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With well-tim'd oars, before the royal barge, Much Heywood, Shirley, Oyleby, there lay; Swelld with the pride of thy celestial charge; But loads of Sh a lmost choak'd the way. Aud, big with hynm, commander of an host, Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepard, The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd. And H-n was captain of the guard. Methinks I see the new Arion sail,

The hoary prince in majesty appear'd, The lute siill trembling underneath thy nail. High on the throne of his own labors reard, At thy well shapen'd thumb, from shore to shore At his right hand our young Ascanius sat, The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar: Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state. Echocs fron. Pissing-Alley Sh call, His broirs, thick' fogs, instead of glories, grace, And Sher they resound from Aston-Hall. And lambcnt Dulness play'd around his face. About thy boat the little fishes throng,

As Hannibal did to the altars come, As at the morning toast that Aoats along. Sworn by his fire a inortal foe to Rome; Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band, So Sh- swore, nor should his vow te rain, Thou wield'st ihr papers in thy threshing hand. That he, till death, true dulness would maintain, St. Andre's feet nie'er kept more eqnal time, And, in his father's right and realai's defence, Not een the feet of thy own Psyche's rliyme: Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. Though thev in number as in sense excel; The king himself the sacred unction made, So just, so like Tautology they fell,

As king by office, and as a priest by trade. That, pale with envy, Singlcion forswore In his sinister hand, instead of ball, The lute and sword which he in triumph bore, He plac'd a mighty mug of potent ale; And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more. Love's kingdom to his right he did convey,

Here stopt the good old sire, and wept for joy, Al once his sceptre and his rule of sway; In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.

Whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,

young, That for anointed dulness he was made. | And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprungs Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind His temples last with poppies were'o'erspread, (The fair Augnista, much to fears inclin'd) That, nodding, seem'd to consecrate his head. An antient fabric, rais'd t'inform the sight, Just at the point of time, if fame not lye, There stood of yore and Barbican it hight: On his right hand twelve rev'rend owls did fly. A watch-tow't once : but now, so fale ordains, So Romulus, 'tis sung by Tiber's brook, . " Of all the pile an empty naine remains : Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. Froin its old ruins brothel-houses rise,

| Th'admiring throng loud acclamations make, Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys, And onens of his future empire take. Where their vast courts the mother-strunipets The fire then shook the honors of his head, keep,

And from his brows damps of oblivion shed And undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep, Full on the filial dulness: long he stood, Near these a nursery erects its head, bred: Repelling from his breast the raging god; Where queens are form'd, and future heroes At length burst out in this prophetic mood. ) Where unfledy'd actors learn to laugh and cry,) | • Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him Where infant punks their tender voices try, To far Barbadocs on the western main ; [reign And little Maximins the gods defy

Of his doininion may no end be known, Great Fletcher never treads the buskins here, | Aud greater than his father's be his throne; Nor greater Johnson dares in socks appear; Beyond Love's kingdom let him stretch his pen." But gentle Simpkin just reception finds He paus'd, and all the people cried, Amen. Amidst this monument of vanish'd ininds : | Then thus continued he: My son, advance, Pure clinches the suburbian Muse affords, Still in new impudence, new ignorance. And Panion waging harmless war with words. Success let others teach ; learn thou, from me, Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Ambitiously design d his She's throne: , Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; For antient Decker prophesied, long since, Yet not one thought accuse iliy toil of wit. That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage ; Born for a scourge of wit, and fail of sense: Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage; Towhom true dulness should soine Psyche's owe, Lut Cully Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit; Bat worlds of Misers from his pen should flow; And, in their folly, show the writer's wit. Humorists and Hypocrites it should produce, Yet still thy fools' shall stand in thy defence, Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce, And justify their author's want of sense. Now einpress Fame had publish'd the renown Let 'em bé all by thy ówn model made Of She 's coronation thro' the town. of dulness, and desire no foreign aid ; Rous'd by report of Fame, the nations meet, That they to future ages may be known, From near Bun-hill and distant Watling-street; Not copies drawn, but issue of my own. No Persian carpets spread th' imperial way Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay: All fult of thee, and diff‘ring but in name. From dusty shops neglected authors come, But let no alien Sedly interpose, Martyrs of pyos, and relics of the bum. To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.


