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Maggots

or, Poems on Several Subjects, Never before Handled. By a Schollar [i.e. Samuel Wesley]
Wesley, Samuel (1662-1735)

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[In's own defence the Author writes]
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[dedication]
  
On a Maggot.
  
On two Souldiers killing one another for a Groat.
  
[No Monarch's Death, no fall of Prince or King]
  
A Pindaricque,
  
To my Gingerbread Mistress.
  
On the Bear-fac'd Lady.
  
An Anacreontique on a Pair of BREECHES.
  
A Tobacco Pipe.
  
On a COW's TAIL.
  
The Lyar.
  
On a Hat broke at Cudgels
  
A Covetous old Fellow having taken occasion to hang himself a little; another comes in, in the nick, and cuts him down; but instead of Thanking him for his Life, he accuses him for spoyling the Rope.
  
On a Supper of a Stinking Ducks.
  
To the Laud and Praise of a Shock Bitch.
  
An ELEGY On the untimely and much lamented Death of Poor Spot, as loving a Bitch as ever went upon two Legs, who departed this Life,
  
A Box made like an Egg, was between Jest and Earnest, between Stoln and Borrow'd; but at last, (see the Honesty!) after a Year's Possession, restor'd with this in the Belly on't.
  
The Beggar and Poet.
  
Plures aluit Aristoteles quam Alexander.
  
A King turn'd Thresher.
  
On a Discourteous Damsel that call'd the Right Worshipful Author—(an't please ye!) Sawcy Puppy.
  
On a CHEESE.
  
A Full and True Account of a Journey with its Appurtenances.
  
The Leather Bottle.
  
Out of Lucian's true History, Part the First.
  
An Elegant Letter, with a Copy of fine Verses by a London Wit, in answer to a Lampoon.
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DIALOGUES.
 1. 
I. Dialogue, Between a Thatcher and a Gardener, for Precedency, on occasion of a Pot of Ale with this Inscription; Detur Digniori.
 2. 
The Second Dialogue, Between the Herring, and Whale.
 3. 
The Third Dialogue, Between Chamber-pot and Frying Pan.
  
Against a Kiss.
  
On a certain Nose.
  
In Praise of Horns.
  
Advice to Monsieur Ragoo, who had his choice either to be Hang'd or Married.
  
On a pretended Schollar that would have had some Verses he had stoln from another Book inserted into the Maggots.
  
A Pindaric Poem On Three Skipps of a Louse.

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81

An ELEGY On the untimely and much lamented Death of Poor Spot, as loving a Bitch as ever went upon two Legs, who departed this Life,

An. 1684.

O Spot! how dull a Dog am I,
That cannot for thy Murder cry,
Nor whimper?
Tho' thou full oft on thankless me,
Now from the ground, now from my knee
Didst simper.
How e're, accept this grateful Verse,
To pin on thy untimely Herse
Provided.
82

Even so Renowned Bat of old,

Bat Kempster of eternal memory,—who has in like manner—(as Sternhold says) immortaliz'd the memory of Captain Narbourn's Dog, which now must live as long as Bat in spight of Envy.


A poor good-natur'd Hound condol'd,

Good-natur'd, because,—because,—'Tis but looking in the Book, and you'll know all better than I can tell you.


As I did.
Tell me, O tell me, you that know,
How Spot the higher Powers so
Offended?
What was the pretty Traytor's Crime,
That her fair Dayes in Beauty's prime
Were ended?
She, ever vigilant and brisk,
Her nimble Tail around would whisk,
Like Fan. Sr.
With Umph she never went away,
But, by her mumping mean'd to say
Anan Sr.
She was not ugly, rank, nor old;
Tho' she ne'r sung, she was no Scold
Uncivil:
Sweet-Hearts she had, Him, Him, and Him,
O Envy! Envy! O thou Limb
O th' Devil!
With Mouth and Tayl, come when you will,
She smil'd, and would endeavour still
To please ye;
Altho' 'tis true, she was not Fair,
Her Cheeks ne'r shin'd, her Muzzle ne're
Was greasie.
One fault alone in her we find;
Were she not pleas'd, she must be kind
To Neighbours;
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Which brought poor Tray to a sad pass,

Tray was one of Madam Spot's most obsequious and most humble Servants, but by being so complaisant and obliging, had almost kill'd himself. This is no Tale, but a sad, Truth,—Ask all the Neighbours else.


When he, to please the Love-sick Lass,
O're-labours.
Well, gone she is, and who can help't?
Ah! gone she is before she whelpt;
Ah cruel!
Let none at too just Sorrows scoff,
Now cross-grain'd Fate has robb'd us of
Our Jewel!
But since poor Spot must go and buss
For our brisk Lord, old Cerberus

My Lord was Tray's Successor: Of him self more, and Spot too, in the (Carmen Cynegeticon.)


So musty;
Come Lads, let's bid her all adieu,
And own ne're dy'd a Bitch more true,
And trusty!
Go Spot, to the Elysian Plain,
Go Spot, and meet thy Tray again
Far kinder!
What tho' Erynnis on thee scowl,
And make her Snakes about thee howl?
Ne're mind her.
There Spot, be ever brisk and gay;
There thou, without the Bans forbid, thy Tray
May'st marry;
In Fields gilt o're with many a Flower,
In Walks as fine as those of our
King Harry.
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