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Pendragon

or, The Carpet Knight his Kalendar

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PENDRAGON;

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PENDRAGON;

OR, THE Carpet Knight HIS KALENDAR.

January's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

After a decent Introduction,
Our Muse for better Satisfaction,
Craves Aid and begs Assistances
From the most valu'd Friend she has;
Then gives Pendragon's Character
While he sate writing in his Chair.

I sing the Man of strange Renown,
For Letters, not for Warfare known;
Who did his Reputation raise
From Skill in Style and Languages;
From ranging Words in Order, and
Keeping o'r Alphabet's Command,
Which far and wide dispers'd his Name,
And got him Dignity and Fame.
For Knighthood (the Reward of Fighting)
Was given him only for his writing.

Not but the Gown does oft afford
As Noble Honours as the Sword;
The Gown distinguishes Degrees
Of Men, in different Faculties,
And tells us at a distance who
Is walking off, or coming to;
And Ermins, Scarlet Robes and Furs,
Are deem'd as worshipful as Spurs:

Yet our fam'd Knight ow'd his Preferments
To none of these exalted Garments;
For his Advancement came alone,
From's Morning, Night, or Studying-Gown.

In former Days when Times were scurvy,
And Government turn'd Topsie-turvy:
When Rulers who should give Protection,
Sate to administer Destruction;
To change establish'd Property
To Bigottry and Slavery:
When Pulpit Bout'feu's beat Alarms,
And Evidences rose in Swarms;
Whose Business was to cut the Weazon
Of others differing in Persuasion:
Tho' in declaring Overt Acts,
Like makers of our Almanacks,
In giving Judgment of the Weather,
No two of them Agreed together:
When greatest Virtues did but render
The Man the greater an Offender:

When Scribere in a Private Nature,
Was Agere to make a Traytor:
When Lord Chief Justices had Claws,
And Daggers lay wrapt up in Laws;
Then did Sir Knight, put Flame to Taper,
Elbow to Board, and Pen to Paper.

Now, tho' 'twas very Cold, he wrote
As if the Season had been Hot;
Tho' Sol thro' Capricorn was hying,
His Brains were still in Cancer frying;
He would maintain there could no Fault
Possess a Minister of State,
Who acting by his Prince's Will,
By that was safe from doing Ill;
Nor was he fit to be restrain'd
By any publick Laws o'th' Land:
He taught all Subjects to obey,
Dispensing, Arbitrary Sway;
And who this Doctrine drust deny
He'd prove a Foe to Monarchy:

He chiefly bent the Nib of's Pen
To write against the Golden Mean;
To prove Men Wise and Moderate
Were Enemies to Church and State;
That to be still, and void of Action,
Sedition was and downright Faction;
And who in Speech was ne'er so silent,
In Thought was represented Violent.
'Twas thus his Fingers sought to cripple,
And ham-string the King's best Leige-People,
By laying about him might and Main,
Daily with Paper, Ink and Pen.
Whence (tho' the Sound be somewhat Pagan)
Came his acquir'd Name Pendragon.
And who but he in that vile Age
In such Designs so fit t'engage?
A plyant Tool, oblig'd with Knighthood
And large Rewards, he was excited
To serve the Times through all Excesses,
And on foul Deeds to put fair Faces,
Untill he grew to be the great
Prevaricator of the State:

Thus all true Englishmen he found,
Pendragon with his Pen dragoon'd.
Success in Sham and Banter made him
Proceed where-e'er the Maggot led him;
That Maggot which doth turn and wind
The greatest Part of Humane Kind.

All hail thou mighty Worm which reigns
Lord-Paramount in Mortals Brains,
Patron of Whimseys, and the Itches
Of Fancy, and the Mind's Capriches;
Who grave Philosophers and wise
Hast made to write in Praise of Lice,
Fleas, Asses, Dogs, and Cats, and Owls,
Hermaphrodites, and Apes, and Fools:
Thou who inspir'st Disease and Phrensy,
Grief and old Age with Wit and Fancy,
Canst teach Men tortur'd with the Pox,
To ease their Pain by breaking Jokes;
And make the Raging of the Gout
Into Poetick Rage break out:
Thou who giv'st Coronets of Bays
To Lords and to Apprentices;

And hast thy Garlands ready made
And siz'd to every fashion'd Head,
I beg th'Assistance all along
To the Conclusion of my Song:
Teach me new Notes, and as I do sing,
To think well of my own Composing.
Let me be positive and bold,
As Bays of late, and Ben of old;
And whatsoever Self brings forth,
Applaud it as a thing of Worth:
And as with a Crane-neck the Chariot
Makes shorter Turns and quicker for it,
So give me the bein Tourn of Doggerel,
That Muse may drive on, and not clog her Wheel:
Send me one Rag of Butler's Mantle,
And I can never fail to Cant well:
Butler! the best of Buccaneers,
Who taught us Pyracy in Verse;
From whom the boldest Criticks run,
And dare not stay to fire a Gun:
May they no less my Rhymes come near,
Or I their Patarero's fear.