And, when false flow'rs of Rhetoric thou would'st | Poets alone found the delightful way,
Trust Natore, do not labor to be dull: fcull, Mysterious morals gently to convey
But write thy best, and top; and, in cach line, In charming numbers; so that, as men grew
Sir Formal's oratory will be thine:

Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wiser too.
Sir Formal, tho' uisought, attends the quill, Satire has always slone among the rest,
And does thy Northern Dedications fill. And is the boldest way, if not the best,
Nor let false friends acluce thy mind to fame, I To tell men freely of their foulest faulis;
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.

\'Tolaugh at their vaiudeces, and rainer thoughts.

And uncle (gleby thy envy raise.

To each deserving its peculiar praise. Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part; Some did all folly with just sharpness blame, What share have we in nature or in art? Whilst others laugh'd, and scorn'd them into Where did his wit on learning tix a brand, lo shame. And rail at arts he did not understand ? But of these two, the last succeeded best, Where inade he love in Prince Nicander's vein, As men aim rightest when they shoot in jes!. Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? Yet if we may presiune to blame our guides, Where sold he bargains, whip-stitch, kiss miyane; And censure ihose who censure all besides, Promis'il'a play, and dwindled to a farce . Tin other things they justly are preferr'd ; When did his inuse from Fletcher scenes purloin, In this alone inethinks the antients .erid: As thou whole Eth'ridge dost transfuse to thine? Against the grosses! follies they declaim ; But so transfus'd, as oil and water flow; Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game, His always Hoats above, thine sinks below. Nothing is easier than such blots to hit, This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,

And 'tis a talent of cach vulgar wit: New humors to invent for each new play; Besides, 'tis labor lost ; for who would preach This is that boasted bias of thy mind,

Vorals to Arinstrong, or dull Aston teach? Bv which, one was, to dulness ris inclin'd: Tis being devout at play, wise at a ball, Which nake thy writings lean on one side sull, Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall. And in all changes, that way tends thy will. But with sharp eves those nicer faults to find, Nor let thy niountain-belly inake pretence

| Which lic obscurely in the wisest mind; Of likeness; thine's a tympany of scuse. That little speck which all the rest does spoil, A tun of man in thy large buik is writ;. To wash off that, would be a noble toil; But sure thou 'rt but a kilderkin of wit. Beyond the loose-writ libels of this age, Like mine, thy genile numbers feebly creep; Or the forc'd scenes of our declining stage; The tragic Muse gives siniles; thy comic, sleep. Above all censure too, each little wit With whate'er gall thou sett'st thiyself to write, l'ill be so glad to see the greater hit; Thy inoffensive satires never bite.

Who judging better though concern'd the most, Inihy felonious heart though venom lics Or such correction will have cause to boasi. It does but touch thy Irish pon, and dies. In such a satire all would seek a share, Thy genies calls thee not to purchase fame And ev'ry fool will fancy he is there. In keen lanbics, but mild Anagram.

Old story-tellers too must pine and die, Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command|To see their antiquated wii laid by; Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. Like her, who miss'd her name in a lampoon, There thou may'st wings display,and altars raise, And griev'd to find herself decay'd so soun. And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. No cominon coxcomb must be mention d here ; Or, if thou would'st thy diff'rent talents suit, Noi che dull train of daricing- sparks appear; Set thy own songs, and sing thein to thy lute. Nor flut'ring officers who never fight: He said ; but his last words were scarcely. Of such a wretched rabble who would writt? heard ;

Viuch less half wits: that's more againstour rules, For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepar'd, ? For they are fups, the other are but fools. Aud down the sent the yet declaimning bárd, Who would not be as silly as Dunbar? Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind, 1.3s dull os Monmouth, raiher than Sir Carr? Borne upwards by a subcorrancan wind. The cunning courtier should be slighted too, The mantle fell to the young prophet's past,

Who with dull knav'ry makes so inuch ado; With double portion of his father's art.

