Page images
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]

EPILOGUE TO PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLYTUS. 18$
FORMA BONUM FRAGILE.

'Twas in a husband little less than ride,
What a frail thing is beauty !” says Baron le He should have sent a night or two before,

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;
When she more confus'd, as more angry she grew, Found every thing contribute to his rest;
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true :

The picquet friend dismiss'd, the coast all clear,
She dropt the eye, and broke it.

And spouse alone impatient for her dear.

But, if these gay reflections come too late,
To keep the guilty Phædra from her fate;

If your more serious judgment must condemn
AN EPIGRAM.

The dire effects of her unhappy flame:
WRITTEN TO THE DUKE DE XOAILLES.

Yet, ye chaste matrons, and ye tender fair,
Vain the concern which you express,

Let Love and Innocence engage your care:
That uncallid Alard will possess

My spotless flames to your protection take ;
Your house and coach, both day and night,

And spare poor Phædra for Ismena's sake.
And that Macbeth was haunted less

By Banquo's restless spright.
With fifteen thousand pounds a year,

A CRITICAL MOMENT.
Do you coinplain, you cannot bear

How capricious were Nature and Art to poop
An ill, you may so soon retrieve?

Nell!
Good Alard, faith, is modester

She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose
By much than you believe.

fell.
Lend him but fifty Louis-d'or ;
And you shall never see him inore:

EPILOGUE TO MRS. MANLEY'S LUCIUS.
Take the advice; probatum est.
Why do the gods indulge our store,

The female author who recites to day,
But to secure our rest?

Trusts to her sex the merit of her play.
Like father Bayes securely she sits down:
Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad ! all's our own.

In ancient Greece, she says, when Sappho writ,
EPILOGUE

By their applause the critics show'd their wit,

They tun'd their voices to her lyric string;
TO SMITH'S PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLYTUS, 'Tbo' they could all do something more than sing.

But one exception to this fact we find;
SPOKEN BY MRS. OLDFIELD, WHO ACTED ISMESA.

That booby Phaon only was unkind,
LADIES, to night your pity I implore

An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
For one, who never troubled you before :

From Sappho down through all succeeding ages,
An Oxford man, extremely read in Greek, And now on French or on Italian stages,
Who from Euripides makes Phaedra speak; Rongh satyrs, sly remarks, ill-natur'd speeches,
And comes to town to let us moderns know, Are always aim'd at poets that wcar breeches.
How women lov'd two thousand years ago.

Arın'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
“ If that be all,” said I, “e'en burn your play: Drew a sharp pen upon a naked woman.
Egad! we know all that as well as they :

The blustering bully, in qur neighbouring streets,
Show us the youthful, handsome charioteer, Scorns to attack the feinale that he meets :
Firm in his seat, and running his career ;

Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns :
Our souls would kindle with as generous flames, The hoop secures whatever it surrounds.
As e'er inspir'd the ancient Grecian dames : The many-colour'd gentry there above,
Every Isniena would resign her breast;

By turns are ruld by tumult and by love:
And every dear Hippolytus be blest.

And, while their swecthearts their attention fix,
“ But, as it is, six flouncing Flanders mares Suspend the din of their damn'd clattering sticks
Are e'en as good as any two of thcirs :

Now, sirs-
And, if Hippolytus can but contrive

To you our anthor makes her soft request,
To buy the gilded chariot, John can drive." Who speak the kindest, and who write the best,
Nour of the bustle you have seen to-day,

Your sympathetic hearts she hopes to move,
And Phædra's morals in this scholar's play, From tender friendship, and endearing love.
Something at least in justice should be said ; If Petrarcii's Muse did laura's wit rehearse;
But this Hippolytus sú fills one's head

And Cowley Aatter'd dear Orinda's vcrse ;
Well! Phædra livid as chastely as she cou'd ; She hopes from you—Pox take her hopes and fears!
For she was father Jove's own flesh and blood. I plead her sex's claim; what matters hers?
Her aukward love indeed was orldly fated;

By our full power of beauty we think fit
She and her Poly were too near related ;

To damn the Salique law imposd on wit:
And yet that scruple had been laid aside,

We'll try the empire who so long have boasted;
If honest Thescus had but fairly died:

And, if we are not prais’d, we'll not be toasted.
But when he came, what needed he to know, Approre what one of us presents to night,
But that all matters stood in statu quo ?

Or every mortal woman here shall write:
There was no harm, you sce; or, grant there were, Kural, pathetic, narrative, sublime,
Sbe might want conduct; but he wanted care We'll write to you, and make you write in rhymes

A BALLAD: TO THE TUNE OP

Female remarks shall take up all your time, Courage, friend; for to day is your period of sorrow;
Your time, poor souls! we'll take your very money; And things will go better, believe me, tomorrow."..
Female third-days shall come so thick upon ye, Derry down, &c.
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,

“ 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;

(own;

Whilst I am scorch'd with hot desire,
And the king, and the law, and the thief, has bis In vain cold friendship you return;
But my hearers cry out, “ What a duce dost thou Your drops of pity on my fire,
ail?

