they may be supply'd at night These in their Coaches they take up and down Publish their foul disgrace o'er all the Town And seem to take delight it shou'd be known And known it shall be in my pointed Rhimes Stand Infamous to all succeeding Times It wou'd be endless to trace all the Vice That from the Play-House takes immediate rise It is the unexhausted Magazin That stocks the Land with Vanity and Sin As the New River does from Islington Through several Pipes supply ev'n half the Town So the Luxurious lewdness of the Stage Drain'd off feeds half the Brothels of the Age. Unless these ills then we cou'd regulate It ought not to be suffer'd in the State. More might be said but by what 's said we see 'T is the sum total of all Infamy And thence conclude by flourishing so long It has undone Numbers both Old and Young That many hundred Souls are now unblest Which else had dy'd in Peace and found eternal rest The End of the Satyr against the Play-House A SATYR UPON MAN. Writ in the Year 1688. TO THE Right Honourable CHARLES EARL of Dorset and Middlesex c. My Lord THE best Excuse the Author of a Dedication can make his Patron is in my Iudgment to assure him he shall not be troubled with his future Impertinence I have oft presum'd upon your Lordship's Goodness and can no otherwise make amends than by protesting this is the last time I shall offend you in this Nature Poetry has hitherto been my Diversion I must take care it does not encroach upon my better Judgment and oblige me to make it my business in order to it I here take a solemn and lasting leave of it Your Lordship has set the Example In your Youth Poesie sometimes snatch't a moment or two from your other Diversions and never indeed did so small time produce so lovely an Issue Whatever you writ was full of that Fancy Wit and Judgment which made and does yet make your Conversation of all things most desirable and charming but now grown to an age mature more solid and sublime things are become the Favorites of your choice and study Poetry shou'd never be entertain'd in a Man's Bosome she may sometimes be admitted to make a Visit and away her constant converse is vain and trivial What Cowley says upon another occasion I cou'd methinks naturally adapt to my present thoughts of Poetry My Eyes are open'd and I see Through the transparent Fallacy Indeed my Lord to be always versifying is to be always wasting the most pretious Gift of Heav'n our Time without so much as the pretence of Gain for an Excuse But say that a Man were worthy of praise and that his Writings really deserv'd it yet that Chamelion diet is a little too thin for a Poet's constitution though I must confess if 't were possible to live upon Air our Modern Rhimers wou'd find out the secret But since 't is not 't is time my Lord to take my leave of an unkind Mistress and not with them doat on till I am in danger of starving I am My Lord Your Lordship 's most humble And much obliged Servant R. Gould Advertisement I Have endeavour'd in this Poem to write as bold Truths as I cou'd and I hope without offence to good Manners Though some may imagine I have swerv'd from it in the Characters at the latter end of the Satyr But I wou'd have the Critick know that if there are really such Persons as be there describ'd they ought to have the Reprehension there given for where Folly and Knavery are so visible I will be so much a Leveller as to
goes This modest Creature this Black-Angel Saint She has install'd her Bosom Confidant And the chief Reason why she this prefers Because her Vice goes hand in hand with hers Early they enter'd the Venereal chase And hitherto they 're equal in the race Swift they begun and still they keep their pace To ly detract talk Bawdy and Blaspheme Employs their time they scorn all other Theme The Oaths that Bullies barter at a fray Or eager Gamesters when they lose at play Are nothing when we them with those compare Which in their Cups flow from this Friendly Pair Bullies she keeps too void of sense and shame With five-foot Swords to vindicate her Fame Good Heav'ns that she shou'd think of a good Name All Rabble-Rascals born of Parents base Their Pedigree is blazon'd on their Face Vain rude ill-bred the scandal of their kind And therefore fit for the ill Fate they find Which is to wast their health with her a-nights And their base blood in needless brawls and fights What Brutes are these that can so busy be To take great pains to get great Infamy But hitherto my Friend you 'l only find I 've shown how she degenerates in her mind Her Person in the Change too has it's share You 'l find as great an alteration there Bloated all o'er her Hyde can hardly hold her Neck shrunk her Head does lean upon each shoulder Her Face carbunckl'd Nodes upon her Skin Which shows there 's rank Contagion lodg'd within Compar'd with that which to your Arms she came Neither her Soul nor Body are the same Yet thus deform'd a Dog wou'd loath to meet her She makes out fresh enquiry for a Keeper In vain she 'l nere succeed do what she can The only Woman since the World began That 's ev'n too vile to match her self in Man. But here perhaps some People may object I 've us'd a Friend's Wife with too course neglect I ought to pity her if not respect But I wou'd fain know of these senseless Elves That thinks so very wisely of themselves If when a Feavor rages in the Blood The Doctor 's pity does the Patient good These are forsooth so tender of her Fame Rather than