Till the shrewd fool, by thriving 100, 100 fast,

Like Esop's fox, becoincs a prey at last. 31. An Essay upon Satire. Vor shall the royal mistresses be nam'd,

Too ugly, or too easy, to be hlamid;

kingham. With whom each rhyming fuol kceps such ? How dull a:d how insensible a wrast I pothcr, . Is man, who ve! would lord it o'er tlic rest! Tiey are as common that way as the other : Philosophers and poets vainly strove

Yet suunt'ring Charles, between his beasth? In ev'ry age the lumpisha mass to move : [these, brace, But those were prdants, when compard with Meets with dissembling still in cither place, Who know not only to instruct but please. Affeared huinor, or a painted face.

In rayal libels we have often told him 1 But is there any other beast that lives,
How oue las jiled him, the other sold him; Who his own harm so wittingly contrives?
How that affects to laugh, how this to weep: Will any dog, that has his teeth and stones,
But who can rail so long as he can sleep? Refinally leave his bitches and his bones
Was ever prince by two at once misled, To turn a wheel? und bark to be employd,
False, foolish, old, ill-natur'd, and ill-bred? While Venus is by rival dogs enjoy'd?
Earncly and Aylesbury, with all that race Yet this fond man, to get a statesinan's name,
Of busy blockbeads, shall have here no place; Forfeits his friends, his freedom, and his fame.
At council sat as foils on Dorsel's score, Though salire nicely writ no humor stings
To make the great false jewel shine the more ; By those who merit praise in other things :
Who all that while was thought exceeding wise: Yet we must needs this one exception make,
Ouly for taking pains and telling lies.

And break our rules for folly Tropos' sake,
But there's no ineddling with such valiseons mon; Who was too much despis'd to be accusid,
Their very nanies have tir'd my lazy pen : And therefore scarce deserves to be abus'd;
Tis tiine to quit their coinpany, and choose Rais'd only by luis mercenary tongue,
Some fitter subject for a sharper Muse.

For railing smoothly, anıl for reas'ning wrong, First let's behold the merriest man alive As boys on holidays let loose to play, Against his careless genius vainly strive ; Lay wagyish traps for girls that pass that way, Quit liis deur case, some deep design to lay', Then shout to see in dirt and deep distress Gainst a set time; and then forget the day: Some silly cit in her flower'd foolish dress; Yet he will laugh at his best friends; and be So have I mighty satisfaction found, Just as good company as Nokes and Lec. To see his tinsel reason on the ground; But when he ainis at reason or at rule,

To see the florid fool despis'd, and know it, fit; Hic turns himself the best to ridicule.. By some who scarce have words enough to show Let him at business ne'er so earnest sit, For sense sits silent, and condemns for weaker Show him but mirth,and bait that mirth with wit; The finer may sometimes the wittest speaker : That shaddow of a jest shall be enjoy'd, But 'tis prodigious so much eloquence Though he left all mankind to be destroy'd. Should be acquir'd by such liule sense; So ca: transformed sat gravely and deinure, For words and wit did antiently agree; 14!1 mouse appear'd, and thought himselfsccurc; And Tully was no fuol thongli this man be: But soon the lady had hiin in her eve,

At bar abusive, on the bench unable, And from her friend dill just as oddly Av. Knave on the woolsack, fop at council-table. Reaching above our nature does no good: These are the grievances of such fools as would We must fall back to our vid flesh and blood :: Be rather wise than honest, great than good. As, by our little Machiaval, we find

Some other kind of wits must be made known, That nimbicst creature of the busy kind, l'hose harmless errors hurt themselves alone; His limbs are crippled, and his body shakes; Excess of luxury they think can please, Yer his hard mind, with all this bustle inakes, Aud laziness call loving of their ease ; No pity of iis pour coupanion takes.