Alas! but make it fiercer burn.
Cut off thy reflections, and give us thy tale."

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.
A Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear;
And who to assist, but a grave Cordelier?
Derry down, &c.

AN EPITAPH,
The squire, whose good grace was to open the
scene,

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,
Rely on the aid you shall have from Sajnt Francis: Would not take pains to try for more.
If the money you proniis'd be brought to the chest, Nor sister either had nor brother;
You have only to die : let the church do the rest. They seem'd just tally'd for each other.
Derry down, &c.

Their moral and economy
** And what will folks say, if they see you afraid? Each virtue kept its proper bound,

Most perfectly they made agree:
It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade : Nor trespass'd on the other's ground,

[ocr errors]

Nor fame nor censure they regarded;
They neither punish'd nor rewarded.

AN EPISTLE,
He car'd not what the footman did;

DESIRING THE QUEEY'S PICTURE.
Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid:
So every servant took his course;

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

WRITTEN IN

MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS,

COUNTESS DOW AGER OF DEVONSHIRE,

ON A PIECE OP WIESSEY'S,

GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREWSBURY IX PRANCE,

AFTER THE PEACE, 1713.
DICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen
Of cities and of courts, of books and men;
And deign to let thy servant hold the pen.

Through ages thus I may presume to live,
And from the transcript of thy prose receive
What my own short-liv'd verse can never give.

Thus shall fair Britain, with a gracious smile,
Accept the work; and the instructed isle,
For more than treaties made, shall bless my toil.

Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferr'd,
Wisdom in English idiom shall be heard,
While Talbot tells the world, where Montaigne

err'd.

WHEREON WERE ALL IER GRANDSOXS PAINTED
Wiessen and Nature held a long contest,
If she created, or he painted, best ;
With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew,
She still form'd fairer; he still liker drew.
In these seven brethren they contended last,

With art increas'd, their utmost skill they tried,
And, both well pleas'd they had themselves sur-

pass'd,
The goddess triumph'd, and the painter died.
That both their skill to this vast height did raise,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praise :
For here, as in some glass, is well descry'd
Only yourself thus often multiply'd.
When Heaven had you and gracious Anna' made,
What more exalted beauty could it add ?

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,
So when the parent Sun, with genial beams, Warın in the glorious interest yon pursue,
Has animated many goodly gems,

And, in one word, a good man and a true.
He sees himself improv'd, while every stone,
With a resembling light, reflects a sun.

So when great Rhea many births had given,
Such as might govern Earth, and people Heaven ;

TO MR. HARLEY,
Her glory grew diffus'd, and, fuller known,
She saw the deity in every son :

WOUNDED BY GUISCARD, 1711.
And to what god soe'er men altars rais'd,
Honouring the offspring, they the mother prais'd.

Ab ipso
In shoti-liv'd charms let others place their joys,

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;
A stranger to her altars, and her land:

No son of hers could meditate this blow.
RIGIJT HONOURABLE MR. HARLEY.

Meantime thy pain is gracions Anna's care :
HORACE, I EP. IX. IMITATED.

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.

TO THE

IN THE SAME STYLL.

Behoveth neet to wreck my brain,
AN EXTEMPORE INVITATION TO THE

The rest in order to explain.
EARL OF OXFORD,

“That cup-board, where the mice disport,

I liken to St. Stephen's court::
LORD HICU TREASURER, 1712.

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,
Eateth bak'd meats, drinketh Greek wine;

But Topaz his own werke rehearseth,
ERLE ROBERT'S MICE.

And Mat mote praise what Topaz vesseth.
IN CHAUCER'S STYLE.

Now, sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,

Fall hardly earneth Mat his dinner.
Tway mice, full blythe and amicable,
Baten beside erle Robert's table.

IN THE SAME STYLE.
Lies there ne trap their necks to catch,
Ne old black cat their steps to watch,

Fair Susan did her wif-hede well menteine,
Their fill they eat of fowl and fish;

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.
To Matthew scated on t'oth' side;
" To thee, lean bard, it doth partain
To understand these crentures tweine.
Come fraine us now some clean device,
Or playsant rhyme on yonder inice:

A FLOWER
They seem, God shield me! Mat and Charles.”

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.
Ne priest unworth of goddess coat,
To swine ydrunk, or filthy stoat :

ON A COLUMN OF 11ER DRAWING.
Elk simile farewell for aye,
From elephant, I troue, to flea.”

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.
With wit that falleth all so fair:
Eft:oons, well weet ye, mine intent

The Exchequer.
Boweth to your commaandement.
If by these creatures ye have seen,

? The person here satirized was sit Richard Pourtrayed Charles aml Matthew been

Blackmore. Vi

" I weene

« PreviousContinue »