University of Virginia Library

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65

To John Creed of Oundle in Northamptonshire, Esq

While you, dear Creed, secure at Land,
Enjoy your Fortune at Command;
And, careless of the Wind and Tide,
Anchor'd at Oundle safely ride:
I have been rowling on the Ocean,
Sick as I'd taken Pill or Potion.
Coup'd up within a narrow Cabbin,
(Grave as a Monk, or ancient Rabbin)
I led a Life so odd and lazy,
By Jove it almost made me crazy.
Instead of Men of Conversation,
Mix'd with a Wapping Generation,
The Filth and Scum of all the Nation,

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66

Rogues without Souls, or other Fire,
Than what their Brandy did inspire;
I guzzled Flip, or viler Liquor,
And drank and smoak'd like Country Vicar.
But, Thanks to Heav'n, that Plague is o'er;
And I'm got safe again ashore;
Where, free from Sickness, and from Sorrow,
I'll Live to Day, and—Hang to Morrow.
For I'm the same as heretofore;
Just as Extravagant and Poor:
Resolv'd to spend the utmost Farthing;
And ne'er increase my Pelf by starving:
But freely feed my Genial Fire,
Indulge each elegant Desire,
While Wit, and Mirth, and gen'rous Wine,
Shall all their happy Forces join,
To soften the rough Scene of War,
And find a Charm for ev'ry Care.

Had I been Turn'd for Ways of Thriving,
(As my grave Father was Contriving)

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67

E'er this you might have heard me Bawl
At Westminster, or Hicks's-Hall:
I at the Temple had been Plodding,
Instead of Plund'ring and Marauding.
But 'tis in vain to force the Mind,
Which way soever 'tis inclin'd:
Else I should never spend my Time in
This trifling Dogrel Vein of Rhiming,
But in plain Prose, and better Sense
Tell you what News there is from hence.

Our present Theatre of War
Lies chiefly here among the Fair:
How to subdue the Ladies Hearts;
And manage Cupid's pointed Darts.
Each Cavalier attacks his Dame,
And all our little Camp's in Flame.
The Spaniards, to their Cost, may feel
Our Eyes are fatal as our Steel.
F--- Who, by Nature form'd for Love,
Alike does both the Sexes move,

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68

With am'rous Airs and wanton Glances,
Tickles the young Sennoras' Fancies.
Whilst I, who turn'd of Seven and twenty,
Find Venus' Treasure not so Plenty,
With more Success, and better Grace
Supply the absent Chaplain's Place;
Admonish Youth to fly from Vice,
Abstain from Whoring, Cards, and Dice,
And, like an Orthodox Divine,
Damn all Mens Sins, yet stick to mine.

I rise each Day by Morning-Peep,
(For Hunger will not let me sleep)
Then in fat Chocolate I Riot,
To bribe my Stomach to be quiet.
At Noon I twist at such a rate,
Twould do you Good to see me Eat.
The Priests, who find me always Cramming,
Pray against Heresy and Famine.
But how should Men be Stout and Warlike,
Who feed on nought but Fish and Garlick.

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69

'Tis Beef and Pork support the War,
And not their Fasting, nor their Pray'r.