Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

In Vain, my foes have try'd a thousand ways
To rob my Verses of their little praise;
But if the Fools would easily prevail,
Let P--- own my Works, they cannot fail.

Another.

Pity me, Sergeant, I'm undone,
To morrow comes my Tryal on;
R---r comes out, and you will see
With the same Cannon he will roar,
Which mawl'd poor Shakespear heretofore;
And now comes thundring down on me.
'Tis done! my fatal hour is come,
Not that my Muse can find her doom,
In any thing that he has said;
But yet to Answer him, my friend,
The task would ne're be at an end,
Alas! the Critick must be read.

Another.

As I walk't by th' Exchange, I heard a brisk Fop
Disputing one day in my Bookseller's Shop,
That Beaumont to Burnet had never reply'd,
And the Case to Dick Parker was left to be try'd.
Yes, Sirs, it was Printed, I've reason to know,
Cries Dick, let me see, 'twas some 3 years ago;
He added, beyond all dispute to remove it,
He'd bring 'em an hundred fair Copies to prove it.
Nay, quoth I, coming up, 'tis too many, you're out,
I ne're heard the Book went so often about;
You say right, Sir, says he, you may prove it your self,
Look up, there's an hundred and more on my Shelf.