But if our Sense obtains, and Measures
Contribute to a Prince's Pleasures;
If he esteem 'em worth Recital,
We hope he'll think 'em worth Requital;
And not let (Butler-like) the Founder
Neglected live, and run aground here.

So much by way of Invocation:
Now we'll proceed, without a Passion,
And suffer no warm Thoughts to hurry us,
While the Sun's tugging through Aquarius;
While nipping Frosts, and Snows, and Hail,
With Cold, and piercing Winds, prevail;
While the Nights yet continuing long,
Yield no good Subject for a Song.

Let there a rowsing Fire be made:
Suppose it done as soon as said:
Then draw the folding Table near,
And place by that an Elbow-Chair;
To which be Sir Pendragon put in,
With all his Magazines about him,

Of Paper, Wax, Wafers, and Sand,
A well-cut Pen in his Right-hand,
On his contracted Brows he wears
A goodly Cap of Sable Furs;
A Neckcloth round his Neck is ty'd
Of finest Muslin flying wide;
From Head to Foot he's cover'd down
With the said gawdy Studying Gown,
Made of a Flower'd Silk, whose Kind is
Richest of Persia's or th'East-Indies;
Which, with his Slippers of the same,
To publick view was all that came.

His Person's very tall and straight,
Exceeding much the common Height,
Could we but make him stand upright.
His Body, had it been exhibited
Naked, One might have told each Rib it had:
A Man so Lathy, long, and lean,
Is very rarely to be seen.
The Figure of his Face is Oval,
Not broad at bottom, like a Shovel;

Though on sinister part of Gullet
Appears a Poke, or fleshy Wallet,
A strongly radicated Tumour,
Caus'd by an old Malignant Humour,
Which he who skill'd in Physicks Trade is,
Doth term the Scrophula, or Chærades:
Yet if our Knight did ever shew
In Lombards Vale at Bergamo
His Visage, with this Modish Swelling,
No Man would there advise its Healing:
For 'tis in Fashion so, the same is
Esteem'd an Ornament, no Blemish;
And one would swear, he had so far gone
Being vers'd in their peculiar Jargon,
Which imitated very much is
By fam'd Buffoons and Scaramouches.
But not to suffer a Digression
To put us by our proper Lesson:
After the Colour of his Hair,
We term him of Complexion Fair;
His Eyes were of the lively Hazel,
And Eye-brows large became his Face well;

His Nose well-shap'd, on Top of which
Was fix'd the Ciceronian Fetch,
An Index of his Rhetorick,
That is of Eloquence and Trick.
His Visage wore an eager Air,
Keen as the Season of the Year;
His Forehead shone like Burnish'd Brass;
Bright and Case hardned was his Face,
Which nothing Foul could touch or take,
But worse it still reflected back:
Such was the Nature of the Mirrour,
To render no Idea's fairer.
But the best Part about the Man
Many will have to be his Brain,
Always a working, never idle,
Ev'n when he takes in hand the Fiddle.
In vain the Harmony's design'd
To quell the Discords of his Mind;
The Faculties whereof were strong,
Though constantly directed wrong.
His Fancy too was most Luxurious,
And fertil of an Off-spring spurious.

His Memory had Mansions many,
And some as fair and large as any;
But still the fairest and the best
Were took up by th'foulest Guest.
For Slanders vile, and lying Stories
Lodg'd in its choice Repositories,
Whilst all their Doors were shut and barr'd
'Gainst Worth and Merit very hard.
His Reason which of Right should Reign
The lawfull Monarch of his Brain,
Was by his Will depos'd, whose Rule
Despotick was as Great Mogul,
Would not be bound in any Case
By any Reasonable Laws,
Nor other Magna Charta own,
Than what I please, That shall be done.
Thus Qualify'd (while we take Breath)
Let him write Dagger out of Sheath:
Under Pretence of pulling down
The Enemies to Church and Crown,
He proves the worker of the Fall
Of Scepter, Diadem and Ball:

While those Regalia he would pitch
So high above all Humane Reach,
They are but lodg'd the less secure,
And can't from Age to Age endure.

February's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

The Squire comes next as necessary,
To serve the Knight to fetch and carry:
His Name is told, with a Relation
Of Person, Birth, and Education.
All Things succeed to both their Wishes,
While the Sun flounders on thro' Pisces.

