University of Virginia Library

I. VOL. I

POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS

I
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE BETWEEN THIRSIS AND STREPHON

Thirsis.]
Strephon, O Strephon, once the jolliest Lad,
That with shrill Pipe did ever Mountain glad;
Whilome the Foremost at our rural Plays,
The Pride and Envy of our Holidays:
Why dost thou now sit musing all alone,
Teaching the Turtles, yet a sadder Moan?
Swell'd with thy Tears, why does the Neighbouring Brook
Bear to the Ocean, what she never took?
Thy Flocks are fair and fruitful, and no Swain,
Then thee, more welcome to the Hill or Plain.

Strep.]
I could invite the Wolf, my cruel Guest,
And play unmov'd, while he on all should feast:
I cou'd endure that every Swain out-run,
Out-threw, out-wrestled, and each Nymph shou'd shun
The hapless Strephon.—

Thir.]
Tell me then thy Grief,
And give it, in Complaints, some short Releif.

Strep.]
Had killing Mildews nipt my rising Corn,
My Lambs been all found dead, as soon as born;
Or raging Plagues run swift through every Hive,
And left not one industrious Bee alive;
Had early Winds, with an hoarse Winter's Sound
Scatter'd my rip'ning Fruit upon the Ground:
Unmov'd, untoucht, I cou'd the Loss sustain,
And a few Days expir'd, no more complain.

Thir.]
E're the Sun drank of the cold Morning-dew,
I've known thee early the tuskt Boar pursue:
Then in the Evening drive the Bear away,
And rescue from his Jaws the trembling Prey.
But now thy Flocks creep feebly through the Fields,
No purple Grapes, thy half drest Vine-yards yields:
No Primrose nor no Violets grace thy Beds,
But Thorns and Thistles lift their prickly Heads.
What means this Change?

Strep.]
Enquire no more;
When none can heal, 'tis Pain to search the Sore;
Bright Galatea, in whose Mateless Face
Sat rural Innocence, with heavenly Grace;
In whose no less inimitable Mind,
With equal Light, even distant Virtues shin'd;
Chast without Pride, and Charming without Art,
Honour the Tyrant of her tender Heart:
Fair Goddess of these Fields, who for our Sports,
Though she might well become, neglected Courts.
Belov'd of all, and loving me alone,
Is from my Sight, I fear, for ever gone.

Thir.]
Thy Case indeed is pitiful, but yet
Thou on thy Loss too great a Price dost set.
Women like Days are Strephon, some be far
More bright and glorious than others are:
Yet none so gay, so temperate, so clear,
But that the like adorne the rowling Year.
Pleasures imparted, to a Friend encrease,
Perhaps divided Sorrow may grow less.

Strep.]
Others as fair, to other Eyes may seem,
But she has all my Love and my Esteem:
Her bright Idea wanders in my Thought,
At once my Poison, and my Antidote.

Thir.]
Our Hearts are Paper, Beauty is the Pen,
Which writes our Loves, and blots 'em out agen.
Phillis is Whiter than the rising Swan,
Her slender Wast confin'd within a Span:
Charming as Nature's Face in the new Spring,
When early Birds on the green Branches sing.
When rising Herbs and Buds begin to hide,
Their naked Mother, with their short-liv'd Pride,
Cloe is ripe, and as the Autumn fair,
When on the Elm the purple Grapes appear.
When Trees, Hedg-rows, and every bending Bush,
With rip'ning Fruit, or tasteful Berries blush,
Lydia is in the Summer of her Days,
What Wood can shade us from her piercing Rays?
Her even Teeth, whiter than new yean'd Lambs,
When they with tender Cries pursue their Dams.
Her Eyes as Charming as the Evening-sun,
To the scortcht Labourer when Work is done,
Whom the glad Pipe, to rural Sports invites,
And pays his Toil with innocent Delights.
On some of these fond Swain fix thy Desire,
And burn not with imaginary Fire.

Strep.]
The Stag shall sooner with the Eagle soar,
Seas leave their Fishes naked on the Shore;
The Wolf shall sooner by the Lambkin die,
And from the Kid the hungry Lion fly,
Than I abandon Galatea's Love,
Or her dear Image from my Thoughts remove.

Thir.]
Damon this Evening carries home his Bride,
In all the harmless Pomp of rural Pride:
Where, for two spotted Lambkins, newly yean'd,
With nimble Feet and Voice, the Nimphs contend:
And for a Coat, thy Galatea spun,
The Shepherds Wrastle, throw the Bar, and Run.

Strep.]
At that dear Name I feel my Heart rebound,
Like the old Steed, at the fierce Trumpet's sound:
I grow impatient of the least Delay,
No Dastard Swain shall bear the Prize away.

Thir.]
Let us make hast, already they are met;
The ecchoing Hills their joyful Shouts repeat.

II
SONG

Phillis, let's shun the common Fate,
And let our Love ne'r turn to Hate;
I'll dote no longer then I can,
Without being call'd a faithless Man.
When we begin to want Discourse,
And Kindness seems to tast of Force,
As freely as we met, we'll part,
Each one possest of their own Heart.
Thus whilst rash Fools themselves undo;
We'll Game, and give off Savers too;
So equally the Match we'll make,
Both shall be glad to draw the Stake:
A Smile of thine shall make my Bliss,
I will enjoy thee in a Kiss;
If from this Height our Kindness fall,
We'll bravely scorn to Love at all:
If thy Affection first decay,
I will the Blame on Nature lay.
Alas, what Cordial can remove
The hasty Fate of dying Love?
Thus we will all the World excel
In Loving, and in Parting well.

III
SONG

IV

[Thirsis no more against my Flame advise]

Thirsis no more against my Flame advise,
But let me be in Love, and be you wise:
Here end, and there begin a new Address,
Pursue the vulgar easie Happiness:
Leave me to Amaranta, who alone
Can in my sullen Heart erect her Throne:
I know, as well as you, 'tis mean to burn,
For one who to our Flame makes no return:
But you, like me, feel not those conquering Eyes,
Which mock Prevention by a quick Surprize:
And now like a hurt Deer, in vain I start
From her, that in my Breast has hid the Dart.
Though I can never reach her Excellence,
Take somewhat in my hopeless Love's defence.
Her Beauty is her not esteemed Wealth,
And Graces play about her Eyes by stealth;
Vertue in others, the forc'd Child of Art,
Is but the native Temper of her Heart:
All Charms her Sex so often court in vain,
(Like Indian Fruit, which our cold Earth disdain.)
In her grow wild, as in their native Air,
And she has all Perfection without Care.
Of Lovers Harms she has the tend'rest Sense,
That can consist with so much Innocense.
Like a wise Prince, she rules her Subjects so,
That neither Want, nor Luxury they know.
None vainly hoping what, she may not give,
Like humble Slaves at small Expence we live:
And I the wretched Comfort only share,
To be the Least whom she will bid Dispair.

