Religion in their kind From Schisms false Doctrine and Ambition free And pride the darling Sin of poor Mortality XXII Here ere the Lawns with Summer blessings crown'd Pleas'd with their lusty Health they nimbly bound ' Free from the Weathers wild ingrateful storms The trembling Hares sit quiet in their Forms Sweet smelling Panthers of whose Spots we read In modern Pamphlet here may welcome feed But yet no Baptist Boar nor foaming Bear can graze Nor one Immortal Hind in all the Place XXIII When the great General with Victorious Sword Thrice happy Englands best of Kings restor'd When Crouds were to Obedience forc'd to bow And old Rebellions Giant-head lay low The mighty Genius of this God of War Big with his Merit did this Place prepare And smiling on him with an awful Grace Spoke thus Thou wondrous Man rest here in Peace XXIV Here let thy glass of Life in quiet run And let the World admire what thou hast done Thou that from Chaos didst to order bring Dissenting Crowds that shuffled out the King And when black gathering Clowds of Mischief grew Too dark for any but thy Eyes to view That all the jarring parts thy power might know Spak'st loud let there be Light and it was so XXV This said the Genius bow'd his awful head And at his Feet the conquer'd Trophies laid From hence a Series of new Years ran on Till throng'd with Time this great triumphant Man Like some tall lofty Pine with blessings crown'd Sunk with his mellow Glories to the ground Leaving behind a Theme far more sublime Than e'er agen will grace succeeding Time XXVII Sir still in you we the old Hero see The same true Courage and true Loyalty The Father of his Country does return You in a Phenix rising from his Urn Whose stedfast Faith no Interest could sway So well his Heart had taught him to obey To serve his Prince all Dangers would run o'er Dreading to stormy Sea nor no inhospitable shore XXVII Yet tho this Sir on Duties score you do Reason advises to be cautious too When from high Towers you see the dazling height 'T were direct madness to precipitate Hard is the Game you long have had to play Many would have you go and more to stay To keep you here still wish your faithful Friends But Og would have you gone for his own ends XXVIII Projecting Og by you like Taper snuft Like Spider now with innate Venom puft A Bulk sincere but there 's no Faith in that For all Men are not honest that are fat This Age by a new jugling Fallacy Fattens those most who best can Cheat and Lye Who with next Heir at Law would trust his health Or who a bloated Bancrupt with his wealth XXIX To Fame and Truth your Soul did ever bend The bravest Man is still the truest Friend Heaven its best Graces to your Heart disclos'd There all the Elements so well compos'd That no unruly Passion dares aspire Not too much Earth nor yet too little Fire But in your Bosom form'd all gently move You shew at once the Eagle and the Dove XXX Forgive me Sir that I these Truths relate And believe Flattery is a thing I hate The Courtier 's Gloss to varnish his dull Speech Could I have flatter'd well I had been Rich A well form'd Parasite's an Art so dear I might have got three hundred Pound a year That now can boast no greater Wealth my due Than a good Character from such as You. XXXI And rich I am in that may then your years Rowl on with Joy and may you know no Cares May bounteous Plenty bless you with her Store And all the teeming Western Mines with Ore May Spicy Breezes cool the parching Air That no hot Ray presume t' offend the Fair And in a happy hour may England boast She can win back the Treasure she has lost Mr. HAINEâ—'s Second Recantation A PROLOGUE intended to be spoken by him dress'd in a Turkish habit MY Reconversion Sirs you heard of late I told you I was turn'd but not to what The truth disguis'd for Cause best known to me But now what really I am you see In vain did English Education work My Faith was sixt I always was a Turk Besides my rambling Steps ere I came home Constantinople reach'd as well as Rome And by the Mufti who nice Virtue priz'd For being so Circumspect was Circumcis'd 'T is true I did endeavor to refuse That dam'd old silly Custom of the Iews Because I was asham'd of being shown I was too plump a Babe an Infant too well grown But they would finish what they had begun So between