He wants no Company's Enjoyment,
Whose Mind affords him full Employment.
If then last Month our Knight was shown
By himself, yet was he not alone;

For he kept e'ry Faculty
Within him busie as a Bee;
Which would be glad of an Occasion,
To get a little Recreation:
Such constant Labour, and Turmoyling
Without Relief's enough to spoil one;
To fetch Materials, and imploy 'em,
Are two Men's Work, who e'er injoys 'em;
As Sir Pendragon best can tell,
Who by Experience sensible,
Performing both, found the Fatigue
Was even for himself too big;
When Fortune pitying his Condition,
Sent him Help meet without Petition.

For Fame did now the Labours bear,
Of Sir Pendragon far and near;
Whose writings took a larger Flight,
Than e'er was reach'd by Paper-Kite:
Each Week produc'd an Observator,
Stuff'd with variety of Matter;

Which rais'd much Dust, and made a Noise
'Mongst Men of shallow Thoughts, and Boys:
'Twas a supply to Womens Prattle,
At Gossipings, and half their Tattle;
Besides the Capers, and the Fleurets,
It gave to little Priests and Curates;
It rais'd the Passions and the Spleen,
By various Means, in divers Men;
Some wept, some laught, and that which tickl'd.
One Sort, by others was ridicul'd;
Run down, and mockt, and much despis'd,
Howe'er by th'adverse Party priz'd:
For no small Numbers were of those
Who fancy'd them of wondrous Use;
'Mongst whom there was a certain Squire
Whose Elements were all of fire.
His Salt, and Sulphur, acted by
His sublimated Mercury,
Dispos'd him to Euthusiasticks,
Of different Kinds to Pryn's or Bastwick's:
Who would his Thoughts sometimes express
In stiff Bombast, affected Phrase;

And at another time he'd talk
As blundringly as other Folk.
Reading the Doctrine of the Knight,
He strangely was affected by 't,
Broke out into Soliloquy's,
Of which, 'mongst others, one was this.
“Were Fortune in my Power, or wou'd
“She condescend to what I sew'd,
“O make (quoth he) 'tis all I ask her,
“Pendragon King of Madagascar,
“And let me be the (What d' ye call it?)
“His Vice Roy there, the Athe'madoulet.
But upon second Thoughts he found
Such idle Wishes wanted Ground;
That the Conceit was vain and airy,
And a fantastical Chimæra:
Wherefore resolves on Application
To th'Knight, and takes the first Occasion.
He all Impediments removes,
Calls for his Sword, and Hat, and Gloves,
And his best Wigg; then out he goes,
To find Pendragon at his House.

The Walk could not be very far
To Old-Bourn High, from Old-Bourn Bar.
How he was introduc'd, the Greeting,
And Complements at their first Meeting,
I chuse to pass: Let it suffice,
That after two or three Replies,
The Squire declares the vast Deserts
Of Sir Pendragon, and those Parts
Which all the Kingdom so admires,
Brought him to pay him his Devoirs,
To tell him, none could truly blazon
His great Atchievements, or do Reason
To such a Pillar of the Nation,
Unless the King of Arms, the Garter,
Would make his Hand and Pen Supporter.
Fie, (cry'd Pendragon) Sir, forbear
To talk of things I must not hear;
Your Goodness sets too great a Value
On my poor Labours; yet I'll tell you,
There are some think the things I write here
Do Service both to Crown and Mitre,

Because considerable Gains
Are sent me to reward my Pains,
Which are not little, (tho' I say't)
And sometimes press me with their Weight,
That I have very often wisht,
I had a Friend, who could assist
Me with Intelligence, and give notice
Concerning some who live remotest.
Sir, quoth the Squire, (for it was that
He came on purpose to be at)
I'll undertake in all reality
Of Truth, Affection, and Fidelity,
If you dare let on me the Trust lie,
This Province to discharge most justly.
I thank you, Sir, with all my Heart,
(Pendragon said) then e'er we part,
'Tis needful we confer about
What Method's best to prosecute.
For, Two Heads better are than one,
And, Bow long bent, will weaken soon.

The Squire then elevates his Poll,
And with the Knight lays Cheek by Jowl;

Mean while they're set so closely to't,
And wink, and nod, and scowl, and plot,
We'll leave 'em making scurvy Faces,
And tell you what the Squire's Case is.

Tho' Critick, with Objection smartest,
Crys out, This is not like an Artist,
Some other Person should be near
In call, to give the Character:
We'll grant, perhaps 'tis better so;
Howe'er, let Master Critick know,
The Thing lies properly before us;
For Muse and Author make a Chorus.
But if it be a weighty Matter,
It shall be otherwise hereafter:
For this Time we'll take special care
In managing the Squire's Affair.