V
TO CLORIS

Cloris, I cannot say your Eyes
Did my unwary Heart surprize;
Nor will I swear it was your Face,
Your Shape, or any nameless Grace:
For you are so intirely Fair,
To love a Part, Injustice were;
No drowning Man can know which Drop
Of Water his last Breath did stop;
So when the Stars in Heaven appear,
And joyn to make the Night look clear;
The Light we no one's Bounty call,
But the obliging Gift of all.
He that does Lips or Hands adore,
Deserves them only, and no more;
But I love All, and every Part,
And nothing less can ease my Heart.
Cupid, that Lover, weakly strikes,
Who can express what 'tis he likes.

VI
INDIFFERENCE EXCUSED

VII
ORINDA TO CLORIS

Cloris, you live ador'd by all,
And yet on none your Favours fall.
A stranger Mistress ne're was known;
You pay 'em all in paying none.
We him of Avarice accuse,
Who what he has forbears to use;
But what Disease of Mind shall I
Call this, thy hated Penury?
Thou wilt not give out of a Store,
Which no Profuseness can make poor.
Misers, when dead, they make amends,
And in their Wills enrich their Friends;
But when thou dy'st, thy Treasure dies,
And thou canst leave no Legacies.
What Madness is it then to spare,
When we want Power to make an Heir?
Live, Cloris, then at the full Rate
Of thy great Beauty; and since Fate,
To Love and Youth, is so severe,
Enjoy 'm freely while th' art here.
Some Caution yet I'd have thee use,
When e're thou dost a Servant chuse:
Men are not all for Lovers fit,
No more than Arms, or Arts of Wit:
For Wisdom some respected are,
Some we see poweful at the Bar;
Some for Preferment waste their Time,
And the steep Hill of Honour climb.
Others of Love their Business make,
In Love their whole Diversion take.
Take one of those; for in one Breast
Two Passions live but ill at rest:
Be wise, and with Discretion fly
All that take Flame at every Eye.
All sorts with powder'd Coat and Hair;
All that dare more than think thee Fair,
Take one of Love who nothing says,
And yet whom every Word betrays;
Love in the Cradle pretty'st shews.
And when't can speak, unruly grows.

VIII
THE COMPLAINT

IX
CONSTANCY

Fear not, my Dear, a Flame can never dye,
That is once kindled by so bright an Eye;
View but thy self, and measure thence my Love,
Think what a Passion such a Form must move;
For though thy Beauty first allur'd my Sight,
Now I consider it but as the Light
That led me to the Treasury of thy Mind,
Whose inward Vertue in that Feature shin'd.
That Knot be confident will ever last,
Which Fancy ty'd, and Reason has made fast;
So fast that time, although it may disarm
Thy lovely Face, my Faith can never harm;
And Age deluded, when it comes, will find
My Love removed, and to thy Soul assign'd.

X
THE PLATONICK

Fair Amaranta, wert thou not to blame,
To blow the Fire, and wonder at the Flame?
I did converse, 'tis true, so far was mine,
But that I lov'd, and hop'd was wholly thine;
Not hop'd as others do, for a Return,
But that I might without offending burn.
I thought those Eyes which every Hour enslave
Could not remember all the Wounds they gave:
Forgotten in the Crowd I wisht to lie,
And of your Coldness, not your Anger, die;
Yet since you know I love, 'tis now no time
Longer to hide, let me excuse the Crime,
Seeing what Laws I to my Passion give,
Perhaps you may consent that it should live:
First then, it never shall a Hope advance,
Of waiting on you, but by seeming chance;
I at a distance will adore your Eyes,
As awful Persians do the Eastern Skies;
I never will presume to think of Sex,
Nor with gross Thoughts my deathless Love perplex;
I tread a pleasant Path without Design;
And to thy Care my Happiness resign:
From Heaven it self thy Beauty cannot be
A freer Gift, than is my Love to thee.

XI
TO CELIA

You tell me, Celia, you approve,
Yet never must return my Love:
An Answer that my Hope destroys,
And in the Cradle wounds our Joys;
To kill at once what needs must die,
None would to Birds and Beast[s] deny.
How can you then so Cruel prove,
As to preserve, and torture Love?
That Beauty Nature kindly meant
For her own Pride, and our Content;
Why shou'd the Tyrant Honour make
Our cruel undeserved Wrack?
In Love and War th' Impostor do's
The Best to greatest Harms expose:
Come then, my Celia, let's no more
This Devil for a God adore;
Like foolish Indians we have been,
Whose whole Religion is a Sin:
Let's lose no Time then but repent,
Love welcomes best a Penitent.

XII
HER ANSWER

Thirsis, I wish, as well as you,
To Honour there were nothing due,
Then would I pay my Debt of Love
In the same Coin that you approve;
Which now you must in Friendship take,
'Tis all the Payment I can make;
Friendship so high, that I must say,
'Tis rather Love, with some Allay;
And rest contented, since that I
As well my self as you deny.
Learn then of me, bravely to bear,
The want of what you hold most dear;
And that which Honour does in me,
Let my Example work in thee.

XIII
TO AMARANTA

WHOM HE FELL IN LOVE WITH AT A PLAY-HOUSE

Fair Amaranta on the Stage, whilst you
Pitty'd a feigned Love, you gave a true;
The Hopes and Fears, in every Scene exprest,
Grew soon th' uneasie Motions of my Breast.
I thought to steal the innocent Delight,
And not have paid my Heart for a first Sight.
And if I ventur'd on some slight Discourse,
It should be such as could no Passion nurse:
Led by the treacherous Lustre of your Eyes,
At last I play'd too near the Precipice:
Love came disguis'd in Wonder and Delight,
His Bow unbent, his Arrows out of sight;
Your Words fell on my Passion, like those Showers,
Which paint and multiply the rising Flowers;
Like Cupid's self, a God, and yet a Child,
Your Looks at once were awful, and yet mild:
Methoughts you blush'd, as conscious of my Flame,
Whilst your strict Vertue did your Beauty blame:
But rest secure, y'are from the Guilt as free
As Saints ador'd from our Idolatry.

