CUPID TURNED PLOUCHMAN. The gracious knight full well does weet, Ten farthings ne'er will do To keep a man each day in meat: A Rechabite poor Will must live, Spare diet, and spring-water clear, Who diets thus need never fear A fever in the blood. But pass-The Esculapian crew, Could Yorkshire-tyke but do the same, His goodness stands confest. At his fam'd gate stood Charity, In lovely sweet array; Ceres and Hospitality Dwelt there both night and day. But, to conclude, and be concise, Truth must Will's voucher be: Truth never yet went in disguise, For naked still is she. There is but one, but one alone, Can set the pilgrim free, And make him cease to pine and moan; O Frankland! it is thee. O! save him from a dreary way; At Coxwould he must die. Oh! let him in thy hall but stand, And wear a porter's gown, Duteous to what thou may'st command; Thus William's wishes crown. PONTIUS AND PONTIA: PONTIUS (who loves, you know, a joke, Much better than he loves his life) Chanc'd t'other morning to provoke The patience of a well-bred wife. "Talking of you," said he, " my dear, Two of the greatest wits in town, One ask'd if that high furze of hair Was, bona fide, all your own. 'Her own! most tertain,' t'other said; For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye, The hair was bought, the money paid, And the receipt was sign'd Ducailly." Pontia (that civil prudent she, Who values wit much less than sense, And never darts a repartee, But purely in her own defence) Reply'd, "These friends of yours, my dear, Are given extremely much to satire! But pr'ythee, husband, let one hear Sometimes less wit, and more good-nature. "Now I have one unlucky thought, That would have spoil'd your friend's conceit: Some hair I have, I'm sure, unbought: Pray bring your brother wits to see't." VENUS'S ADVICE TO THE MUSES. THUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame ; "Adorn my altars, and revere my name. My son shall else assume his potent darts, CUPID TURNED STROLLER, FROM ANACREON. Ar dead of night, when stars appear, "Who's there!" says 1, "who knocks so late, Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest?" hearts!" The Muses answer'd, "Venus, we deride "O fear not me, a harmless guest," In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate, I set the child an easy chair Against the fire, and dry'd his hair; Said, "Dearest friend, this bow you see, TO A POET OF QUALITY, PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE. Or thy judicious Muse's sense, She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies. To dear mamma must pay her duty: She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit, Thou should'st forget his daughter's beauty. THE PEDANT. LYSANDER talks extremely well; His tropes and figures will content ye: He should possess, to all degrees, The art of talk; he practises Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty. TO FORTUNE. WHILST I in prison or in court look down, NONPAREIL LET others from the town retire, My Phillis does such joys inspire, More beauteous than in flowery field; To this each crystal stream must yield. Her voice more sweet than warbling sound, Though sung by nightingale or lark; Her eyes such lustre dart around, Compar'd to them, the Sun is dark. Both light and vital heat they give; Cherish'd by them, my love takes root, From her kind looks does life receive, Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit, Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive The common parent of mankind, And made transgress our mother Eve: Poison its core, though fair its rind. Yet so delicious is its taste, I cannot from the bait abstain, But to th' enchanting pleasure haste, Though I were sure 'twould end in pain. CHASTE FLORIMEL. "No-I'll endure ten thousand deaths, Oh, sir! no man on Earth that breathes, "Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart, Thus to the pressing Corydon, R + UPON HONOUR. "And, hark ye, madam !" cry'd the bawd; "None of your flights, your high-rope dodging; Be civil here, or march abroad; Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging." Oh! have I"-Florimel went on"Have I then lost my Delia's aid? Where shall forsaken Virtue run, If by her friend she is betray'd? Dear sir, and make me yours for ever." A FRAGMENT. HONOUR, I say, or honest fame, I mean the substance, not the name; Kingsale! eight hundred years have roll'd The man who by his labour gets His bread, in independent state, Who never begs, and seldom eats, Himself can fix or change his fate. But yet till then it never did appear, Yet she, still contradicting, gifts imparts, CUPID'S PROMISE, A FRENCH SONG PARAPHRASED SOFT Cupid, wanton, amorous boy, And utter'd thus his fond desire. Who can so sweetly play and sing. "Two kisses from my mother dear, Thyrsis, thy due reward shall be; None, none, like beauty's queen is fair, Paris has vouch'd this truth for me." I straight reply'd, "Thou know'st alone That brightest Chloe rules my breast: I'll sing thee two instead of one, If thou'lt be kind, and make me blest. "One kiss from Chloe's lips, no more, I crave:" he promis'd me success; Wilt thou make good what Love has said, TO THE EARL OF OXFORD. WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN LADY OXFORD'S STUDY, 1717. PEN, ink, and wax, and paper, send A LETTER TO THE HONOURABLE LADY MARGARET CAVENDISH My noble, lovely, little Peggy, This stone had still remain'd unmark'd, His prudence and his wit were seen EPIGRAM. To Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his letters, [betters. And thought they were safe in the hands of his How happen'd it then that the packets were lost? These were Knights of the Garter, not Knights of the Post. OF THE VICEROY, A BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF, LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. F Nero, tyrant, petty king2, Who heretofore did reign And in a ditty plain. He hated was by rich and poor, That he himself did fear. Full proud and arrogant was he, He, with a haughty impious nod, A patriot of high degree, Who could no longer bear And, arm'd with truth, impeach'd the Don In low, but faithful rhymes. 2 Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices Ireland. * The earl of Bellamont impeached Coningsby |