blame her Faults they Cloak her shame While I that pity not a better Friend Show her her self and teach her how to mend By this time I presume all are inclin'd To think you the most wretched of Mankind And past hope of relief I answer no Nay more than that so far from being so Among the Fry of Husbands there 's but few That know so much Tranquillity as You. The shaft is blunt that was so sharp at first And 't is some Comfort to be past the worst No jealous pangs with anguish you conceal The most inveterate Sting that Man can feel For certainly it is less pain to know A Wife is False than to believe she 's so Nay you are safer than th' unmarry'd are For they are still in danger of the snare Their misery is to come but yours is past Yours but a while and theirs may ever last But some will say y' are still at vast expence 'T is true but then your Peace does spring from thence The sep'rate maintainance you yearly give Sep'rate from her makes you in safety live The more you think the more this thought will please You give her money and she gives you ease And where 's the Man so ill in love with Life But wou'd do more to have it freed from strife How many Men of Honour cou'd I name That wou'd give thousands were their Case the same For an ill Wife will stick where she is thrown Few beside you can say The Bird is flown Tell me not you might meet some Heav'nly Dame That loves you with a chast and fervent Flame Whose Charms to endless Pleasure do invite And she has robb'd you of the vast delight What Man what run again into the Snare Where you were caught so lately Have a care Of your dear Reputation be more nice There 's no excuse for him that marries twice Especially if his first Wife were bad For she proclaims him moap't the second mad But why all this y 'ave try'd the dangerous Main And are too wise to trust your Fate again Compar'd with yours how wretched is his plight That 's join'd with a Lascivious Hypocrite Who still professing good is ill by stealth Wasts his Estate and undermines his health Yet all the while laughs in the Dotards Face And thinks her wickedness is his disgrace Though your good Woman of the two is worse Yet tother to the Man 's the greatest Curse For ever free from such sallacious guile You live in Peace and at the Monster smile Enjoy your Book your Bottle and your Friend Three of as choice Companions Heav'n can send These are the Blessings that attend your Life For which in some sort you may thank your Wife For if she had continu'd with you still Your Cure had been above the reach of skill The Sweets which now you tast had turn'd to Gall And wanting sweet content y 'ad wanted all Which now y' are sure she never can destroy But see a Prospect all made up of Joy. The End of the Scourge for ill Wives Jack Pavy Aliàs Iack Adams TO THE Right Honourable JAMES EARL of ABINGDON c. My Lord WHen I was last at Lavington I had the good Fortune to see the Extraordinary Person to whom the following Epistle is subscrib'd and from an occasional saying of your Lordship's took the hint of the Poem which therefore I now here present to your Lordship Some will for their own Interest think it a Paradox and some I cou'd hope methinks will not However at worst if the Argument fail in the Main the Iudicious and Lovers of Truth will by the way find so much Vanity and Knavery discover'd as may perhaps encline 'em to forgive me But above all if it please your Lordship 't will be my greatest satisfaction having resolv'd for the future next my Devotions to Heav'n to make that the chief study of My Lord Your Lordship 's infinitely obliged And most humble Servant R. Gould TO JACK PAVY c. 'T Is true dear Iack thou' rt of all sense bereft And can'st not tell thy right hand from thy left Observ'st no Seasons Reason Right or Rule In short thou art indeed a Natural Fool. And hence some Men so insolent we find To think thee the most wretched of Mankind But I who all along have took delight To speak plain Truth and vindicate the right Must tell thee thou' rt abus'd No man can be More happy more the Care of Heav'n than Thee Your Standard Fool the Fool we shou'd despise Is he that is a Fool and thinks he 's wise And first for a foundation I wou'd know What Man can be intirely blest below If not as dull as thou The Turns of Fate Promiscuously on all the wiser wait Grief horrour shame distrust despight
Protection than any I can yet boast of I shall not doubt to approve my self My Lord Your Lordship 's Faithful humble And entirely Devoted Servant Robert Gould PREFACE I Should say something methinks in relation to the Papers I here publish and truly the first thing I shall say is that I do not conceive they deserve that trouble However that the Reader may be enclin'd to forgive some of the many Faults he will be sure to meet with I must inform him they were all writ in an Age that has some Pretence to a Pardon as also without those advantages of Learning necessary for the management of such studies the Greek and Latine Poets being in their Original Tongues wholly unknown to me This is a kind of Confession that wou'd have grated some Men to have publish't but 't is Truth and that takes away a little from the reproach on 't though I hope 't will be thought none since the avoidless Circumstances I have been in deny'd me all access to the bettering my self by Letters the necessary and daily Provision for an honest subsistence taking up my Time and no Man can be Disposer of his Fate