Turk and Iew my Jobb was done I wish the promis'd blessing may appear I 'm sure I bought Religion plaguy dear For to be free I greater Danger ran Of being an Eunuch than a Musselman But Constancy takes strangly in that Place My manly Suffering won the Peoples Grace I gain'd their Hearts their chiefest Secrets saw We whor'd and got Drunk contrary to Law I had five Wives thank the dear Prophet for it A Black a Blew a Brown a Fair a Carrot And by the way 't is worth your Observation To note the sollid Wisdom of that Nation Wives are like Spannels there and when ye marry You need but whistle Wife must fetch and carry A pretier Custom if I understand Than 't is in England here where they Command The Ladies here may without Scandal shew Face or white Bubbies to each Ogling Beau But there close veil'd not one kind Glance can fall She that once shews her Face will shew ye all Wits there are too but Poet there 's but one A huge unweildy jarring Lute and Tunn That spite of all my Parts the Laurel won Not for his skill in Satyr or in Lyricks Or for his humble Stile in lofty Panegyricks Or the rare Images that swell his Noddle But sitting up and Joking o'er a Bottle His Patron 's Wit still as his own is us'd Yet never had a Friend but he abus'd What is his own has neither Plot nor Soul Nor ever one good thought but what he stole Eating not Writing is his proper Function Supper 's his Sacrament his Extreme Unction Like Whores condemn'd that free themselves from Chains He pleaded for 't his Belly I my Brains But Poet Belly routed Poet Haines Missing this Post I get into the Wars But finding quickly there 's were real jars Not liking that robust Confusion there Sneak'd off in time to get Commission here Well knowing that what ever wrongs are righting You London Blades have wiser ways than fighting FINIS Books Printed for Abel Roper at the Bell near Temple-Bar 1. A Weeks Exercise preparatory towards the Reception of the Holy Communion Dedicated to the Princess of Denmark by W. W. 2. Life and Reign of Innocent the Eleventh late Pope of Rome Books Printed for John Bullord at the Old Black Bear in St. Paul's Church Yard 1. A Critical History of the Text of the New Testament Wherein is firmly Establish'd the Truth of those Acts on which the Foundation of Christian Religion is laid By R. Simon Priest 2. A View of the true Interest of the several States of Europe since the Accession of their Present Majesties to the Imperial Crown of Great Britain Also shewing the many Advantages of a strict Union in Opposition to the Unjust Usurpations and False Pretensions of the French King Both quarto * Snetonius writes of Augustus that he was not only an extraordinary lover of the ingenious Authors of that Age but also an excellent Poet himself he once writ a bitter Satyr against a Poet who durst return no answer only saying Periculosum est in eâ—m scribere qui potest proscribere * A Cant amongst Gamesters signifying a Cheat. * Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was Sirnamed Philosophus not only for his knowledge but also practice of Philosophy and was observed to have often in his Mouth that speech of Plato Tunc florent Respublicae quando Philosophus Regit vel Rex Philosophatur †This Emperor was also very Eloquent and a good Poet as Martial testifies of him vid. his Epigram of him lib. 11. Epig. 6. Quanta quies placidi tanta est facundia Nervae * 'T is reported of him that Augustus once earnestly desiring him to sing was deny'd * To the Eighteen penny Gallery †To the Pit * Puts on a great Peruke * Pulls of a Peruke and claps on a broad Hatt * Alluding to an old erroneous Opinion of the Ancients that the Ash not bearing her yearly Keys as accustom'd boded Revolutions of State or the distress or death of some great Prince or Monarch †Porgne the Wife of Tereus turn'd into a Swallow ‖ Iâ—ys her Son turn'd into a Pheasant * K. Charles II. * London * The Church * Porcia * A Spanish Wreck found and a vast Treasure taken up from the bottom of the Sea and lately brought home * A short Character of New-Hall his Grace's House in Essex * Stroking his Mustaches