XIV
THE SUBMISSION

Ah! Pardon, Madam; if I ever thought
Your smallest Favours could too dear be bought;
And the just Greatness of your Servants Flame,
I did the Poorness of their Spirits name;
Calling their long Attendance Slavery,
Your Power of Life and Death flat Tyranny;
Since now I yield, and do confess there is
No way too hard that leads to such Bliss.
So when Hippomanes beheld the Race,
Where Loss was Death, and Conquest but a Face,
He stood amazed at the fatal Strife,
Wondring that Love shou'd dearer be than Life;
But when he saw the Prize no longer staid,
But through those very Dangers sought the Maid,
And won her too: O may his Conquest prove,
A happy Omen to my purer Love;
Which if the Honour of all Victory,
In the Resistance of the Vanquisht lie,
Though it may be the least regarded Prize,
Is not the smallest Trophy of our Eyes.

XV
TO A DEVOUT YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN

XVI
TO CELIA

Princes make Laws, by which their Subjects live,
And the high Gods Rules for the Worship give;
How should poor Mortals else a Service find
At all proportion'd to their heavenly Mind?
Had it been left to us, each one would bring,
Of what he lik'd himself, an Offering;
And with unwelcome Zeal perhaps displease
Th' offended Deity he would appease.
All Powers but thine, this Mercy did allow,
And how they wou'd be serv'd, themselves do shew.
A rude Barbarian wou'd his captiv'd Foe
Fully instruct in what he'd have him do:
And can it be, my Celia, that Love,
Less kind than War shou'd to the vanquish'd prove?
Say, cruel Fair, must then my Heart, a Flame,
Use for a while Friendship's Disguise and Name?
Or may it boldly like it self appear,
And its own Tale deliver to thy Ear?
Or must it in my tortur'd Bosom live,
Like Fire in unmov'd Flints, and no Light give,
And only then humbly send forth a small
Spark, when your self does on that Subject fall?
My Passion can with any Laws comply,
And, for your sake, do any thing, but die.

XVII
SONG

Get you gone, you will undo me,
If you love me, don't pursue me,
Let that Inclination perish,
Which I dare no longer cherish;
With harmless Thoughts I did begin,
But in the Crowd Love entred in;
I knew him not, he was so gay,
So innocent and full of play;
At every Hour, in every Place,
I either saw or form'd your Face;
All that in Plays was finely writ,
Fancy for you, and me did fit.
My Dreams at Night were all of you,
Such as till then I never knew:
I sported thus with young Desire,
Never intending to go higher:
But now his Teeth and Claws are grown,
Let me the fatal Lion shun;
You found me harmless, leave me so;
For were I not, you'd leave me too.

XVIII
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN AMINTAS AND CELIA

Celia.]
Amintas, I am come alone,
A silly harmless Maid,
But whether is thy Honour flown?
I fear I am betray'd;
Thy Looks are chang'd and in the Place
Of innocent Desires,
Methinks I see thy Eyes and Face
Glow with unusual Fires.

Amintas.]
Sees not my Celia, Nature wear
One Countenance in the Spring,
And yet another Shape prepare,
To bring the Harvest in?
Look on the Eagle, how unlike
He to the Egg is found,
When he prepares his Pownce to strike
His Prey against the Ground;
Fears might my Infant-love become,
'Twere want of Vigor now
Should Modesty those Hopes benum,
The Place and You allow.

Celia.]
Amintas, hold; What could you worse
To worst of Women do?
Ah! how could you a Passion nurse,
So much my Honour's Foe?

Amintas.]
Make not an Idol of a Toy,
Which every Breath can shake,
Which all must have, or none enjoy,
What Course soe're we take.
Whilst Women hate, or Men are vain,
You cannot be secure;
What makes my Celia then a Pain
So needless to endure?

Celia.]
Could I the World neglect for thee,
Thy Love, though dear it cost,
In some unkind Conceit of me,
Would be untimely lost:
Thou would'st thy own Example fear,
And every heedless Word,
I chance let fall beyond thy Ear
Would some new Doubt afford.

Amintas.]
If I am jealous, 'tis because
I know not where you love;
With me obey Love's gentle Laws
And all my Fears remove.

Celia.]
Women, like Things at Second-hand
Do half their Value lose,
But whil'st all Courtship they withstand,
May at their Pleasure choose.

Amintas.]
This were a fine Discourse, my Dear,
If we were not alone;
But now Love whispers in my Ear,
There's somewhat to be done.
She said she never would forgive;
He kissing, swore she shou'd;
And told her, she was mad to strive
Against their mutual Good.
What farther past, I cannot tell
But sure not much amiss;
He vow'd he lov'd her dearly well,
She answered with a Kiss.

XIX
SONG

XX
SONG

XXI
SONG

XXII

[Madam, for your Commands to stay]

Madam, for your Commands to stay,
Is the mean Duty of a Wretch,
Whose Service you with Wages pay;
Lovers should at occasion catch,
Not idly wait till it be brought,
But with the Deed o're take your Thought;
Honour and Love let them give o're,
Who do their Duty, and no more.

XXIII

[Awake, my Eyes, at Night my Thought[s] pursue]

Awake, my Eyes, at Night my Thought[s] pursue
You charming Shape; and find it ever new;
If I my weary Eyes to Sleep resign,
In gaudy Dreams your Love and Beauty shine;
Dreams with such Extasies and Pleasures fill'd,
As to those Joys they seem can only yield;
Nor do they yield perhaps, wou'd you allow,
Fair Amidea, that I once might know.

XXIV
TO CELIA

As in those Nations, where they yet adore
Marble and Cedar, and their Aid, implore:
'Tis not the Workman, nor the precious Wood,
But 'tis the Worshipper that makes the God;
So, cruel Fair, though Heaven has giv'n you all,
We Mortals (Vertue or can Beauty) call,
'Tis we that give the Thunder to your Frowns,
Darts to your Eyes, and to our selves the Wounds:
Without our Love, which proudly you deride,
Vain were your Beauty, and more vain your Pride;
All envy'd Beings that the World can shew,
Still to some meaner things their greatness owe,
Subjects make Kings, and we (the numerous Train
Of humble Lovers) constitute thy Reign,
This difference only Beauty's Realm may boast,
Where most it favours, it enslaves the most;
And they to whom it is indulgent found,
Are ever in the surest Fetters bound:
What Tyrant yet, but thee, was ever known
Cruel to those that serv'd to make him one?
Valour's a Vice, if not with Honour joyn'd,
Beauty a raging Plague, if never kind.

XXV
SONG

XXVI
SONG

XXVII
SONG

XXVIII
THE FEIGNED LOVE

Cloris, tho' meaner Beauties might
Perhaps have need of some such Slight,
You may those petty Arts despise,
Secure of what is once your Prize;
Ill us'd and scorn'd, we must adore,
And question not resistless Power:
In Rome, no Man was known to fly,
Whom the Emperor condemn'd to dye,
The fatal Stroke themselves wou'd give,
Rather than banisht from her live.
So to your Empire harsh or kind,
I stand by my own choice confind.
I daily saw how others far'd,
Whom the false Hope you gave ensnar'd;
Like foolish Boys at Birds, that catch,
Sometimes we thought you in our reach;
And then again, you'd mount and fly
Beyond the compass of our Eye;
Till weary'd with the vain Pursuit,
Like Birds that peck at painted Fruit,
The wiser sort their Hopes disclaim,
And beat the Wood for easier Game.

