Maggots :: :: University of Virginia Library

And here let me tell ye, is a fair occasion to give you to understand the Author has a smatch of Latin Verses too—for some were made before these English on the same Subject: But for fear of clapping in a false Concord or Position, or so, (the very thoughts whereof will be dreadful, as long as I can unbutton my Breeches) I think e'ne best as 'tis.

Let lofty Greek and Latin go,
And Priscian crackt from top to Toe,
Since he at School full often so
Misus'd us;

From High and mighty Lines I fall,
At powerful Shock's imperious Call,
And now in downright Doggrel crawl
My Muse does.

Tho' my froze Hogs-head e'ne is burst,

See the Academy de'l Cimento, and others, about the Nature of freezing, which rarifies and dilates, not condenses or lessens the Water. Thus a Vessel stopt close, with no vent, when frozen, if precisely full, will burst out the Hoops for Enlargement.

—'Twas in the middle of the great frost they were wrote.

I'le do what none before e're durst,
And on her Praises make the first
Adventure;

O for some Album-Græcum now!
'Twould clear my musty pipes I trow;
Then would I yelp as loud as thou,

Stentor was a kind of a City Cryer in Homer,—A speaking Trumpet was but a Bagpipe to him, (for all by their Names they should be Cousins) he would lift up his voice just a loud as fifty men, not one more, nor one less.

Old Stentor!

Come hither Shock; I'll ne'r complain,
Nor kick thee from my Lap again,
Tho' other Lips thy Mouth so dain-
-ty touches;

Give me one Buss, I'le prize thee more
Than tinsil'd Lord does brazen Whore;
Or then—or then—or then—or then-
No-body.

Let lowsie Poets sit and chat
Of Money, and they know not what!
Of Love, and Honour, and all that
So silly!

Let Play-house-Hero's live or dy,
Or spew, or stink, or swear, or lye,
To court the Glance of one bright Eye
From Philly!

Let the entranced loving Ass
A Picture wooe, and buss the Glass,
Covering his Mistresses surpas-
-sing Beauty!

Then steal from Cowley, or from Don,
(Since none will miss 'em when they're gon)
Two hundred thousand Stanza's on

Just so many in Quevedo's Buscon, the Poet makes on a Pin dropt from his Mistress's Sleeve—I think sincerely a greater Maggot than all mine put together.

Her Shoo-ty!

All other Fairs avaunt, avaunt,
For Shock's sweet praise my Muse must chaunt,
And sweat, (ah, wou'd she wou'd!) in Rant

Once more, lest you should forget it, 'twas very cold weather when this was on the Anvile.

Extatic.

'Tis Shock alone is my desire,
She does my addled pate inspire,
As much as any Muse, with Fire
Poetic.

View every Limb in every part,
From Head to Tail, from Rump to Heart,
You'll find she not one Pin from Art
Has gotten;

When Courtly Dames so gawdy, tho'
They dress their mouths in pimlico,
A Dog won't touch 'em, they are so
Ripe-rotten.

Muse, what d'ye mean? what Flesh can stay,
And dive in Helicon to day,
Or swim in any Streams but A-
qua-vitæ?

Put up your Pipes, to dinner go,
Whilest I dismiss the Guests below:
You're welcome Gentlemen! and so,
Good-buy-t'y'e!