Whose Name on Working-days was Hugh;
But, not to curtail what's his Due,
With loftier Tone, and better Phrase,
He's Hugo call'd on Holy-days:

Which signifies to slash, and cut,
And to bring comfort ev'ry foot:
It double Myst'ry does reveal,
Of Power as well to wound as heal.

As for his Person, (not to flatter)
He was excessive low of Stature;
The true Reverse to's Knight in that,
Not only short, but thick and fat.
'Twas not his Fault, but his Mishap,
To be of Punchenello's Shape.
But what in's outward Man Offence is,
His inward highly recompences.
To give you therefore but a Glance,
Or Copy of his Countenance:
You ne'er a Feature in't behold,
But what is masculine and Bold,
Much like the Sign of Saracin,
With formidable Laugh and Grin,
Which shew'd as fine a Set of Teeth
As Chaps were ever furnish'd with;

No Lady's, nor her Dog's, were seen
More even, elegant, and clean.
No better hung, or fashion'd Ear,
E'er was, (allowing Wear and Tare:)
For one with Spanish VVooll was stopt,
The other by Offences cropt:
Both which his Perriwig does hide,
Unless in Puff behind 'tis ty'd.
For (tho' in Years) he wore his Clothes
After the Fashion of the Beaux.

His Birth was very Mean, his Father
By Trade, was one that dealt in Leather;
Of honest Calling, had his End
Been so, and without Reprimend:
But Discontents afforded String,
To give himself a mortal Swing.

Let no Man Hugh for this deride,
VVho got the Proverb on his Side,
VVhich says, That happy Son shall live well,
Whose Father goes before to th'Devil.

Latin he got (at School a Novice)
More than he needed in his Office:
Bred up he was at Inn call'd Thavy's,
(VVhich (some say) ne'r without a Knave is)
VVhere Hugh got Skill enough in Law,
Both to find out, and make a Flaw:
Could raise a drooping Cause, 'twas known,
By Affidavits of his own;
And tho' he found it in the wrong,
His Client's Cause would still prolong;
And when at last he brought his Bill in,
Could change a Groat into a Shilling:
Defective Settlements could Fumpus,
And make Will valid of Non compos.
So qualifi'd, he bent his Labours
To grind and terrifie his Neighbours;
VVhich soon enrich'd him to that height,
To purchase Mannor with Estate:
VVhen out there comes a Tax on Poll,
VVhich asks Five Pounds from willing Fool;
Hugh paid it by his own desire,
And from that Hour commenc'd Esquire;

(Tho' paying Money on that Score,
Makes no Man that he wan't before.)

I've heard of three Degrees of Squireship,
VVhich canvass'd, bear not equal VVorship.
Hugo was Squire, Squiret, or Squirt;
But which, let Bluemantle concert,
Rouge Croix, Rouge Dragon, or Portcullis,
Or any else, in whom true Skill is.

Next, when the Hunt in every Quarter
VVas up 'gainst Corporations Charter,
None made more loud and hideous Noise,
VVith open and extended Jaws;
None set them on, and cry'd Haloo,
More frightfully and fierce than Hugh:
If willingly you make Surrender,
'Twill be receiv'd with greatest Tendeur;
And for your old and mouldy Charter,
You shall have new one, with new Fair t'her:
But some o'th' Privileges you had,
You must acknowledge forfeited:

VVhich, if y' are stubborn, and will stand to
Defend; the dreadful Quo Warranto
Shall come, and make upon't a Seizure;
And then reduc'd to VVill and Pleasure,
Ye Rebel Rogues, who merit none,
May ev'n go whistle for 't, when gone.

Hard VVords put many into Frights,
And Knaves and Fools gave up our Rights;
VVho both of Sense and Conscience void,
The Birth-rights of Unborn betray'd.

In Management of these Affairs
Hugh and Pendragon bore their Shares:
Hugh terrified them like a Beadle,
Pendragon did both threat and wheadle.

By this time the Politick Scheme
VVas finish'd betwixt both of them:
Pendragon had his Part, and Hugh
VVas taught as well to know his Cue:
VVhen in there breaks a sweaty Fellow,
And crys, Sir, I've good News to tell you;

I've brought you Three and thirty Pound,
From Town where Tory Fools abound:
I wish 'twas double, for your sake;
The Parsons gave you half the Stake.
I thank you, Friend, (quoth Knight) and star'd;
Go out, and thou shalt find Reward.

Applying then to trusty Hugo,
Sir, let me tell you, before you go,
VVe'll manage Matters well betwixt us,
And be reveng'd of all that vex't us.
You see a Sample here is sent me,
(Tho' I confess 'tis somewhat scanty)
VVhich does afford us fine Refreshings;
But greater Towns send greater Blessings.
The Universities have sent me
Of Guineas and Crown-pieces plenty.
The next Purse we together share.
Quoth Hugh, Your humble Servant, Sir:
And left (when he had took his leave)
Pendragon laughing in his Sleeve.