XXIX
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE LATE QUEEN

A SONG

XXX
TO CLORIS

Cloris, I justly am betray'd,
By a Design my self had laid;
Like an old Rook, whom in his Cheat,
A run of Fortune does defeat.
I thought at first with a small Sum
Of Love, thy Heap to overcome;
Presuming on thy want of Art,
Thy gentle and unpractis'd Heart;
But naked Beauty can prevail,
Like open force, when all things fail.
Instead of that thou hast all mine,
And I have not one Stake of thine;
And, like all Winners, dost discover
A Willingness to give me over.
And though I beg, thou wilt not now;
'Twere better thou should'st do so too;
For I so far in debt shall run,
Even thee I shall be forc'd to shun.
My Hand, alas, is no more mine,
Else it had long ago been thine;
My Heart I give thee, and we call
No Man unjust that parts with all.

XXXI
THE SOLDIERS CATCH

XXXII
THE INDIFFERENCE

XXXIII
SONG

XXXIV
THE EIGHTH ODE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE

XXXV
A BALLAD

XXXVI
SONG

XXXVII
ADVICE TO THE OLD BEAUX

XXXVIII
SONG

XXXIX
SONG

XL
SONG

XLI
TO THE KING ON HIS BIRTH-DAY

XLII
A DIALOGUE

Mars.]

Cupid.]

XLIII
OUT OF LYCOPHRON

What shall become of Man so wise,
When he dies?
None can tell
Whither he goes to Heaven or Hell;
Or after a few Moments dear,
He disappear,
And at last,
Perish entirely like a Beast:
But Women, Wine and Mirth we know,
Are all the Joys he has below:
Let us then ply those Joys we have,
'Tis vain to think beyond the Grave;
Out of our reach the Gods have laid
Of Time to come th' Event,
And laugh to see the Fools afraid,
Of what the Knaves invent.

XLIV
TO LIBER

[From Martial, Lib. 8. Ep. 77.]

XLV
SONG

XLVI
TO COSCUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 9. Ep. 7[0].

XLVII
SONG

XLVIII
ON DON ALONZO

WHO WAS CUT IN PIECES FOR MAKING LOVE TO THE INFANTA OF PORTUGAL.

XLIX
SONG

L
ON A COCK AT ROCHESTER

Thou cursed Cock, with thy perpetual Noise,
May'st thou be Capon made, and lose thy Voice,
Or on a Dunghil may'st thou spend thy Blood,
And Vermin prey upon thy craven Brood;
May Rivals tread thy Hens before thy Face,
Then with redoubled Courage give thee chase;
May'st thou be punish'd for St. Peter's Crime,
And on Shrove-tuesday, perish in thy Prime;
May thy bruis'd Carcass be some Beggar's Feast,
Thou first and worst Disturber of Man's Rest.

LI
SONG A-LA-MODE

LII
OUT OF FRENCH

Dear Friend, I fear my Heart will break;
In t'other World I scarce believe,
In this I little pleasure take:
That my whole Grief thou may'st conceive;
Cou'd not I Drink more than I Whore,
By Heaven, I wou'd not live an Hour.

LIII
THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENTS

LIV
UPON THE AUTHOR OF THE SATYR AGAINST WIT

A Grave Physician, us'd to write for Fees,
And spoil no Paper, but with Recipe's,
Is now turn'd Poet, rails against all Wit,
Except that Little found among the Great;
As if he thought true Wit and Sence were ty'd
To Men in Place, like Avarice, or Pride.
But in their Praise, so like a Quack he talks,
You'd swear he wanted for his Christmas-box.
With mangled Names old Stories he pollutes,
And to the present Time past Actions suits;
Amaz'd we find, in ev'ry Page he writes,
Members of Parliament with Arthur's Knights[.]
It is a common Pastime to Write Ill;
And Doctor, with the rest, e'en take thy fill;
Thy Satyr's harmless: 'Tis thy Prose that kills,
When thou Prescrib'st thy Potions and thy Pills[.]
Go on brave Doctor, a third Volume write,
And find us Paper while you make us S---.

LV
PROLOGUE

Since glorious Dryden has withdrawn his Light,
Some glimmering Stars relieve our gloomy Night;
Poets of different Magnitudes advance,
In humble Confidence of Song and Dance;
Ballon and Tumblers please, tho' Poets fail;
At a strong Back She-Criticks never rail.
When a good Place is void, we all pretend,
Some on their Merit, some their Purse [dep]end:
Our Friend can boast of neither, yet his Play
He hopes at least may live out his third Day;
Adorn him with one Sprig, like Christmas-Brawn,
His farther Plea to Bays shall be withdrawn.
In Courts of Law, under Delays we groan,
But here our Poets are too sone undone;
Plays are half seen, half heard, less understood,
When the dead Warrant issues from the Crowd;
Some are so void of Wit they'll relish none:
Others again like nothing but their own;
Tho' outwardly they seem to carry it fair,
The Wits are alwayes in a state of War.
This Play's so chast, so void of Pagan Wit,
It might have been by a Reformer writ;
Fops, Beauxs and Parsons, shall this Night be safe,
We bring the other Sex to make you laugh.

LVI
PROLOGUE [TO EPSOM WELLS]

Poets and thieves can scarce be rooted out,
Scape ne're so hardly, they'll have th'other bout;
Burnt in the hand the Thieves fall to't agen,
And Poets hist, cry they did so to Ben—
Like Boys, who have at School too oft been stript,
They have no feeling in the part that's whipt.
They're for your pity, not your anger, fit,
They're e'en such fools, they wou'd be thought t'have wit.
Elsewhere you all can flatter, why not here;
You'll say you pay, and so can be severe:
Judge for yourselves then Gallants as you pay,
And lead not each of you his Bench astray:
Let easie Citts be pleased with all they hear,
Go home and to their neighbours praise our Ware.
They with good stomachs come, and fain wou'd eat
You nothing like, and make them loath their meat;
Though some men are with Wine, Wit, Beauty cloy'd;
The Creatures are by others still enjoy'd.
'Tis not fair play, that one for his Half Crown
Shou'd judge, and rail, and damn for half the Town.
But do your worst; if once the Pit grows thin,
Your dear lov'd Masks, will hardly venture in.
Then w'are reveng'd on you, who needs must come
Hither, to shun your own dull selves at home:
But you kind Burgers who had never yet,
Either your Heads or Bellies full of wit:
Our Poet hopes to please; but not too well;
Nor wou'd he have the angry Criticks swell.
A moderate Fate best fits his humble mind,
Be neither they too sharp, nor you too kind.