as the first Maid That once for Fruit the World betray'd A Rosie Cheek and such a Skin As well might give excuse for Sin If Sin were possible to be Enclos'd in such Divinity The other was of browner hew Yet the more charming of the two A shape Divine and sparkling Eye Her Foot her Leg her taper Thigh Her Breasts where Kings would wish to lye Shew'd the soft path to killing Joy A solid Beauty that would last Smooth plump and fit to be embrac'd Full of Delight as Beauties Queen In Pleasure blooming at eighteen Down her soft Neck her flowing Hair The best adornment of the Fair With lavish Bounty reach'd her Knee Discovering Nature's Luxury All Graces which Historians find In Books adorning VVomankind In these two charming Creatures shone Admir'd by all excell'd by none Forgive me if for Beauties sake I this prolix digression make Since those that of its power have proof Can never speak its praise enough Know then Olinda and Cephise VVere nam'd these lovely Goddesses A Treasure dearer than the Fleece Lock'd in the old Hesperides And by as strange a Dragon kept A mouldy Aunt that never â—â—ept But Love that sound out a device To blind the Giants hundred Eyes When Iove in Io's snare did fall Cloy'd with Embraces Conjugal Soon sent a Hermes to my Aid Who taught me how to bribe her Maid She having in that happy Town A constant Roger of her own Kept our Intrigue the more unknown And oftner op'ned Paradise Than e'er St. Peter with his Keys Such power has praise with profit joyn'd To charm a Mercinary Mind Suppose me then close by the door Through which I often went before Giving a sign to let 'em know A faithful Lover was below For both were of my Heart possess'd And had by Turns chief Interest The Brown when t' other was not there And when Brown absent was the Fair Thus great thus Turk-like did I rove In my Seraglio of Love Scarce I the sign had throughly made But word was brought they were in bed And the old Aunt lock'd up at Prayers For blessings on her House Affairs Then whilst I softly scal'd the Stairs The trusty Wench with busie Broom Below was scrubbing round the Room Singing th' old Song of Troy betray'd To hide the creeking noise I made Darkness o'er all the World did sway Yet led by Love I found the way To th' side where sweet Olinda lay Whose charming Eyes in spite of Night Like Diamonds shone with glittering light And ere she could my welcome speak Her Arms were twisted round my Neck Whilst I a thousand Kisses stole And every Kiss was worth a Soul Nor did her Sister less employ Her Love but with a grumbling Joy Child me for my undecent Crime Of vent'ring thither at that time I modestly Excuses made With all the moving Words I had Telling her 't was a greater Crime To let my Love be slave to time All times for Lovers are most fit When e'er they can admission get And thus with some few fallacies And tenders that I thought would please All Scruples throughly satisfy'd I laid me by Olinda's side But first my durty Shoes from feet I pull'd lest they should daub the Sheet And that it never should be said A Man in 's Breeches went to bed I stole 'em off without offence To Dear Olinda's Innocence Who strugling betwixt Shame and Love To make a faint resistance strove Then like an eager loving Fop No Petruke on nor e'r a Cap I clung to that soft Angels side Close as a Bridegroom to his Bride Great Ovid in his mighty Verse Of Hermes a strange Tale declares How he to Aphrodite inclin'd So fervently their Bodies joyn'd Howe'r that Fancy might be false As there 's no certain Truth in Tales 'T is here confirm'd for we that Night Made out the true Hermaphrodite Here I could wish the Reader 's Thought Would not proceed into a Fault By censuring this Extravagance As far as the extreme offence Love does a thousand Follies own That may be proper to be shown And yet the greatest not be done Nor would I have him seek what past Between us more but think the best Whilst I to write my Muse employ What discontents ensu'd this Joy The Morning rose as fair as when In flowry Eden Spring began To bless the first Created Man Aurora blush'd to be out-done By the gay splendor of the Sun And coily his Embrace did shun Whilst he a hot and vigorous Woer Mounts his bright Chariot to pursue her When I from sleep my Sences drew And bless'd as he my self I view For I had my Aurora too Who whispering softly as she could Her Story in my Bosom told And blushing my desires reprov'd With all the tendeâ—ness of Love I rapt with such a Load of Charms