March's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

Sol having now bestrid the Ram,
The Lady next our Verse does claim;
Of whom to give Account at large,
Laurence the Curate takes in Charge:
Who quits himself so well i'th' Matter,
He sets Pendragon's Chaps a water.

No longer can our Muse forbear
To sing the charming Lady fair:
The Lady fair would think it VVrong
To be neglected in our Song;
VVhen such a Subject ought to raise
Our Measures, and our Roundelays.

Some sing in lamentable Strains,
Of Shepherdesses and their Swains,
VVho cry to Echo for Relief,
And after Heart-stealer, Stop Thief.
Others sing merry drunken Catches,
Of beating Constables and VVatches.
One in Heroick Numbers sings
Of Lovers, Battels, Hero's, Kings,
Of Sieges, Conquests, Fire, and Sword,
Of Storms, and Throwing over Board,
(The dreadful Ornaments of Story.)
Another sings plain Tory-Rory.
The first is of too mournful Nature,
And far too trivial is the latter,
To be the Subject of our Muse,
VVho rather is dispos'd to chuse
This happy late-successful Track,
Than a long painful Journey take,
In search of Chronicles and Legends
Of ancient Times, and distant Regions,

For One whose mighty Deeds are yet hid,
And in no Measures celebrated.
Here's nothing tore from tatter'd Hist'rys;
But 'tis a Modern Knight and Mistriss
We sing, whose powerful Charms and Wheadles
Encrease Love's Mysteries and Riddles;
Whose airy Mein, and amorous Glances,
Out-vie the Beauties of Romances;
Who with small Love-tricks makes more Conquests
Than they can when their Charms are strongest;
Which more agreeable may be
Than Hum-drum Love and Constancy.

For when the curious Calprenedy,
Or Scudery, hath fram'd a Lady
Of finest Beauty, Shape, and Wit,
To captivate a Heroe fit,
Yet then is this Celestial Creature
(Maugre the private Pulls of Nature)
Ty'd up by Gallantrys to move
In the Religious Laws of Love;

Not budge a Step from Honour's Post,
But to maintain't at any Cost.
A more severe and rigid Duty
Than ought to be impos'd on Beauty;
Beauty, which should be free as Air,
And, as SELENA, void of Care.
For She does all Restraint abolish,
As a thing troublesom and foolish.
In spite of Love, she'll have her Humour,
And Frolicks, in despite of Rumour.
She's strangely various in her Actions,
As in her Will, and her Affections:
She's merry, sullen, prays, or swears,
According as her Maggot steers:
For almost all she does perform,
Is under Conduct of the Worm.

Cease, cease my Muse, to take upon ye
That which requires more Ceremony:
'Tis fitting you proceed no further,
Without the Help of Man in Orders,

Who more o'th' Sisters can command,
And has the Graces too at hand.

And such there was in Grays-Inn Walk
At this time, busie held in talk
With Sir Pendragon, whom he claw'd
With Flattery, and fulsom Laud.
Beside, the Clapper of his Tongue
On Twenty other Subjects rung.
But with the most delight, his Chimes
Were tun'd to th'Changes of the Times:
He told him, he was overjoy'd
That Places were so well imploy'd
In Church and State, and all Promotions
Giv'n to the Followers of his Notions.
Pendragon exercis'd Forbearance,
While thus he was address'd by Laurence,
So was he call'd, a Curate, (yet
A Bishop in his own Conceit)
When happily a sudden Object
Diverts them from the present Subject.

Pray (quoth Pendragon) who was that
Whom you saluted with your Hat?
She seems as brisk as she is fine.
Sir, 'tis one Mistris Thomasine,
Laurence reply'd; she serves a Lady,
The fair Selena. Hah! what said ye?
Selena! She's a Nonparielle,
I'm told, by those that know her well.
Quoth Laurence, Let me tell you, Sir,
She gives me leave to visit her:
She's certainly the charming, prettiest,
The sweetest Creature, and the wittiest
Of all her Sex that e'er was known.
Then, prethee, let us both sit down,
(Quoth Knight) and favour me to hear
Her true impartial Character,
That I may gratifie a Friend.
Quoth Laurence, That you may command.

She's very slender, clean, and straight,
Rather above the common Height,

And of as delicate a Shape,
Perhaps, as ever suffer'd Rape:
Somewhat short-wasted if she is,
She has't again in Legs and Thighs;
These round and large, those long and neat,
With very pretty little Feet.