a supreme hand governs Notwithstanding I must declare I found admittance into the best and most refin'd Conversation But Conversation 't is allow'd is not able to make a Poet though indeed it may improve him There shou'd be a Foundation laid in the University which also shou'd be mellow'd and pollisht by Travel and Correspondence for that gives us a clearer Inspection into Men and their variety of Dispositions without this to speak plain there will appear some of the Rust of the College in a Man's Manners and Intellect A Man of general Knowledge is not to be made so there meerly for a Divine it may do indifferent well yet 't were better they knew the World more without which they cannot truly teach us to despise it Beside all this there shou'd be some skill in the Modern as well as Learned Languages and a good Study of Books some of all Authors to resort to at Pleasure for nothing but that which makes a truly accomplisht Gentleman can make a good Poet and to push the Parallel home as one born a Gentleman unless his Education illustrate his Extraction is more contemptible than the vilest Peasant so a Poet though so by Nature will prove himself to be little better unless Art and Judgment are ready at hand to give the last touch and gracefulness to his Writings and make that a finisht Piece which before was but a Sketch or Rough-Draught of the Fancy A Man must have an equal Portion of both though of different Species they must be made one Individual like the Hermaphrodite in Ovid without which nothing can be produced that will bear the Test of Ages 'T was this the Ancients meant Nature and Skill Are the two Tops of their Parnassus Hill. Thus Sir John Denham who indeed in his Cooper's Hill has reacht those Two Tops he there speaks of and if the most Excellent things deserve most Imitation certainly no Man ought to write in English without laying down that Poem as his Pattern there we see of what our Language is capable Life Sweetness Strength and Majesty And M r Waller whose Works claim the same Veneration tells us Though Poets may of Inspiration boast Their Rage ill govern'd in the Clouds is lost He that proportion'd Wonders can disclose At once his Fancy and his Iudgment shows And in the late Admirable Essay upon Poetry by the Earl of Mulgrave As all is dullness when the Fancy's bad So without Iudgment Fancy is but mad Reason is that substantial useful part That gains the Head while tother wins the Heart Ben Johnson too le ts us know in his Elegie upon Divine Shakespear That though the Poet's Matter Nature be His Art must give the Fashion and that He That means to write a Living Line must sweat And without tiring strike the second Heat Upon the Muses Anvil Or for the Lawrel he may purchase scorn For a good Poet 's made as well as born And in short the difficulty of being a good one is so very great 't is scarce attainable ev'n by the well Learned for an Excellent Scholar may be a bad Poet how hard is it then for one that is no Scholar to be a Good Poet And indeed the Consideration of the Disadvantages I labour'd under which made it impossible for me to be so ought in Discretion to have made me lain down my Pretensions to that Art as soon as taken up and not have follow'd the Violence of an Inclination which though pleasing to my self might make me Obnoxious to the just and sharp Rallery of the Criticks as the late Famous Earl of Rochester naturally expresses it Your Muse diverts you makes the Reader sad You fancy y' are inspir'd he thinks you mad Consider too 't will be discreetly done To make your self the Fiddle of the Town And certainly there is no worse Fate upon Earth than being laught at But if the Reader will forgive what is amiss I will never give him any fresh Occasion for that Favour for here I renew my Promise made to two great Men of yielding up all my Engagements to that Study together if the Criticks please with the very Name of a Poet which I confess I do not deserve Resolving seriously never more to write a line unless in command to those I dare not disobey though ev'n there I am so far secur'd that no man of sense will think it worth the while to lay such an Injunction upon me and I pay no observance to Fools Yet methinks I comfort my self with this that by leaving off scribling betimes the most malicious can but say I have thrown away the spare Intervals of five or six youthful years which is in some sort aton'd in that I shew the World 't is possible for a Poet to lay aside Versifying and encline to Business However thus far I may justly boast that I am the first that ever under thirty Years of Age took a voluntary leave of the Muses THE TABLE POEMS chiefly consisting of Satyrs and Satyrical Epistles SONG I. FAtal Constancy Page 1 SONG II. No Life if no Love 3 SONG III. Pity if you 'll be pitied 4 SONG IV. The reasonable Request 5 SONG V. The Hopeless Comfort 6 SONG VI. The fruitless Caution 7 SONG VII The Wanderer fixt 8 SONG VIII The unwilling Inconstant 9 SONG IX Nothing wanting to Love 10 SONG X. The Result of Loving 11 SONG XI Prescription for Falshood 12 Love-Verses The Captive 13 To Caelia desiring his Absence 14 The Prayer ibid. An Expostulation for discover'd Love which yet could not be conceal'd 15 The vain Pursuit To a Lady that desir'd him to write to her in Verse 17 Love and Despair 18 The Hopeless Lover In a Vision to Caelia 19 Sylvia in the Country 1682. 25 Sylvia luke-warm 26 Sylvia perjur'd 27 Miscellanies To my Lord