To live dissolv'll in pleasure still they feign, What gravity can hold from laughing out, Though their whole life's but intermitting pain: Tu see him draz his feeble legs abour,

So much of surfeits, head-achs, claps, are seen, Like hounds ill-coupled? Jowler lugs him still We scarce perceive the little tine between s Thru' hedges, ditches, and thro' all that's ill. Well-ineaning men who make this gross mistake, "Twere crime in any inan but lim alone, And pleasure lose only for pleasure's sake; To use a body so, tho' ris one's own :

Bach pleasure has its price; and when we pay Yet this false comfort never gives bim o'er, Too much of pain, we squander life away. Thatwhilsthecreepsluisvig'rousthoughts can svar: Thus Dorset, puring like a thoughtful cat, Alas! that soaring to those few that know, Married; but wiser puss ne'er thought of that; Is but a busy grov'ling here below.

Aud first he worried her with railing rhyme, So men in rapiure think they mount the sky, Like Pembroke's mastiffs at his kindest time; Whilst on the groundth'entrancedwretcheslie: Then for one night sold all his slavish life, So modern fops have fancied they could fly. A tceming widow, but a barren wife; As the new earl with parts deserving praisc, Swellid by contact of such a fulsoine toad, And wit enough to laugh at his own ways; cluggid about the matrimonial load : Yer loses all soft days and sensual rights, bill fortovie, blindiy kind as well as he, kind nature checks, and kinder fortune slights; Has ill restor'd him to his liberty! Sirising against his quiet all he he can, Which he would use in his old sneaking way, For the fine motion of a busy man. i Drinking all night, and dozing all the day; And what is that, at best, but one whose mind Dull as Na Howard, whom his brisker times Is made to tire hiinself and all mankind ? Had tam'd for dulness in malicious rhymes. For Ireland he would go ; 'faith, let him reigail Mulgrave had much do to 'scape the snare, For if sonje odri fantastic lord would faiu Tho'jcaru'd in all those arts that cheat the fair; Carry in trunks, and all my drudg'ry do, For afier all his vulgar marriage-mocks, El not only pay him, but admire him 109, '. With beauty ilazzled; Numps was in the stocks;

Y 3


Deluded parents dried their wecping eyes, Who, for the wretched remnants of a fise,
To see him catch a lartar for his prize; Must toil all day in ashes and in mire.
Th'impatientíown waited the wish'd-for change Se lewdly dull his idle works appear,
And cuckolds smild in hopes of sweet revenge ; The wretched texts deserve po comments here;
Till Petworth plor made us with sorrow see, Where ono poor thought sometimes,left all alone,
As his estate, bis person too was free:

For a whole page of dulness must arone.
Him no soft thoughts, no gratitude could move;l How vain a thing is dian, and how iunwise;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love ; Ev'n he who would himself the most despise !
Yet failing there he keeps his freedom still, 1, who so wise and humble seem to be,
Forc'd to live happily against his will: Now iny own vanity and pride can't see.
'Tis not bis fauli, if too much wcalth and pow's While the world's nonsense is so sharpls shown,
Break not his boasted quiet ev'ry hour.

