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That both together, like an ape's mock-face,
By near resembling man, do man disgrace.
Thorough-pac'd ill actors may, perhaps, be cur'd;
Half players, like half wits, can't be endur❜d.
Yet thefe are they, who durft expose the age
Of the
great * wonder of the English stage;
Whom Nature feem'd to form for your delight,
And bid him fpeak, as fhe bid Shakespeare write.
Thofe blades indeed are cripples in their art,
Mimic his foot, but not his speaking part.
Let them the Traitor or Volpone try,
Could they------

Rage like Cethegus, or like Caffius die,

They ne'er had fent to Paris for fuch fancies,
As monsters heads and Merry-Andrew's dances.
Wither'd, perhaps, not perifh'd, we appear;
But they are blighted, and ne'er came to bear.
Th' old poets drefs'd your mistress Wit before;
Thefe draw you on with an old painted whore,
And fell, like bawds, patch'd plays for maids twice o'er.j
Yet they may fcorn our house and actors too,
Since they have fwell'd fo high to hector you.
They cry, Pox o' these Covent-Garden men,
Damn them, not one of them but keeps out ten.
Were they once gone, we for those thundering blades
Should have an audience of fubftantial trades,
Who love our muzzled boys and tearing fellows,
My Lord, great Neptune, and great nephew olus.

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Pfyche, the goddess of each field and grove.

He cries, I' faith, methinks 'tis well enough;
But you roar out and cry, 'Tis all damn'd stuff!
So to their house the graver fops repair,
While men of wit find one another here.

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W

CHARLES

By the Lady ELIZABETH HOWARD.

II.

IT has of late took up a trick t' appear
Unmannerly, or at the beft, fevere :
And poets fhare the fate by which we fall,
When kindly we attempt to please you all.
'Tis hard your fcorn should against such prevail,
Whose ends are to divert you, though they fail.
You men would think it an ill-natur'd jest,
Should we laugh at you when you do your beft.
Then rail not here, though you see reason for 't;
If wit can find itself no better sport,

it is a very foolish thing at court.

}

Wit's bufinefs is to please, and not to fright;
'Tis no wit to be always in the right;
You'll find it none, who dare be so to-night.
Few fo ill-bred will venture to a play,
To spy out faults in what we women say.
For us, no matter what we speak, but how :
How kindly can we fay------I hate you now!
And for the men, if you 'll laugh at them, do;
They mind themselves fo much, they'll ne'er mind you.
But why do I defcend to lose a prayer

On thofe finall faints in wit? the god fits there!

To the KING.

To you (Great SIR) my meffage hither tends,
From Youth and Beauty, your allies and friends;
See my credentials written in my face,

They challenge your protection in this place;
And hither come with fuch a force of charms,
As may give check ev'n to your profperous arms.
Millions of Cupids hovering in the rear,

Like eagles following fatal troops, appear:
All waiting for the slaughter which draws nigh,
Of those bold gazers who this night muft die.
Nor can you 'scape our soft captivity,

From which old age alone must set you free.
Then tremble at the fatal confequence,

Since 'tis well known, for your own part, great Prince,
'Gainst us you still have made a weak defence.

Be generous and wife, and take our part;
Remember we have eyes, and you a heart;

Elfe

Elfe you may find, too late, that we are things
Born to kill vassals, and to conquer kings.
But oh to what vain conquest I pretend !
While Love is our commander, and your friend.
Our victory your empire more affures,
For Love will ever make the triumph yours.

CON

CONTENTS

O F

ROCHESTER'S POEMS.

A Dialogue between Strephon and Daphne Page 281 A Paftoral Dialogue between Alexis and Strephon 284

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A Letter from Artemifa in the Town, to Cloe in the

Country

306

An

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