LVII
PROLOGUE [TO THE STROULERS]

Beauty and Wit so barely you requite
That had not Nature joyn'd a dear Delight,
No Maid wou'd ever Yield, or Poet write[.]
Yet sometimes Beauty's Lottery sounds a Prize,
And in Alcove the happy Harlot lyes,
While but one Wit can to a Laureat rise[;]
And then a Butt of Sack, and a small Pension,
Is the full summ of his whole Li[f]e's Pretention.
If not stark mad, they'll leave us in the Lurch,
We have but one poor Living in our Church.
Hither you come resolving not to like,
And bold-blind Cocks at every Feather strike:
The Language one, another Damns the Plot,
And briskly hits the Poet, ere he Blot.
And pray be Civil my Young Empty Beaux,
M[e]re Shew yourselves and only Judge of Shows!
Unbend your Critic Brows, For a Young Wench
As soon may like a Judge upon the Bench,
As one of your Censorious Grimaces,
Let Wit alone and trust to your sweet Faces.
No Man or Woman here expects that you
Should Judge or Write, beyond a Billet Doux;
But if you can, pass by each small Offence,
And strain your Wits to find one Excellence,
Tis much the truest, and best sign of Sense.

LVIII
PROLOGUE TO THE WARY WIDDOW OR SIR NOISY PARRAT

Envy and Faction rule this Grumbling Age,
The State they cannot, but they shake the Stage,
This barren trade some woud engross, still hopeing
From our poor Port to banish Interloping:
And like the plodding Lawyers take great care
To elbow blooming merit, from the Bar:
In every Age there were a sort of Men,
As you do now, damn'd all was written then.
Thousands before 'em less provok'd their Pride
Then one poor rivall straining by their side,
Such vermin Critticks we expect to find,
For Nature knows not how to loose a kind
The stinking Poll Cat, nor the Mole that's Blind.
But against old as well as new to rage,
Is the peculiar Phrensy of this Age.
Shackspear must down, and you must praise no more
Soft Desdemona, nor the Jealous Moor:
Shackspear whose fruitfull Genius, happy Wit
Was fram'd and finisht at a lucky hit
The Pride of Nature, and the shame of Schools,
Born to Create, and not to learn from Rules;
Must please no more, his Bastards now deride
Their Fathers Nakedness they ought to hide,
But when on Spurs their Pegasus they force,
Their faded Muse is distanc'd in the Course:
All that is now has been before tis true,
And yet the Art, the Fashion may be new:
Tho' old Materials the large Pallace raise,
The skillfull Architect deserves his praise.
If nothing please, you are not nice, but sick,
'Tis want of stomack, ever to dislike.
On our Past Poets, petty Juries sit,
The Living sink beneath your present spite,
As if this were the doomsday of all wit.
But Beaus and Ladies for your selves be wise
You'l break our Lottery if none draw a Prize[.]
For this one night, do as kind Lovers use[,]
Tye up strict Judgement and let fancy loose.

EPIGRAMS: OR, COURT CHARACTERS

LIX
TO MAXIMINA

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 41

Ovid, who bid the Ladies laugh,
Spoke only to the Young and Fair;
For Thee his Council were not safe,
Who of sound Teeth has[t] scarce a Pair;
If thou thy Glass, or Me believe,
Shun Mirth, as Foplings do the Wind;
At Durfey's Farce affect to grieve;
And let thy Eyes alone be kind.
Speak not, tho't were to give Consent;
For he that sees those rotten Bones,
Will dread the[ir] monumental Scent,
And fly thy Sigh's like dying Groans.
If thou art wise, see dismal Plays,
And to sad Stories lend thy Ear;
With the afflicted, spend thy Days,
And laugh not above once a Year.

LX
TO SEXTUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 55.

I Offer Love, but thou Respect wilt have;
Take, Sextus, all thy Pride and Folly crave;
But know, I can be no Man's Friend and Slave.

LXI
TO NYSUS

How shall we please this Age? If in a Song
We put above six Lines, they count it long;
If we contract it to an Epigram,
As deep the dwarfish Poetry they damn;
If we write Plays, few see above an Act,
And those lewd Masks, or noisie Fops distract:
Let us write Satyr then, and at our ease
Vex th' ill-natur'd Fools we cannot please.

LXII
TO CLASSICUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 69.

When thou art ask'd to Sup abroad,
Thou swear'st thou hast but newly din'd;
That eating late does overload
The Stomach, and oppress the Mind:
But if Appicius make a Treat,
The slend'rest Summons thou obey'st,
No Child is greedier of the Teat,
Then thou art of the bounteous Feast.
There thou wilt drink till every Star
Be swallow'd by the rising Sun:
Such Charms hath Wine we pay not for,
And Mirth, at others Charge begun.
Who shuns his Club, yet flies to ev'ry Treat
Does not a Supper, but a Reck'ning hate.

LXIII
TO SEXTUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 38.

What Business, or what Hope brings thee to Town,
Who can'st not Pimp, nor Cheat, nor Swear, nor Lye?
This Place will nourish no such idle Drone;
Hence, in remoter Parts thy Fortune try.
But thou hast Courage, Honesty, and Wit,
And one, or all these three, will give Thee Bread:
The Malice of this Town thou know'st not yet;
Wit is a good Diversion, but base Trade;
Cowards will, for thy Courage, call thee Bully,
Till all, like Thraso's, thy Acquaintance shun;
Rogues call thee for thy Honesty a Cully;
Yet this is all thou hast to live upon:
Friend, three such Vertues, Audley had undone;
Be wise, and e're th'art in a Jayl, be gone,
Of all that starving Crew we saw to Day
None but has kill'd his Man, or writ his Play.

LXIV
TO POSTHUMUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 12.

That thou dost Cashoo breath, and Foreign Gums,
Enough to put thy Mistress into Fits;
Tho' Rome thy Hair, and Spain thy Gloves perfumes,
Few like, but all suspect, those borrow'd Sweets:
The Gifts of various Nature come and go,
He that smells always, well does never so.

LXV
TO SCÆVA

[From Martial, Lib. 1. Ep. 54.]

If Scæva for more Friends thou care,
Which thy great Merit cannot want;
For me an humble Place prepare,
That I am new, make no complaint,
Thy dearest Friends were Strangers once, like me,
Like them, in time, I an old Friend may be,
If thou no want of friendly Vertues see.