We pull down others but to raise our own: And litle Sid, for simile renowurd,

That we may angels seem, we paint them elves, Pleasure has always sought, but never found ; And are but satires to set up ourselves Though all his thoughis on wine and women 1 (who have all this while been finding fault, His are so bad, sure he ne'er thinks at all. rfall, Ev'n with my master, who first satire taught; The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong; And did by that describe the task so hard, His meat and mistresses are kept too long. It seem'd stupendous and above reward) But sure we all niistake this pious man, Now labor with inequal force to climb Who mortifies his person all he can :

That lofty hill, unreach'd by former time; What we uncharitably take for sin,

"Tis just ihat I should to the bottom fall; Are only rules of this odi capuchin :

Learn to write well, or not to write at all. For never hermit, under grave pretence, Has liv'd more contrary to common sense ; $32. Cymon and Iphigenia. Dryden. And 'tis a miracle, we may suppose, No nastiness oflends his skilful nose;

Poeta loquitur. Which fran all stink can with peculiar art

| Old as I amn, for ladies' love unfit, Extract perfume, and essence from a f-t: The pow'r of beauty I remember yet, Expecting supper is his great delight;

Which once inflam'd my soul, and sull inspires He toils all day but to be drunk at night:

my wit. Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping sits, If love be folly, the severe divine Till lie takes liewit and Jack Hall for 'wiis. Has felt that folly, though he censures mine; Rochester I de pise for want of wit,

Pollutes the pleasures of a chasic embrace, Though thought in have a tail and cloven feet ; | Acts what I write, and propagates in grace, For, while he mischief means to all mankind, With riotous excess, a priesily race. Himself alone the ill effects doth find:

Suppose him free, and that I forge th'offence, And so like wiiches justly sufier shame, He show'd the way, perverting first my sense;' Whose harmless malice is so much the same. In malice witty, and with venom fraught, False are his worils, affccier is his wit;

He makes me speak the things I never thought, So often he does aini, so scldom hit :

Compute the gains of bis ungoveru'd zeal; To ev'ry face he cringes while he speaka, Ill suits his cloth the praise of railing kell. But when the back is turn'd the head he breaks: The world will think ihat what we loosely write, Mean in each action, lewd in ev'ry limb, Tho' now arrang'd, he read with some delight; Manners themselves are mischievous in hin: Because he seems to chew thic cud again, A proof that chance alone niakes ev'ry creature When his broad comment makes the text too A very Killigrew, without good nature.

plain : For what a Bessus has he always livil,

And teaching more in one explaining page And his own kickings notably courrir'd! Than all the double-meanings of the stage. For there's the folly that's still mix'd with fear, l What needs he paraphrase on what we mean? Cowards more blou's than any heru hear; We were at most but wanton ; he's obscepe. Of lighting sparks some may iheir pleasures say, \ I not my fellows nor myself excuse ; But 'lis a bolder thing to run away :

But love's the subject of the comic Muse : The world may well forgive him all his ill, Nor can we write without it, nor would you For ev'ry fault does prove his penance sull: 11 A tale of only dry instruction view; Falsely he falls into some dang'rous noose, i Nor love is always of a vicious kind, And then as mçanly labors to get loose : Rut oft to virtuous acis infames the mind; A life so infamous is beiter qujiting,

Awakes the sleepy vigor of the soul,. Spent in base injury and low submitting, And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool. I'd like to have left out his poetry; - Love, studious how to please; improves our paints Forgot by all almost as well as inc.

With polish'd manners, and adoms with aris. Sonjetimes he has some humor, never wit : Love first invented verse, aud formu'd the rhyme, And if it rarely, verv rarely, hit,

The motion measurd), harnioniz'd the chime; "Tis under so much nasty rubbish laid,

To lib'ral acts eulary'd the narrow soul'd, To find it qut's the cinderwoman's trade; Softeu'd the berce, and made thc coward bold;


The world, when waste, hc peopled with increase, (Than by the charming features of her face,
And warring nations reconcil'd in peace. And ev'n in slumber a superior grace :
Oraiond, the first, and all the fair may find, 2 Her comcly limbs compos'd with decent cate,
In this one legend, to their faune design'd, Her body shaded with a slight cymarr;
When beauty tires the blourl, how love exalts Her bosóm to the view was only bare
the mind.

Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied,
In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, For yet their places were but signified :
And ev'ry grace, and all the loves, resort; The Fanning wind upon her bosom blows,'
Where cither sex is form'd of softer earth, |To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose:
And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth: The fauning wind and purling streams, con- ?
There liv da Cyprian ford, above the rest

tinue her repose. Wise, wealiny, with a num'rous issuc blest: The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, . But, as no gift of fortune is sincere,

And gaping mouth that testified surprise, Was only ranting in a worthy heir.

Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, His eldest born, ag.rodly youth to view, New as he was to love, and novice to delight : Excell'd the rest in shape and outward shew; Long mute he stood, and, leaning on his staff, Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join'd, His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh; But of a heavy, dull, degen'rate mind.

Then would have spoke, but by his glimni'ring His soul belied the features of his face;

sense. Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace : : First found his wantof words, and fear’d offence; A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound, Doubted for what he was he should be known, And stupid eyes that ever lov'd the ground. By his clown accent, and his country tone. He look'd like nature's error ;.as the mind 2 Thro' the rude chaos thus the ruining light And body were not of a piece design'd, [join'd. Shot the first ray that pierc'd the natire light: But inade for two, and by mistake in one were) Theu day and darkness in the mass were mix'd,

The ruling rod, the father's forming care, Till gather'd in a globe the beaus were fix'd : Were exercisd in vain on wit's despair; Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere, The more inform'd, the less he understood; Illuinin'd heaven and earth, and rollid around And deeper sunk by found'ring in the inud. So reason in this brutal soul began, [the year. Now scorn'd of all, and grown the public shame, Love made him first suspect he was a man; The people from Galesus chang'd his name, Love made hiin doubt his broad barbarian sound; And Cymon call dd, which signifies a brute; By love his want of words and wit he found; So well his name did with his nature suit. | That sense of want prepar'd the future way

His father, when he found his labor lost,' To knowledge, and disclos'd the promise of a day, And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost, | What not his father's care, nor tutor's art, Chose an ungrateful object to remove,

Could plant with pains in his unpolished heart, And loatli'd to see what nature made him love; | The best instructor, love, at once inspir'd, So to his country farm the fool confin'd: As barren grounds to fruitfulness are hir’d: Rude work well suited to a rustic mind. . Love taught him shame; and shame, with love Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, Soon taught the sweet civilities of life; fat strife, A 'squire among the swains, and pleas'd with | His gross material soul at once could find banishment.

Somewhat in her excelling all her kind : His corn and cattle were his only care, Exciting a desire till then known; And his supreme delight a couniry fair. Somewhat unfoundt, or found in her alone : It happen'd on a summer's holiday,

This made the first impression on his mind, That to the green-wood shade he took his way; Above, but just above, the brutal kind. For Cymon shunn'd the church, and us'd not For beasts can like, but not distinguish too, much to pray.

Nor their own liking by reflection know; His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, Nor why they like or this or t'other face, Hung half before, and half behind his back. Or judge of this or that peculiar grace; He trudg'd along, anknowing what he sought, But love in gross, and stupidly admire : And whistled as he went for want of thought. As flies allurid by light, approach the fire.

By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd, Thus our man-beast, advancing by degrees, The deep recesses of the grove he gaind; First likes the whole, then separates what he secs: Where, in a plain defended by the wood, On sev'ral parts a sev'ral praise bestows : Crept thro' the matted grass a crystal food, The ruby lips, the well proportion'd nose, By which an alabaster fountain 'stood :

The snowy skin and raven-glossy hair, And on the margin of the fount was laid The dimpled cheek, and forehead rising fair, (Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. And ev’n in sleep itself, a smiling air. Like Dian and her nymphs, when tir'd with From thence his cyes descending view'd the rest, sport,

Her plump round arms, white hands, and heave To rest by cool Eurotas they resort:

ing breast. The dame herself the goddess well express'd, Long on the last he dwelt, though every part Not more distinguish'd by luer purple vest, A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart.



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