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EPILOGUE TO PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLYTUS. 18$
'Twas in a husband little less than ride,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude Perceiving his mistress had one eye of glass : (Cras, That he would come exact at such an hour; And scarcely had he spoke it,
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jest;
The picquet friend dismiss'd, the coast all clear,
And spouse alone impatient for her dear.
But, if these gay reflections come too late,
If your more serious judgment must condemn
The dire effects of her unhappy flame:
Yet, ye chaste matrons, and ye tender fair,
Let Love and Innocence engage your care:
My spotless flames to your protection take ;
And spare poor Phædra for Ismena's sake.
By Banquo's restless spright.
A CRITICAL MOMENT.
How capricious were Nature and Art to poop
She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose
EPILOGUE TO MRS. MANLEY'S LUCIUS.
The female author who recites to day,
Trusts to her sex the merit of her play.
In ancient Greece, she says, when Sappho writ,
By their applause the critics show'd their wit,
They tun'd their voices to her lyric string;
But one exception to this fact we find;
That booby Phaon only was unkind,
An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down through all succeeding ages,
Arın'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
The blustering bully, in qur neighbouring streets,
Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns :
By turns are ruld by tumult and by love:
And, while their swecthearts their attention fix,
To you our anthor makes her soft request,
Your sympathetic hearts she hopes to move,
And Cowley Aatter'd dear Orinda's vcrse ;
By our full power of beauty we think fit
To damn the Salique law imposd on wit:
We'll try the empire who so long have boasted;
And, if we are not prais’d, we'll not be toasted.
Or every mortal woman here shall write:
A BALLAD: TO THE TUNE OP
Female remarks shall take up all your time, Courage, friend; for to day is your period of sorrow;
“ To mortow!” our hero replied, in a fright: We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death,
“ He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of Unless you yield for better and for worse:
to night." Then the she-Pegasus shall gain the course;
(truss'd up, And the grey mare will prove the better horse.
“Tell your beads," quoth the priest, “and be fairly For you surely to night shall in Paradise sup."
Derry down, &c, “Alas !” quoth the squire,“ howe'er sumptu.
ous the treat, THE THIEF AND THE CORDELIER, Parbleu! I shall have little stomach to eat;
I should therefore esteem it great favour and grace,
Would you be so kind as to go in my place.” KING JOHN AND THE ARBOT OF CANTERBURY.
Derry down, &c. W#0 has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the “ That I would,” quoth the father, “and thank Greve,
you to boot; The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave;
But our actions, you know, with our duty must suite Where Honour and Justice most oddly contribute The feast I propos'd to you, I cannot taste; To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet. For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast.” Derry down, down, hey derry down,
Derry down, &c. There Death breaks the shackles which Force
Then, turning about to the hangman, he said, had put on,
“ Dispatch me, I pr’ythee, this troublesome blade; And the hangman completes what the judge but for thy cord and my cord both equally tie, begun;
And we live by the gold for which other men dic." There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the
Derry down, &c. post,
(no more crost. Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes Derry down, &C.
TO CHLOE. Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known;
Whilst I am scorch'd with hot desire,
Alas! but make it fiercer burn.
Ah! would you have the flame supprest, Derry down, &c.
That kills the heart it heats too fast, "Twas there then, in civil respect to harsh laws, Take half my passion to your breast; And for want of false witness to back a bad cause,
The rest in mine shall ever last.
Stet quicunque volet potens Seem'd not in great haste that the show should
Aulæ culmine lubrico, &c.
Senec begin: Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart;
IsTERR'd beneath this marble stone And often took leave, but was loth to depart
Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan. Derry down, &c.
While rolling threescore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run; “What frightens you thus, my good son!” says If human things went ill or well, the priest :
If changing empires rose or fell, “ You murder'd, are sorry, and have bern confest." The morning past, the evening came, “ O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon; And found this couple still the same. For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken." They walk'd, and eat, good folks: what then? Derry down, &c.
Why then they walk'd and eat again :
They soundly slept the night away ; Pough! prythee ne'er trouble thy head with They did just nothing all the day: such fancies:
And, having bury'd children four,
Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree:
Nor fame nor censure they regarded;
DESIRING THE QUEEY'S PICTURE.
WRITTEN AT PARIS, 1714; BUT LEFT UNFINISHED, AT
THE SUDDEN NEWS OF HER MAJESTY'S DEATH. And, bad at first, they all grew worse, Slothful disorder fill'd his stable,
Tue train of equipage and pomp of state, And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
The shining side-board, and the burnish'd plate, Their beer was strong; their wine was port; Let other ministers, great Anne, require, Their meal was large ; their grace was short.
And partial fall thy gift to their desire. They gave the poor the remnant meat,
To the fair portrait of my sovereign dame, Just when it grew not fit to eat.