LXVI
TO SERTORIUS

If thou do'st want a Horse, thou buy'st a Score,
Or if a Piece of Wine, thou'lt have a Tun;
Swords, Belts, or Hats, does any Cheat bring o're;
At his own Rate thou wilt have all or none.
Whil'st out of Wantonness thou buy'st so fast,
Out of meer Want thou wilt sell all at last.

LXVII
TO CLOE

[From Martial, Lib. 3. Ep. 42.]

Leave off thy Paint, Perfumes, and youthful Dress,
And Nature's failing Honesty confess;
Double we see those Faults which Art wou'd mend,
Plain downright Ugliness wou'd less offend.

LXVIII
TO CANIDIUS

Thou strutst, as if thou wert the only Lord;
When we all know of such there is an House,
Where I might sit, cou'd I the Price afford,
And Child has now three Earldoms out at use,
High Expectation does attend good Seed,
Yet none will buy a known Jade, for his Breed;
Boast not too much thy mighty Pedigree,
Were they alive, they'd be asham'd of Thee.

LXIX
TO SEPTIMUS

Thro' servile Flattery thou dost all commend:
Who cares to please, where no Man can offend?

LXX
TO FLAVIUS

Thou quiblest well, hast Craft and Industry,
Flatt'rest great Men, laugh'st at their Enemies,
Rally'st the absent, art a pretty Spy,
Yet for all this in Court thou dost not rise;
Thou play'st thy Court-game booty: I'm affraid
Th'ast promis'd Marriage, when thy Fortune's made,
And so thou dar'st not thrive upon thy Trade.

LXXI
TO CANDIDUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 43.

All Things are common amongst Friends, thou say'st;
This is thy Morning and thy Ev'ning-song,
Thou in rich Point, and Indian-Silk art dress'd
Six foreign Steeds to thy Calash belong,
Whil'st by my Cloaths the Ragman scarce wou'd gain;
And an uneasie Hackny jolts my Sides;
A Cloak embroider'd intercepts thy Rain,
A worsted Camblet my torn Breeches hides;
Turbots and Mullets thy large Dishes hold,
In mine a solitary Whiting lies;
Thy Train might Fire the impotent and old,
Whil'st my poor Hand a Ganimede supplies:
For an old wanting Friend thou'lt nothing do,
Ye[t] all is common among Friends we know;
Nothing so common, as to use 'em so.

LXXII
TO GAURUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 89.

That thou dost shorten thy long Nights with Wine,
We all forgive thee, for so Cato did;
That thou writ'st Poems without one good Line,
Tully's Example may that Weakness hide;
Thou art a Cuckold, so great Cæsar was;
Eat'st till thou spew'st, Antonius did the same;
That thou lov'st Whores, Jove loves a bucksom Lass;
But that th'art whipt, is thy peculiar Shame.

LXXIII
TO THRASO

Whil'st thou sit'st drinking up thy Loyalty,
And rail'st at Laws, thou dost not understand,
Ador'st the Ministers, who know not [thee],
Sel'st thy long Freedom for a short Command,
The Power thou aim'st at, if o're thee one have,
In a rich Coat th'art but a ranting Slave.

LXXIV
ON COSCUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 77.

Coscus, thou say'st my Epigrams are long;
I'd take thy Judgment on a Pot of Ale:
So thou may'st say the Elephant's too strong,
A Dwarf too short, the Pyramid too tall;
Things are not long, where we can nothing spare;
But, Coscus, even thy Disticks tedious are.

LXXV
TO BITHINICUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. [26].

That thy Wife coughs all Night, and spits all Day;
Already thou believ'st thy Fortune made,
Her whole Estate thou think'st thy suddain Prey;
She will not dye, but wheedles like a Jade.

LXXVI
TO MAXIMUS

[From Martial,] Lib. 2. Ep. 53.

Wou'd'st thou be free, I fear thou art in jest;
But if thou wou'd'st, this is the only Way,
Be no Man's Tavern, nor Domestick Guest;
Drink wholsom Wine, which thy own Servants draw;
Of knavish Curio, scorn the ill-got Plate,
The numerous Servants, and the cringing Throng:
With a few Friends on fewer Dishes eat,
And let thy Cloaths, like mine, be plain and strong;
Such Friendships make, as thou may'st keep with ease,
Great Men expect, what good Men hate to pay;
Be never thou thy self in pain to please,
But leave to Fools, and Knaves, th' uncertain Prey.
Let thy Expence with thy Estate keep pace;
Meddle with no Man's Business, scarce thy own;
Contented pay for a Plebeian Face,
And leave vain Fops the Beauties of the Town.
If to this Pitch of Vertue thou can'st bring
Thy Mind, th'art freer than the Persian King.

LXXVII
TO JULIUS

Thou swear'st thou'lt drink no more; kind Heaven send
Me such a Cook or Coach-man, but no Friend.

LXXVIII
TO FLAVIA

When to thy Husband thou didst first refuse
The lawful Pleasures of thy charming Bed;
Men did his Pipe, and Pot, and Whores accuse;
On his meer Lewdness the whole Fault we laid:
Into thy House thou took'st a deep Divine,
And all thy Neighbours flockt to hear him Preach;
The cheated World did in thy Praises joyn,
The wiser sort yet knew thy wanton Reach,
From Sundays-crowds thou did'st thy Gallants chuse,
And, when they fail'd thee, the good Doctor use.

LXXIX
TO SERGIUS

Thou'lt fight, if any Man call Thebe Whore:
That she is thine, what can proclaim it more.

LXXX
THE MAIDENHEAD

[From Martial, Lib. 1. Ep. 58.]

Cloris, the prettyest Girl about the Town,
Askt fifty Guineas, for her Maidenhead;
I laught, but Cascus paid the Money down,
And the young Wench did to his Chamber lead.
This Thrift my eager Catso did upbraid,
And wisht that he had grown 'twixt Cascus Thighs;
Get me but half what his got him, I said,
And to content thee, I'll ne'er stick at Price.

LXXXI
TO QUINTUS

Thou art an Atheist, Quintus, and a Wit,
Thinkst all was of self-moving Attoms made,
Religion only for the Vulgar fit,
Priests Rogues, and Preaching their deceitful Trade;
Wilt drink, whore, fight, blaspheme, damn, curse and swear:
Why wilt thou swear, by G---, if there be none?
And if there be, thou shou'd'st his Vengeance fear:
Methinks this Huffing might be let alone;
'Tis thou art free, Mankind besides a Slave,
And yet a Whore may lead the[e] by the Nose,
A drunken Bottle, and a flatt'ring Knave,
A mighty Prince, Slave to thy dear Soul's Foes,
Thy Lust, thy Rage, Ambition and thy Pride;
He that serves G---, need nothing serve beside.

