The Poetical Entertainer Or, Tales, Satyrs, Dialogues, And Intrigues, &c. Serious and Comical. All digested into such Verse as most agreeable to the several Subjects. To be publish'd as often as occasion shall offer [by Edward Ward] |
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A gentle Reproof to a deceitful Friend.
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 | The Poetical Entertainer |  |
A gentle Reproof to a deceitful Friend.
Forbear, my Outside Friend, to shake my Hand
Tell me no more, thou art at my Command.
I scorn the Wretch that studies my Disgrace,
Behind my Back, and Cringes to my Face.
Thou'rt full of nauseous Flatt'ry and Deceit,
And for true Friendship's sacred Bonds unfit:
I hate the Fawnings of a double Tongue,
That always speaks me fair, yet does me wrong:
No more into my peaceful Bosom creep,
To fish for Secrets which thou canst not keep,
Nor villify thy Friends, to let me see,
When my Back's turn'd, how thou canst rail at me,
I've penetrating Eyes, and at one view,
When e'er I see thy Face, can look thee through,
And find Self-Int'rest lurking in thy Mind,
With Craft, like unborn Twins, together join'd,
Which Monsters govern thy Designs and thee,
And fill thy Actions with Deformity,
That what kind Offices thou dost thy Friend,
Like a Whores Love, prove fatal in the end;
And, at best, terminate in some ill Word,
That blasts thy Favours, to thy gain, confer'd,
And often purchas'd at a dearer Rate,
Than Mercy at the Fleet or Compter Gate.
Therefore pray boast no Friendships thou hast done,
Since thy best Services are worse than none,
And such, that e'ery prudent Man would fly,
That knew thy Inside half so well as I.
Creep not, from place to place, to pry and sift,
Like an old Gossip, when thy only drift
Can be, by tattling, to revive or make
Mischief, for nothing but for Mischief's sake.
Let mine, and other Men's Affairs, alone,
And learn to manage, with more Wit, thy own.
Thou'rt an old Man, 'tis true, I might have said
Old Woman, by the rattle in thy Head,
Therefore in pity to thy doating Age,
I spare thy Follies, and restrain my Rage,
And use thee, like an angry Judge that hides
His Passion gravely, and with Temper chides;
But if thou irritat'st my Muse, my Next
Shall shew thee what a Poet is when vex'd;
For Wrongs repeated, more and more provoke,
And fresh Affronts deserve a smarter Stroke.
Tell me no more, thou art at my Command.
I scorn the Wretch that studies my Disgrace,
Behind my Back, and Cringes to my Face.
Thou'rt full of nauseous Flatt'ry and Deceit,
And for true Friendship's sacred Bonds unfit:
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That always speaks me fair, yet does me wrong:
No more into my peaceful Bosom creep,
To fish for Secrets which thou canst not keep,
Nor villify thy Friends, to let me see,
When my Back's turn'd, how thou canst rail at me,
I've penetrating Eyes, and at one view,
When e'er I see thy Face, can look thee through,
And find Self-Int'rest lurking in thy Mind,
With Craft, like unborn Twins, together join'd,
Which Monsters govern thy Designs and thee,
And fill thy Actions with Deformity,
That what kind Offices thou dost thy Friend,
Like a Whores Love, prove fatal in the end;
And, at best, terminate in some ill Word,
That blasts thy Favours, to thy gain, confer'd,
And often purchas'd at a dearer Rate,
Than Mercy at the Fleet or Compter Gate.
Therefore pray boast no Friendships thou hast done,
Since thy best Services are worse than none,
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That knew thy Inside half so well as I.
Creep not, from place to place, to pry and sift,
Like an old Gossip, when thy only drift
Can be, by tattling, to revive or make
Mischief, for nothing but for Mischief's sake.
Let mine, and other Men's Affairs, alone,
And learn to manage, with more Wit, thy own.
Thou'rt an old Man, 'tis true, I might have said
Old Woman, by the rattle in thy Head,
Therefore in pity to thy doating Age,
I spare thy Follies, and restrain my Rage,
And use thee, like an angry Judge that hides
His Passion gravely, and with Temper chides;
But if thou irritat'st my Muse, my Next
Shall shew thee what a Poet is when vex'd;
For Wrongs repeated, more and more provoke,
And fresh Affronts deserve a smarter Stroke.
| The Poetical Entertainer | |