How, (said Pendragon) Sir, d'you know't?
Ha' you been beneath her Pettycoat?

Not so, Sir, neither, (Laurence said)
I learnt it lately from her Maid,
And therefore give me leave to know:
But to her upper Parts I'll go,
Where nothing can be fansied faulty;
Her Forehead, as it should be, 's haughty;
Her Eye-brows cut, and gumm'd, and laid well,
According to the newest Model.

Her Eyes, those flattering Looking-glasses,
Make Bearded Men's, seem Baby's Faces;

Whate'er Deformities inspect them,
All Prettiness they back reflect them;
And 'tis the easiest thing they do,
They can be kind, and cruel too
At the same time, and with a Twinkle
Give Life, and Death when she don't think ill.
Poetick Rapture now would swear,
The God of Love himself comes there,
To point his Darts, that in her Eyes
His Arms and Ammunition lies,
Ready to do on Lookers-on
All killing Execution.
But when sh' has no Design to slay,
They can send forth a gentler Ray,
And with short Looks, and languishing,
Revive the miserable Thing.

Her Air's agreeable, and each Feature
Extremely Beautiful, or better:
The length and largeness of her Nose,
Her strength of Constitution shows:

The Heat and Redness of her Lips
Gives balmy Kiss, when Lover sips;
The rising Plumpness of her Breast,
Argues its fitness to be prest.
Sh' has not a Pimple, Mole, or Wart,
Without a Cause sufficient for't.

These are peculiar Charms, (quoth Knight)
Which you as pleasantly recite:
But I'll not break the well-spun Thread
Of your Discourse: Sir, pray proceed.

Her Hair is of a lovely Brown,
So too is her Complexion,
Which she can, with the greatest ease,
Correct, and alter, as she please,
By mixing Red and White, and look as
Fair as she list, by help of Fucus:
(Who, since she so does still appear,
She may be call'd the Lady Fair.)
Nor is she less acquainted with
The Arts of Patching, Cleansing Teeth,

Scenting, Perfuming, making sweet
Her Breath, and keeping clean her Feet;
All which, with nipping out of Worms,
She most judiciously performs.
She's knowing in all sorts of Dresses,
Tippets, Commodes, and Points, and Laces,
And wearies out her poor Tire-woman
With Language understood by no Man.
For many times she doth affect
A most peculiar Dialect,
Which is good English slic't and mash't,
With dry French Scraps together hash't,
Before 'tis modify'd enough
For fair Selena's pretty Mouth;
And then she lisps it out, and breaks
It 'twixt her Teeth the while she speaks.

After this manner of Preparing,
The Substance of't is worth the Hearing.
She'll talk of Lovers Services,
How some with furious Address
Attack her; others fawn and creep,
Complain, and always whine and weep.

She'll tell sad Stories, how her cruel
Beauties have caused many a Duel;
What Huffing, Tilting, has been for her,
By this and that enrag'd Adorer;
What witty Verses have been made
Upon her, and what fine things said;
How Beaux's in Songs have often own'd her
Their Mistriss, and how some Lampoon'd her:
Who, cause she is not to be caught
By them, do call her all to naught:
A Trick, which tho' so many have,
'Tis ungenteel, and like a Knave.

She knows each wanton Artifice,
To wheadle, vex, delight, and teaze;
With Subtilty and gentle Art
To squeeze the Hand, and bruise the Heart;
To throw Pretender off with Scorn,
Then draw him on like Shooing-horn.

When Fingers, Countenance, and Speech
Act contradictory to each,

How can the cunning'st Lover know
Which of them to give Credit to?

Of all the Town-Accomplishments,
There's none of any Worth she wants;
She dances rarely well, and plays at
The fashionable Game of Basset.
But wherein most she doth exceed,
She sings extremely fine indeed:
Nor is 't so difficult a thing
In Company to make her sing;
She seldom pleads the want of Use,
A Cold, or Hiccough, for Excuse;
That she has lately lost her Voice,
And shall but fright you with the Noise:
Delays which very oft the Pretty
Will practise when they love Intreaty;
'Cause that which hardest Labour cost
In getting, 's always valu'd most.
The gay Selena's never wont to
Strain for a Nicety or Punto;

But as her present Humour is,
Acts pleasantly, or otherwise:
For if she says, she will not do't,
The Devil's self can't bring her to't.
She's worth Five thousand Pounds for certain;
But it may be too long t'entertain
You with the Means how she came by't.
I'll look upon my Watch (quoth Knight.)
Odds Bobbs! crys he, 'tis after Four,
I've slipt my Time above an Hour.
I find she's of transcendent Worth,
And you, in setting of it forth.
Much thanks t'you for this great Diversion:
Better Acquaintance with your Person
I covet; and good Luck be wi' you;
Pray, be so kind to let me see you.
Quoth Laurence, I shall soon find Leisure
To give my self so great a Pleasure
So they shook Hands, when at the Parting
Pendragon felt unusual Smarting
About his Heart; beside, he itch'd
All o'er, as if h' ad been bewitch'd.