LXXXII
ON ARRIA AND PŒTUS

[From Martial, Lib. 1. Ep. 13.]

When Arria to her Pœtus gave the Steel,
Which from her bleeding Side did newly part;
From my own Wound, she said, no Pain I feel:
And yet thy Wound will stab me to the Heart.

LXXXIII
TO MILO

[From Martial, Lib. 2. Ep. 64.]

One Month a Lawyer, thou the next wilt be
A grave Physician, and the third a Priest;
Chuse quickly one Profession of the three;
Marry'd to her, thou yet may'st court the rest.
Whil'st thou stand'st doubting, Bradbury has got
Five Thousand Pound, and Conquest as much more;
W--- is made B---, from a drunken Sot:
Leap in, and stand not shiv'ring on the Shore;
On any one amiss thou can'st not fall,
Thou'lt end in nothing, if thou grasp'st at all.

LXXXIV
TO SABINUS

Surly and Sour thou dislik'st Mankind;
But most thou hat'st the Company thou'rt in;
Seest all their Faults, but to thy own art blind:
Yet still thou cry'st, When shall we meet agen?
Thou can'st not sit at Home, what should'st thou read?
For all are Fools, thou know'st that ever writ.
What should'st thou do abroad? this Age does breed
A sort of Vermin, have not half their Wit.
Thou hat'st the World, hate Flesh and Devil so,
And, for a blessed End, to Burnet's go;
But, for thy Misery, th'art an Atheist too.

LXXXV
ON PHRINE

Phrine, as odious as Youth well can be,
The Daughter of a Courtier in high Place,
Met with a b--- Mass, that cou'd not see;
His Blindness she, and that excus'd her Face.
Were she not ugly, she wou'd him despise;
Nor wou'd he marry her, if he had Eyes.
To their Defects, they're for the Match in debt,
And, but for Faults on both sides, ne're had met.

LXXXVI
TO BASSA

[From Martial, Lib. 1. Ep. 90.]

That I ne're saw thee in a Coach with Man,
Nor thy chast Name in wanton Satyr met;
That from thy Sex thy liking never ran,
So as to suffer a Male-servant yet.
I thought thee the Lucretia of our time:
But, Bassa, thou the while a Tribas wert,
And clashing ------, with a prodigious Crime,
Didst act of Man th'inimitable part.
What Odipus this Riddle can untye?
Without a Male, there was Adultery.

LXXXVII
TO SCILLA

Storm not, brave Friend, that thou hadst never yet
Mistress nor Wife that others did not ------,
But, like a Christian, pardon and forget,
For thy own Pox will thy Revenge contrive.

LXXXVIII
ON SEXTUS

[From Martial, Lib. 2. Ep. 44.]

When I had purchast a fresh Whore or Coat,
For which I knew not how to pay,
Sextus, that wretched covetous old Sot,
My ancient Friend, as he will say;
Lest I shou'd borrow of him, took great care,
And mutter'd to himself aloud,
So as he knew I cou'd not chuse but hear
How much he to Secundas ow'd,
And twice as much he paid for Interest,
Nor had one Farthing in his trusty Chest:
If I had ask'd, I knew he wou'd not lend;
'Tis new, before-hand, to deny a Friend.

LXXXIX
THE HAPPY PAIR: OR, A POEM ON MATRIMONY.

XC
THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL

[Translation of the Fourth Georgic.]

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S AMORES PRINTED IN “DRYDEN'S MISCELLANY,” 1684

XCI
BOOK I

Elegy the Eighth

He Curses a Bawd, for going about to debauch his Mistress.

There is a Bawd renown'd in Venus Wars,
And dreadfull still with honourable scars:
Her youth and beauty, craft and guile supply
Sworn Foe to all degrees of Chastity.
Dypsas who first taught Love sick Maids the way
To cheat the Bridegroom on the Wedding day.
And then a hundred subtile tricks devis'd,
Wherewith the Amorous Theft might be disguis'd.
Of Pigeons-blood, squeez'd from the panting heart,
With Surfeit-water to contract the part,
She knows the Use: whilst the good man betray'd,
With eager Arms huggs the false bleeding Maid.
Of herbs and Spells she tries the Guilty Force,
The poyson of a Mare that goes to Horse.
Cleaving the Midnight Air upon a Switch,
Some for a Bawd, most take her for a Witch.
Each Morning sees her reeling to her Bed,
Her Native Blew o'ercome with drunken red.
Her ready Tongue ne'er wants an usefull lie,
Soft moving words, nor Charming flattery.
Thus I o'erheard her to my Lucia speak,
Young Damon's Heart wilt thou for ever break?
He long has lov'd thee, and by me he sends
To learn thy motions, which he still attends.
If to the Park thou go, the Plays are ill;
If to the Plays, he thinks the Air wou'd kill.
The other day he gaz'd upon thy Face,
As he wou'd grow a Statue in the place;
And who in deed has not? like a new Star,
Beauty like thine strikes Wonders from afar.
Alas, methinks thou art ill drest to night,
This Point's too poor; thy Necklace is not right.
This Gown was by some botching Taylor made,
It spoils thy Shape; this Fucus is ill laid.
Hear me, and be as happy as thou'rt fair,
Damon is rich and what thou want'st can spare.
Like thine his Face, like thine his Eyes are thought,
Wou'd he not buy, he might himself be bought.
Fair Lucia blusht; It is a sign of Grace,
Dypsas reply'd, that Red becomes thy Face.
All Lovers now by what they give are weigh'd,
And she is best belov'd that is best paid.
The Sun-burnt Latines, in old Tatius Reign,
Did to one man perhaps their love restrain.
Venus in her Aeneas City rules,
And all adore her Deity, but Fools.
Go on, ye Fair, Chaste onely let such live,
As none will ask, and know not how to give.
How prettily you frown[!] But I'll speak on,
Hear me, another day 'twill be your own.
Vertuous Penelope is said t'have try'd,
With a strong Bow, each lusty Lover's side.
Nor did Lucretia kill herself for rage,
But love of Tarquin, in that colder Age.
To the young Prince she vow'd, ne'er more to joyn
In dull Embraces with her Collatine.
To keep her word she dy'd—
Life steals away, and our best hours are gone,
E'er the true Use, or worth of them, be known.
Things long neglected of themselves decay,
What we forbear time rudely makes his prey.
Beauty is best preserv'd by Exercise,
Nor for that Task can one or few suffice.
Wou'dst thou grow rich, thou must from many take;
From one 'twere hard continually to rake.
With out new Gowns, and Coaches, who can live?
What does thy Poet, but new Verses give?
A Poet, the last thing that Earth does breed,
Whose Wit, for sixpence, any one may reade.
Him that will give, to Homer I prefer,
To give is an ingenious thing I swear.
Despise not any can a present make,
It matters not from whom, but what we take.
Nor with the sound of titles be thou caught,
For nothing can with empty Names be bought.
Hang the poor Lover, and his Pedigree,
The thriving Merchant, or fat Judge give me.
If any beardless Stripling ask a Night,
And think thee paid with mutual delight;
Bid him go earn thy price among the men,
And when he has it, come to thee again.
Love truly none, but seem in Love with all,
And at old friends to thy new Lover rail.
Sometimes deny, 'twill Appetite procure;
The sharp-set Hawks will stoop to any Lure.
Then grant again, lest he a habit get
Of living from thee, but be sure thou let
No empty Lover in: murmur sometimes,
And as first hurt, reproach him with thy Crimes.
Seem jealous, when thou'st been thy self to blame,
'Twill stop his mouth, if thou the first complain.
All thou hast done be ready to forswear,
For Lovers Oaths fair Venus has no Ear,
Whilst he is with thee, let some Woman bring
Some Indian stuff, or Foreign pretious thing;
Which thou must say thou want'st, and he must buy,
Though for it six months hence in Gaol he lye.
Thy Mother, Sister, Brother, and thy Nurse,
Must have a pull each at thy Lover's Purse.
Let him from Rivals never be secure,
That hope once gone, Love will not long endure.
Shew him the presents by those Rivals sent,
So shall his bounty thy request prevent.
When he will give no more, ask him to lend,
If he wants money, find a trusting Friend.
Get hangings, Cabinets, a Looking-glass[,]
Or any thing for which his word will pass.
Practise these Rules, thou'lt find the benefit;
I lost my Beauty e'er I got this wit.
I at that word stept from behind the door,
And scarce my Nails from her thin Cheeks forbore.
Her few Grey hairs in rage I vow'd to pull.
And thrust her drunken eyes into her Skull.
Poor in a Dungeons bottom mayst thou rot,
Dye with a blow with thy beloved Pot,
No Brandy and Eternal thirst thy Lot.