To that alone, eternal be my claim. They paid the church and parish rate,
My bright defender, and my dread delight, And took, but read not, the receipt;
If ever I found favour in thy sight; For which they claim their Sunday's due,
If all the pains that, for thy Britain's sake, Of slumbering in an upper pew.
My past has took, or future life may take, No man's defects sought they to know ;
Be grateful to my queen; permit my prayer, So never made themselves a foe.
And with this gift reward my total care. No man's good deeds did they commend ;
Will thy indulgent hand, fair saint, allow So never rais'd themselves a friend.
The boon? and will thy ear accept the vow ? Nor cherish'd they relations poor;
That, in despite of age, of impious flame, That might decrease their present store :
And eating Time, thy picture, like thy fame, Nor bara nor house did they repair;
Entire may last ; that, as their eyes survey That might oblige their future heir.
The semblant shade, men yet unborn may say, 'They neither added nor confonnded ;
“ Thus great, thus gracious, look'd Britannia's They neither wanted nor abounded.
queen; Each Christmas they arcompts did clear,
Her brow thus smooth, her look was thus serene; And wound their bottom round the year.
When to a low, but to a loyal hand, Nor tear nor smile did they employ
The mighty empress gave her high command, At news of public grief or joy.
That he to hostile camps and kings should haste, When bells were rung, and bonfires made,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, past; If ask'd, they ne'er deny'd their aid:
To say, she wills detested wars to cease ; Teir jug was to the ringers carried,
She checks her conquest, for her subjects ease, Whoever either died or married :
And bids the world attend her terms of peace." Their billet at the fire was found,
Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore, Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Thee, queen of peace-If Time and Fate hare Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;
power They would not learn, nor could advise:
Higher to raise the glories of thy reign, Without love, liatred, joy, or fear,
In words sublimer, and a nobler strain, They led a kind of--as it were :
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse: Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh’d, nor cried :
Here, Stator Jove, and Phæbus king of verse, And so they liv'd, and so they died.
The votive tablet I suspend
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE TRE
COUNTESS DOW AGER OF DEVONSHIRE,
ON A PIECE OP WIESSEY'S,
GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREWSBURY IX PRANCE,
AFTER THE PEACE, 1713.
Through ages thus I may presume to live,
Thus shall fair Britain, with a gracious smile,
Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferr'd,
WHEREON WERE ALL IER GRANDSOXS PAINTED
With art increas'd, their utmost skill they tried,
Eldest daughter of the countess.
Having no nobler images in store,
That you and I, sir, are extremely great ; It but kept up to these, nor could do more
Though I plain Mat, you minister of state : Than copy well what it had fram'd before.
One word from me, without all doubt, he says, If in dear Burghley's generous face we see
Would fix his fortune in some little place. Obliging truth and handsome honesty,
Thus better than myself, it seems, he knows, With all that world of charms, which soon will move How far my interest with my patron goes; Reverence in men, and in the fair-ones love; And, answering all objections I can make, His very grace his fair descent assures,
Still plunges deeper in his dear mistake. He has his mother's beauty, she has yours.
From this wild fancy, sir, there may proceed I every Cecil's face had every charm,
One wilder yet, which I foresce and dread; That Thought can fancy, or that Heaven can form; That I, in fact, a real interest have, Their beauties all become your beauty's due, Which to my own advantage I would save, They are all fair, because they're all like you. And, with the usual courtier's trick, intend If every Ca'ndish great and charming look ; To serve myself, forgetful of my friend. From you that air, from you the charms they took. To shun the censure, I all shame lay by, In their each limb your image is exprest,
And make my reason with his will comply; But on their brow firm courage stands confest; Hoping, for my excuse, 'twill be confest, There, their great father, by a strong increase, That of two evils I have chose the least. Adds strength to beauty, and completes the piece: So, sir, with this epistolary scroll, Thus still your beauty, in your sons, we view, Receive the partner of my inmost soul : Wiessen seven times one great perfection drew : Hiin you will find in letters and in laws Whoever sat, the picture still is you.
Not unexpert, firm to his country's cause,
And, in one word, a good man and a true.
So when great Rhea many births had given,
TO MR. HARLEY,
WOUNDED BY GUISCARD, 1711.
Ducit opes animumque ferro.
Hor. Which sickness blasts, and certain age destroys: Is one great noro, superiour to an age, Your stronger beauty Time can ne'er deface,
The full extremes of Nature's force we find : Tis still renew'd, and stamp'd in all your race. How heavenly Virtue can exalt, or Rage Ah! Wiessen, had thy art been so refin'd,
Infernal how degrade the human mind! As with their beauty to have drawn their mind, Through circling years thy labours would survive, While the fierce monk does at his trial stand, And living rules to fairest virtue give,
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence : To men unborn and ages yet to live :
Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand, 'Twould still be wonderful, and still be new,
He stabs his judge, to prove his innocence. Against what Time, or Spite, or Fate, could do; Till thinc confus'd with Nature's pieces lie,
The guilty stroke and torture of the steel
Infix'd, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives: And Cavendish's name and Cecil's honour die.