Took the dear Trembler in my Arms And swore no storm of Fate should move The Rock of my Eternal Love A thousand times her Eyes I kiss'd Ten thousand more her snowy Breast And so unruly were our Joys Her Sister wak'ned with the Noise Who with her Wit our pleasure grac'd In rallying on adventures past But see what mutability Attends on traâ—â—â—ory Joy And what a slender Film does grow Between extremes of Mirth and Woe As we of past Intrigues conferr'd Uncheck'd and as we thought unheard Old Satan ready to devour Stood listning at the Chamber Door The Aunt had in her early Head Some nice occasions for her Maid And fearing she should wake my Dears To call her softly crept up Stairs Where soon she heard their tatling noise Mixt with my loud Bass-Viol Voice Not more amaz'd lame Vulcan stood When he beheld his Wife was lewd Nor Cesar who as Story shews Saw his fond Girl her Fame expose To th' Poet with the Roman Nose Then was Old Grannum at that sound That through her Ears her Heart did wound Stung with a Rage from wonder bred With speed she hobbles to the Bed But not so soon but first I slipt From th' outside between 'em crept Where close the panting Lover lies Half smother'd with soft Legs and Thighs The Curtains straight she open threw Exposing the poor Girls to view And there not finding what she look'd Under the Bed with Broomstick pok'd Then gastly round the Room she rowls Peeping in all the Chinks and Holes Olinda trembling at her sight And almost murder'd with the fright Raises herself in Bed upright And boldly on my Reeking Face Sets without Complement her A Pressing me down so close beneath That I had much ado to breath So warm a place had cas'd my Nose No Mask sat ever on so close Nor did my Mouth at that time miss In corner a dear Friend to kiss Whilst round me nothing seem'd to be But Regions of Obscurity Bless me thought I sure I am now Descending to the Shades below But cannot want the Golden Bough My bold advent'ring steps to guide As once the Great Aeneaâ— did For there the Sybil stands agen
And here 's the Grove just by my Chin A Copps with fine thick Bushes dress'd Where fluttering Loves do build their Nests Nor need I Styx or Cerbâ—rus fear When that my Pasport is so near My Fancy with these Thoughts grown big I reach'd my Hand to pull a Twig When by some Angry Demons spite I found my self brought back to light For that old Hag with Rage o'er-come Discovering nothing in the Room And knowing too too well the Voice To think the Devil made that noise Not heeding what her Neices said Pulls all the Cloths from off the Bed And show'd three pair of Legs as bare As first they to the Mid-wife were Have you not in a Quarry seen A Peasant that with Culter keen Has digg'd beneath some hollow Stone And found a Nest of Snakes well grown Crawling and twisting all in one So clustering in a Knot we lay Broadly expos'd to open day Imagine now you view the Scene Two plump white Bums my Nose between That from the Motions of their Fear Had sent out an ungrateful Air The Aunt with Patience not endow'd Ready to baul for Aid a loud When in my Shirt from both I slipt And to the stun'd old VVoman leapt Swearing if from the place she stirr'd She should not live to speak a word Then did like Man of Honour try To face it with a ready Lye Swearing like any Popish Monk That I last Night came thither Drunk And that her Neices were as free From Guilt as at there Infancy Confirming this with Vows and Oaths Still hastning to slip on my Cloths VVhich done I scamper'd out of Door VVhere I could never enter more A LASH AT ATHEISTS The POET speaking as the Ghost of a Quondam Libertine suppos'd to be the late E. of R. Reflects on that part of Seneca's Troas beginning at Post Mortem nihil est Ipsaque Mors nihil Velocis spatii meta Novissima Spem ponant avidi seliciti metum Quaeris quo Iaâ—â—as post Obitum loco Quo non Nata Iacent INcumbred with vile Flesh to Earth inclin'd Prophane Tragaedian once I wore thy Mind Born on the Wings of soaring Wit so high I thought my Soul no farther pitch could fly Than the gay Regions of Philosophy The hot-brain'd Stag'rite in my Breast did reign And Sacred Prophets preach'd the Truth in vain Nourish'd by Logick Arts so well I knew To vent false Reason and disguise the true Around my Beams the Athiests of the Times