Little (thought he) did I conjecture
To be affected with his Lecture
To such Degree; it fires my Blood:
I'll get Acquainted with the Toad;
And must (if possible) possess
The pretty charming Sorceress.

Love bears an universal Sway,
Whom Swains and Emperors obey:
The wise Philosopher, and Fool,
Bows to his Epidemick Rule.

April's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

The Knight takes little Ease and Pleasure
With Thoughts of Madam, till he sees her.
Cutbeard the Barber comes to shave him,
Who some Account of Laurence gave him:
And (Cutbeard having told him where)
Knight finds the Lady out at Pray'r.

Nothing compleatly proves a Boon
Without Alloy, beneath the Moon:
Either the Cook, or Meat, or Sawce,
Yields somewhat to disrelish us.
The Curate's Tale, which struck the Knight
At first with Pleasure and Delight,

Afforded him Proportion equal
Of Grief and Trouble in the Sequel:
For Love, which enter'd like an Earwig,
Teaz'd him on th'inside of his Perr'wig,
And, like an Humble-Bee, it does
Occasion mighty Hum and Buz.

He takes quick Turns about the Room;
Then stopping short, t'himself cries, Hum!
Am I a Man reputed Great
For Learning, Loyalty, and Wit?
Who Complements receive, and Pence,
From People, Parsons, Peers, and Prince;
Presents of Puddings, Pigs, and Pies,
From kind Inhabitants o'th' Skies,
Or more obliging mortal Dames,
Who all conceal from me their Names:
Variety of such Good Things
Still one or other Porter brings,
Tho' none of them will tell the Sign
So much as of the Carrier's Inn.

I say, I, who have been carest
So greatly, find my self distrest;
Amidst a Multitude of Friends,
I want to bring about my Ends;
I want to know how, where, and when a
Sight may be got of this Selena:
Then I shall want as much to chat,
And hold Discourse with the Prit-prat,
To get Acquaintance more familiar,
That I might play with her, and bill her,
And bite, and pinch, and pull, and towze.
But then reflecting, he cry'd Buz.
The thinking on these wanton Tricks
Puts me beside my Politicks,
Makes Head to ake, and Heart to beat
Confoundedly, like Drums i'th' Street.
I can't divert my self alone
I find, nor do as I have done.
My Beard's grown long, which makes me fretful,
Uneasie, peevish, and forgetful.
Sirrah, (cry'd he to 's Boy) go, fly,
Fetch me the Barber presently.

A Body's fill'd with Discontents
By nourishing ones Excrements.
Our Grandsires sure were ne'er in very
Good Humour, or extremely merry,
Who wore such Beards, the hairy Fardle
Were fit to tuck within their Girdle.
Yet for the same we have no Reason
To tax them of an Indiscretion,
If Beards then bore a Price, and th'Hairs
Thereof were Merchantable Wares.

Don John de Castro sent and pawn'd
A few of his, which rais'd a Fund
Sufficient to re-build a Fortress;
The Certainty of which Report is
Confirm'd, for that his Grandson hid
Them in a Crystal Pyramid,
Set in a Silver Foot, or Basis,
Engrav'd with Verse, which told the Praises
Of the fam'd Action, and set forth
No less that Noble Hero's Worth:

Which Relique his Posterity
Preserves in Pious Memory.

Such Thoughts to th'Knight gave Recreation,
When enters Cutbeard with a Bason,
Who made low Bow, and having drawn
An Elbow-Chair, the Knight sate down.
While Barber gets all Things prepar'd
For Circumcision of his Beard,
And fitted Linen Cap to's Head,
Pendragon hawk'd, and spat, and said,
Dost know by Hear-say, or by Sight,
A Clergy-man, one Laurence, (hight?)
Yes, Sir, I knew him in this Town
Some Years before he wore a Gown,
When he appear'd a tearing Blade,
And went most fashionably clad:
I've sold him more than once or twice
Long Wiggs of Eight or Ten Pounds price.

How, Cutty! (quoth Pendragon) prithee
Go on; it seems h' as Dealings with thee.

Ay, (quoth the Barber, and he sobbs)
He's in my Book for several Bobbs,
And tells me, I shall ne'er be paid
Till he's preferr'd, marry'd, or dead.

But, (quoth Sir Knight) let me request,
What made him turn from Spark to Priest?

