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The Poems of Charles Sackville

Sixth Earl of Dorset: Edited by Brice Harris
Dorset, Charles Sackville (1638?-1706)

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I. Literary Matters
  
To Sir Thomas St. Serfe: on the Printing his Play Call'd “Tarugo's Wiles”
  
To Mr. Edward Howard, on his Incomparable, Incomprehensible Poem Called “The British Princes”
  
Epilogue to “Every Man in his Humour”
  
Epilogue to “Tartuffe”
  
On Mr. Edward Howard upon his “New Utopia”
  
To Mr. Bays
  
The Duel
  
A True Account of the Birth and Conception of a Late Famous Poem call'd “The Female Nine”
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II. Old Affected Court Ladies
  
The Antiquated Coquette
  
On the Countess Dowager of Manchester
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Four Poems on the Countess of Dorchester
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II.
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III.
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IV.
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III. State Affairs
  
Catch
  
On the Young Statesmen
  
My Opinion
  
On the Statue in the Privy Garden
  
On King William's Happy Deliverance from the Intended Assassination
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IV. Advice to Lovers
  
A Ballad by the Lord Dorset when at Sea
  
To Phyllis
  
Knotting
  
Song
  
A Song to Chloris, from the Blind Archer
  
The Advice
  
A Song
  
A Song
  
Advice to Lovers
  
The Advice
  
The Fire of Love
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V. Friends and Acquaintances
  
On Dolly Chamberlain A Sempstress in the New Exchange
  
A Song on Black Bess
  
Epitaph on Mrs. Lundy
  
On the Young Heiress of Lincoln's Inn Fields
  
Pindaric Petition to the Lords in Council
  
On Mrs. Anne Roche when she Lost Sir John Daws
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VI. Court and Town
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Four Letters in Verse between Dorset and Etherege
  
A Letter from the Lord Buckhurst to Mr. George Etherege
  
Mr. Etherege's Answer
  
Another Letter by the Lord Buckhurst to Mr. Etherege
  
Mr. Etherege's Answer
  
The Duel of the Crabs
  
Colon
  
A Faithful Catalogue of our Most Eminent Ninnies
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VII. Translation and Paraphrase
  
Madam Maintenon's Advice to the French King. Paraphrase on the French
  
The Innocent Conjugates or The Maiden Bridegroom and Virgin Bride
  
A Rodomontade on his Cruel Mistress

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93

Epitaph on Mrs. Lundy

94

Here lies little Lundy a yard deep or more,
That never lay silent or quiet before,
For her brain was still working, her tongue was still prating,
And the pulse of her heart continually beating,
To the utmost extremes of loving and hating.
Her reason and humor were always at strife,
But yet she perform'd all the duties of life,
For she was a true friend and a pretty good wife.
So indulgent a mother that no one could say
Whether Minty or Patty did rule or obey,
For the government changed some ten times a day.
At the hour of her birth some lucky star gave her
Wit and beauty enough to have lasted for ever;
But fortune, still froward when nature is kind,
A narrow estate maliciously join'd
To a very great genius and a generous mind.
Her body was made of that superfine clay,
Which is apt to be brittle for want of allay;
And when, without show of outward decay,
It began by degrees to molder away,
Her soul, then too busy on some foreign affair,
Of its own pretty dwelling took so little care,
That the tenement fell for want of repair.
Far be from hence both the fool and the knave,
But let all who pretend to be witty or brave,
Whether gen'rous friend or amorous slave,
Contribute some tears to water her grave.
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