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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
" I weene
Again at six Apelles came,
Pound the same prating civil dame. PROTOGENES AND APELLES.
“ Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itself appear. When poets wrote, and painters drew,
If from the perfect line be found As Nature pointed out the view;
He has presum'd to swell the round, Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece
Or colours on the draught to lay, To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
'Tis thus (be order'd me to say), And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Thus write the painters of this isle: Had jangled their fantastic chimes :
Let those of Co remark the style.” Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
She said; and to his hand restor'd Those knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
The rival pledge, the missive board. Who knew not much to paint or write,
Upon the happy line were laid Nor card to pray, nor dar'd to fight :
Such obvious light, and easy shade, Protogenes, historians note,
That Paris' apple stood confest, Liv'd there, a burgess, scot and lot;
Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breast, And, as old Pliny's writings show,
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece: Apelles did the same at Co.
And live,” said he, “ the arts of Greece! Agreed these points of time and place,
Howe'er Protogenes and I Proceed we in the present case,
May in our rival talents vie ; Piqu'd by Protogenes's fame,
Howe'er our works may have express'd From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
Who truest drew, colour'd best, To see a rival and a friend,
When he beheld my flowing line, Prepar'd to censure, or commend ;
He found at least I could design: Here to absolve, and there object,
And from his artful round, I grant As art with candour might direct.
That he with perfect skill can paint." He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
The dullest genius cannot fail His servants follow with the things:
To find the moral of my tale; Appears the governante of th' house;
That the distinguish'd part of men, For such in Greece were much in use :
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen, If young or handsome, yea or no,
Should in life's visit leave their name, Concerns not me or thee to know.
In characters which may proclaim “ Does squire Protoyenes live here ?".
That they with ardour strore to raise " Yes, sir," says she, with gracious air,
At once their arts, and country's praise; And court'sey low, “ but just calPd out
And in their working took great care,
That aļl was full, and round, and fair.
DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS,
Democritus, dear droll, revisit Earth, So like th' original, they say:
And with our follies glut thy heighten'd mirth: But I have no great skill that way.
Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, retur, But, sir, at six ('tis now past three)
In louder grief our greates crimes to mour, Dromo must make my master's tea:
Between you both I unconcern'd stand by : At six, sir, if you please to come,
Hurt, can I laugh! and honest, need I cry? You'll find my master, sir, at home."
“ Tea," says a critic big with laughter, “ Was found some twenty ages after; Authors, before they write, should read,"
ON MY BIRTH-DAY, ''Tis very true; but we'll proceed. “And, sir, at present would yon please
JULY 21, To leave your name.”—“ Fair maiden, yes, 1, My dear, was born to day, Reach me that board.” No sooner spoke
So all my jolly comrades say ; But done. With one judicious stroke,
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth, On the plain ground Apelles drew
And ask to celebrate my birth : A circle regularly true:
Little, alas! my comrades know " And will you please, sweet-heart,” said he That I was born to pain and woe; " To show your master this from me?
To thy denial, to thy scom, By it he presently will know
Better I had ne'er been born: How painters write their naines at Co."
I wish to die ev'n whilst I say, He gave the pannel to the maid.
“l, my dear, was born to-day.” Smiling and court'sying, “Sir,” she said, “ I shall not fail to tell my master :
I, my dear, was born to-day; And, sir, for fear of all disaster,
Shall I salute the rising ray? I'll keep it my ownself: safe bind,
Well-spring of all my joy and woe,
Clotilda,' thou alone dost know :
? Mrs. Anne-Durham,
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
GUALTERUS DANISTONUS AD AMICOS. Shall I my comrades mirth receive,
Dum studeo fungi fallentis munere vitæ,
Adfectoque viam sedibus Elysiis,
Arctoa florens sophiâ, Samisque superbus Then let me hear thee smiling say,
Discipulis, animas morte carere cano. “ Thou, my dear, wert born to day.”
Has ego corporibus profugas ad sidera mitto;
Sideraque ingressis otia blanda dico; Qualia conveniunt Divis, queis fata volebant
Vitae faciles molliter ire vias:
Vinaque Cælicolis media inter gaudia libo;
Et me quid majus suspicor esse viro.
Sed fuerint nulli forsan, quos spondeo, cæli; EXTEMPORE.
Nullaque sint Ditis numina, nulla Jovis : Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Fabula sit terris agitur quæ vita relictis ; Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
Quique superstes, Homo; qui nihil, esto Deus. The son of Adam and of Eve;
Attamen esse hilares, & inanes mittere curas Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher?
Proderit, ac vitæ commoditate frui,
Tempora perpetuis detinuisse jocis.
His me parentem præceptis occupet Orcus,
Et Mors; seu Divum, seu nihil, esse velit:
Nam sophia ars illa est, quæ fallere suaviter horas To live: alas! one moment sets us even. Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven !
Admonet, atque Orci non tiinuisse minas.
FOR MY OWN MONUMENT.
STUDIOUS the busy moments to deceive,
And Samian sounds o'er Scotia's hills convey. For delays are unsafe, 'and his pious intention When mortal man resigns his transient breath,
May haply be never fulfill'd by his heir. The body only I give o'er to death; Then take Nat's word for it, the sculptor is paid ;
The parts dissolv'd and broken frame I mouru :
What came from earth I see to earth return. That the figure is fine, pray believe your own
The immaterial part, th' ethereal soul, eye;
Nor can change vanquish, nor can death control. Yet credit but lightly what more may be said, Glad I release it from its partner's cares, For we flatter ourselves, and teach marble to lie.
And bid good angels waft it to the stars. Yet, counting as far as to fifty his years,
Then in the flowing bowl I drown those sighs, His virtues and vices were as other men's are ; Which, spite of wisdom, from our weakness rise. High hopes he conceivd, and he sinother'd great The draught to the dead's memory. I commend, fears,
And offer to thee now, immortal friend. In a life party-colour'd, half pleasure, half care. But if, oppos’d to what my thoughts approve,
Nor Pluto's rage there be, nor power of Jove; Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave. On its dark side if thou the prospect take ;
He strove to make interest and freedom agree; Grant all forgot beyond black Lethe's lake ;
Yet bear thy lot content; yet cease to grieve: Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot,
Why, ere death comes, dost thou forbear to live? Both fortunes he try’d, but to neither would trust; The little time thou hast, 'twixt instant now And whirl'd in the round, as the wheel turn'd about, And Pate's approach, is all the Gods allow: He found riches had wings, and knew.man was
And of this little hast thou aught to spare but dust.
To sad reflection, and corroding care?
The moments past, if thou art wise, retrieve This verse little polish'd, though mighty sincere, With pleasant memory of the bliss they gave. Sets neither his titles por merit to view ;
The present hours in present mirth employ, It says, that his relics collected lie here,
And bribe the future with the hopes of joy : And no mortal yet knows too if this may be true. The future (few or more, howe'er they be) Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway,
Were destin'd erst; nor can by Fate's decree
Be now cut off betwixt the grave and thee,
THE PRST HYMN-OF CALLIMACHTIS.
While we to Jove select the holy victim, He cares not--yet pr’ythee be kind to his fame. Whom apter shall we sing, than Jove himself,