The wounds his country from his death must feel,
The patriot views; for those alone he grieves. A FABLE, FROM PHEDRUS. The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life,
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame: TO THE AUTHOR OF THE MEDLEY, 1710,
And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard's knife, The Fox an actor's vizard found,
In brass and marble carves thy deathless name. And peer'd, and felt, and turn'd it ronnd;
Faithful assertor of thy country's cause, Then threw it in contempt away,
Britain with tcars shall bathe thy glorious wound: And thus old Phædrus heard him say:
She for thy safety shall enlarge her laws, “ What noble part canst thou sustain,
And in her statutes shall thy worth be found. Thou specious head without a brain ?"
Yet 'mijst her sighs she triumphs, on the hand
Reflecting, that diffus'd the public woe;
No son of hers could meditate this blow.
Meantime thy pain is gracions Anna's care :
Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath,
Softens thy anguish : in her powerful prayer Septimius, Claudi, nimirum intelligit unus,
She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death. Quanti me facias, &c. Dean Dick ?, howe'er it comes into his hcad,
Great as thon art, thou canst demand no more,
Obreast bewaild by Earth, preserv'd by Heaven ! Believes as firmly as he does his creed,
No higher can aspiring Virtue soar: a Richard Shelton, esq.
Enough to thee of grief and fame is given.
IN THE SAME STYLL.
Behoveth neet to wreck my brain,
The rest in order to explain.
“That cup-board, where the mice disport,
I liken to St. Stephen's court::
Therein is space enough, I trow,
For elke comrade to come and go: MY LORD,
And therein eke may both be fed Our weekly friends to morrow meet
With shiver of the wheaten bread. At Matthew's palace, in Duke-street,
And when, as these mine eyne survey, To try, for once, if they cap dine
They ccase to skip, and squeak, and play; On bacon-ham and mutton-chine.
Return they may to different cells, If, weary'd with the great affairs
Auditing one, whilst t'other tells." Which Britain trusts to Harley's cares,
“Dear Robert," quoth the saint, whose mim Thou, humble statesman, may'st descend
In bounteous deed no mean can bind; Thy mind one moment to unbend,
“ Now, as I hope to grow devout, To see thy servant from his soul
I deem this matter well made out. Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl ; Laugh I, wbilst thus I serious pray? Among the guests which e'er my house
Let that be wrought which Mai doth say”. Receir'd, it never can produce
“ Yea," quoth the Erle, “ but not to day." Of honour a more glorious proof Though Dorset usid to bless the roof.
Full oft doth Mat with Topaz dine,
But Topaz his own werke rehearseth,
And Mat mote praise what Topaz vesseth.
Now, sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,
Fall hardly earneth Mat his dinner.
IN THE SAME STYLE.
Fair Susan did her wif-hede well menteine,
Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine : Feast lyche as heart of mouse mote wish.
Now, and I read aright that auncient song, As guests sat jorial at the board,
Olde were the paramours, the daine full young. Forth leap'd our mice: eftsoons the lord Of Boling, whilome John the Saint,
Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde; Wbo maketh oft propos full qneint,
Had they been young(pardie) and she been olde; Laugh'd jocund, and aloud he cried,
That, by St. Kit, had wrought much sorer trial;
Full marveillous, I vote, were silk denyal.
PAINTLD BY SIMON VARELST. “ Bad as sir Topas, or squire Quarles,” (Matthew did for the nonce reply)
When fatn'd Varelst this little wonder drevo, At emblem, or device am 1:
Flora vouchsafd the growing work to view : But, could I chaunt, or rhyme, pardie,
Finding the painter's science at a stand, Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as thee,
The goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand; Ne verse from ine (so God me shrive)
And, finishing the piece, she smiling said, On mouse, or other bcast alive.
“ Behold one work of mine, that ne'er shall fadan Certes I have this many days Sent myne poetic herd to graze. Ne armed knight ydrad in war With lion fierce will I compare; Ne judge unjust, with furred fox,
TO THE LADY ELIZABETII HARLEY, Harming in secret guise the flocks;
AFTERWARDS MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN.
ON A COLUMN OF 11ER DRAWING.
When future ages shall with wonder view
'These glorious lines, which Harley's daughter drow, Reply'd the friendlike peer, Matthew is angred on the spleen.”
They shall confess, that Britain could not raise “ Ne so," quoth Mat, ne shall be e'er,
A fairer column to the father's praise.
? The person here satirized was sit Richard Pourtrayed Charles aml Matthew been
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