Like Attoms danc'd and wanton'd in my Crimes Strong Vice Opinion of my Wisdom bred Which round the World those false Apostles led Whilst scandal hourly I on Vertue threw Nor would be witty unless wicked too All thy pernicious Tenets then I own'd And Wit prophane with circling Bays I crown'd Proud of short-sighted Reason my design Was still to blast the Mysteries Divine Defame Religion with unhallow'd wit And ridicule the Laws of Sacred Writ But Oh you foolish fond and apish Crew Ye Learned Idiots that my Tracts pursue Ye crawling Worms that bask in the Suns Ray And yet the Suns great Maker disobey Pernicious Snakes that by Celestial Fire Reliev'd from frozen Ignorance conspire Against your God and think frail Eyes can see Through the Arcana of the Trinity Reflect how false your Notions are by me And thou poor Heathen that hadst wit to write Yet not the Truth hadst Eyes and yet no sight That wert in th' dawn of our Redemption driven Through moral Mists to grope the way to Heaven Thou that with one poor glimpse of Reason blest Given only as distinction from the Beast Prophanely dar'st affirm there nothing is Beyond the Grave of Misery or Bliss But that the Soul and Body like a Tree Rest undisturb'd in Earth's Obscurity With me art now severely undeceiv'd In those dam'd Tenets which we once believ'd Yet not believ'd for in each vile Harrangue The Atheist speaks he feels a secret Pang Poor tortur'd Conscience peeps through his disguise And tells the noisie hot brain'd Fool he lyes Thus Man more sordid than a Brute must be That plagu'd with the Salt Itch of Sophistry Forfeits his Soul prophanes all Sacred Laws For the vain blast of Popular Applause Had Reverend Hobbs this Revelation mark'd Before his dubious leap into the dark Had he sound Faith before false Sence approv'd Moses instead of Aristotle lov'd Eternal Vengeance had not found him then Nor gorg'd him with his own Leviathan Like him or worse once madly did I Rave Till I had got on Foot into the Grave But there as if Eternal Power had pleas'd To shew in me that Wonders were not ceas'd My Guardian Angel snatch'd my Soul from Night To the clear Paths of Everlasting Light Then banish'd Wisdom reassum'd my Brain Religious Reason took her Seat agen I sigh'd and trembled at the horrid view Of my past Crimes and scarcely could renew Forgotten Prayer so little good I knew Till heavenly Mercy down like Manna fell And true Repentance lifted me from Hell Thus Sickness which my Mourning Friends condole When Art could not restore my Body whole Prov'd the Divine Physitian of my Soul How deeply then my long lost Reason pris'd The Balmy Scriptures I so late despis'd How poorly Tinsel-rob'd Philosophy Appear'd when Rich Divinity was by And how th' Evangelists and Prophets shone 'Mongst Heathen Poets that my Heart had won Gone was my doubt the Resurrection plain And if there be a Fool so vile so vain That in his Head that Scruple does retain Let him but think what first Created Man Then let him be an Athiest if he can To CYNTHIA I. IF Beauty by Enjoyment can Reward a Love that 's true To bless our Patience or our Pain All I deserve from you II. But oh to Love too well's a Curse Of such a strange degree Were my Fidelity far worse Much happier should I be III. Sad Recompence relentless Fate To faithful Love does give You 'r pleas'd in being obstinate Whilst I in Tortures live III. Like wretches gull'd to Foreign Shores I cruelly am serv'd Instead of Loves dear promis'd Stores Am made a Slave and starv'd A PROLOGUE By way of SATYR spoke before King CHARLES II. at New-Market EXpect no more th' old fawning Prologue way For the rash spleenful Poet writes to day Something of you Gallants and not the Play Since freedom's given to each man here resorts He takes the priviledge t' abuse your sports Then thus begins this Court 's a Theatre And every Jockey is an Actor here From the dull Knight up to the bawling Peer New-Market is in general a Place Made of Crimp and Chouse of Cocks and Race Much Noise much Nonsence little Wit or Grace Where Men all seem as Nature had design'd 'em To lose their Wits then Gallop hard to find 'em Pray where 's the Jest for Faith I fain would know In Yap hoh pugh they start they come they go Chattering one 's Teeth the while in Frost and Snow This and Fox-Hunting th'