XCII
BOOK II

Elegy the Fifth

To his false Mistress.

Cupid, begon! who wou'd on thee rely,
And thus at every moment wish to dye?
Death is my wish, when on thy guilt I think,
(Thy faithless guilt) at which I fain wou'd wink.
False Maid, thou various torment of my life,
Thou flying pleasure, and thou lasting grief;
No doubtfull Letters thy lost faith accuse,
Nor private gifts, thou mightst with ease excuse
Such proofs, one word of thine might overcome;
Why is my cause so good, and thou so dumb?
Happy's the man that's handsomely deceiv'd,
Whose Mistress swears and lies, and is believ'd.
Those Eyes beheld thee, when thou thoughtst me
In books and signs (nor yet in those alone)
Conveying the glad message of thy Love
To that gay, vain, dull Fopp that sate above.
I knew the Language soon, what could be hid
From Lovers Eyes of all ye said or did?
When others rose, I saw thee Dart a kiss,
The wanton prelude to a farther bliss:
Not such as Wives to their cold Husbands give,
But such as hot Adulterers receive.
Such as might kindle frozen appetite,
And fire even wasted nature with delight.
What art thou mad, I cry'd, before my face,
To steal my wealth, and my new Rival grace?
I'll rise and seize my own upon the place.
These soft endearments should not farther go,
But be the secret treasure of us two,
How comes this third in for a share I'd know?
This, and what more my grief inspir'd, I said;
Her face she cover'd with a Conscious red:
Like a Cloud guilded by the rising Sun,
Or Virgin newly by her Love undone.
Those very blushes pleas'd, when she cast down
Her lovely Eyes, with a disdainfull frown.
Disdain became her, looking on the Earth,
Sad were her looks, but Charming above mirth.
I could have kill'd my self or him, or her,
Scarce did my rage her tender Cheeks forbear:
When I beheld her Face my anger cool'd,
I felt myself to a mere Lover fool'd.
I, who but now so fierce, grow tame and sue,
With such a kiss we might our Love renew.
She smil'd and gave me one might Jove disarm,
And from his hand the brandisht Thunder charm.
'Twas worse than Death, to think my Rival knew
Such Joys as till that hour to me were new.
She gave much better kisses than I taught,
And something strange was in each touch methought.
They pleas'd me but too well, and thou didst tongue,
With too much art and skill, for one so young:
Nor is this all, though I of this complain,
Nor should I for a kiss be so in pain:
But thine cou'd never but in Bed be taught,
I fear how dear thou hast thy Knowledge bought.

XCIII
BOOK III

Elegy the Fourth

To A Man that lockt up his Wife.

Vex not thy self and her, vain Man, since all
By their own Vice, or Vertue stand or fall.
She's truely chaste and worthy of that name,
Who hates the ill as well as fears the shame:
And that vile Woman whom restraint keeps in
Though she forbear the Act, has done the Sin.
Spies, Locks and Bolts may keep her brutal Part,
But thou'rt an odious Cuckold in her heart.
They that have Freedom use it least, and so
The power of ill does the design o'erthrow.
Provoke not Vice by a too harsh restraint,
Sick men long most to drink, who know they may'nt.
The fiery Courser, whom no Art can stay
Or rugged force, does oft fair means obey:
And he that did the rudest Arme disdain,
Submits with Quiet to the looser rein.
An hundred Eyes had Argos, yet the while
One silly Maid did all those Eyes beguile.
Danae though shut within a brasen Tower,
Felt the male virtue of the Golden shower:
But chaste Penelope, left to her own will
And free disposal, never thought of ill;
She to her absent Lord preserv'd her truth,
For all th'Addresses of the smoother Youth.
What's rarely seen our fancy magnifies,
Permitted pleasure who does not despise?
Thy Care provokes beyond her Face, and more
Men strive to make the Cuckold, than the Whore.
They're wondrous charms we think and long to know,
That in a Wife inchant a Husband so:
Rage, Swear and Curse, no matter, shee alone
Pleases who sighs and cryes I am undone;
But could thy Servants say we have kept her chaste?
Good Servants then but an ill Wife thou hast.
Who fears to be a Cuckold is a Clown,
Not worthy to partake of this lewd Town:
Where it is monstrous to be fair and Chaste,
And not one Inch of either Sex lies waste.
Wouldst thou be happy? with her ways comply,
And in her Case lay Poynts of honour by:
The Friendship she begins wisely improve,
And a fair Wife gets one a world of Love:
So shalt thou wellcome be to Every treat,
Live high, not pay, and never run in debt.