That same which has no Law for what.
It does, and makes the Old Wife trot;
Necessity, and want of Bread,
Or rather want of Wine indeed:
For Custom is a Second Nature,
And he was never us'd to Water.
Oh! with your Wit (quoth Knight) and Razor
Together, you have cut my Face, Sir,
I know not which of them's the sharper.
I'm sorry for it, (quoth the Barber.)
Your Worship smil'd, and so it were done
By a Touch; I beg your Worship's Pardon.

It scarcely bleeds, and can't be seen;
I'll cure it streight with Benjamin.
Well, (quoth Sir Knight) if it don't bleed,
Sans Ceremony pray proceed.
Then Cutbeard: Sir, I know his Fortune
Was large, before he made it shorten,
Paid him in ready Cash, as soon
As he attain'd to Twenty one,
At least Three thousand Pounds of Sterling,
So much was he an Uncle's Darling,
Who rais'd a plentiful Estate
From Wrangling and eternal Prate,
And whileom had in's Life-time been
A Bencher sage of Lincolns-Inn;
Who kept a memorable Reading,
For Nosegays, Pot-herbs, Law, and Feeding;
Descended from the ancient famous
Conveyancer, (hight) Ignoramus.
But to the Nephew, Mr. Laurence,
Altho' his Fortune was so fair once,
He learn't at University
To make no little part on't fly;

Where when his Wit and Humour ripe was,
In's younger days, they made him Tripos;
Renown'd for Bottle, and for Jest,
He was at ev'ry Treat a Guest.
Then taking leave of Alma Mater,
He came (to learn the Cinque and Quatre)
To Town, the Palm and Slurr to know,
Tatt's, Doctor, Fulham's High and Low:
Tho' all this Knowledge but increast
His Sorrow much the more at last.
Yet while he was the 'foresaid Blade,
No Man more Reputation had
For Wit, in all the Town, than he,
And the fine Turn in Poetry;
Whose Talent being less laborious,
Became the Envy of old Laurus;
Tho' many, with good Reasons, will
Have it, they both pist in a Quill.
But being a Man of various Fancies,
And in at all Extravagances,
In less than three Years Time, that I know,
He made a Hand of ready Rhino,

And brought himself to worse than Nothing.
At length, grown shabby in his Cloathing,
When all th'Attendants on his Folly
Were Want, and Rags, and Melancholy,
And all the Hopes he had were vain ones,
How to get rid of these Companions,
Unless it were by means of Halter,
Or flying to the Horns of th'Altar;
Which Course he steer'd to cure mœrores,
Et nunquam sera ad bonos mores.

You've satisfy'd me, (quoth the Knight)
A Wit's a perfect Het'roclite.
None but sheer Wit could give Defeat
With such Dispatch to an Estate.
In thy Profession there was never
So expeditious a Shaver,
Who did's own Business quick and clear
As thou hast mine, not left a Hair.

But, mark me; hast thou ever seen a
Fair Lady, who is call'd Selena?

No, but I've heard Discourses somewhere
Much of her Beauty and her Humour.
Could not you get me Information
Where 'tis she dwells, upon occasion?
That I can eas'ly compass, Sir;
It is not far from Westminster.

Then (quoth Pendragon) two days hence
(Now the Spring-Season does advance,
And the Sun's got so far in Taurus,
Phlebotomy being needful for us)
Here let me see your Face again;
But come betimes, to spring a Vein.
Mean while, you, like a trusty Trojan,
Cannot forget the Lady's Lodging.

Cutbeard did every thing fulfil
In time, according to his Will.

And now Pendragon having learn'd
The Thing for which he was concern'd,

And got thereby a Wrinkle more
About him than he had before;
Knowing that this same Lady fair
Went frequently to Morning-Pray'r,
A Coach was call'd without delay,
Which hurry'd him to Church away.
His Boy being sent that very Hour
To watch, and play about her Door,
And mark her Motions, found her Chair
And Men stood ready to convey her.
Away they trotted to St. Martin's,
Where tho she has no Place ascertain'd,
Yet can her Silver Key undo
In all the Church the fairest Pew.
Church Turn-keys make ungodly Wages,
Like their Great Grand-sire Simon Magus.
A Shame, that ev'ry under Clerk yet
In Pray'r-time keeps his highest Market.

Noting the Seat in which she fixt,
Pendragon gets into the next,

Where he had full View of her Favour:
But overlooking her Behaviour,
He spy'd occasion to arraign her
As guilty of a Misdemeanour.
For when the rest t'appearance were
Standing, or on their Knees at Pray'r,
Our Lady's Posture too does show,
She does the same that others do;
Devoutly turning up her Eyes,
Who at a distance could surmise
That her fair Hand held in the place
Of Pocket Pray'r-book, Pocket-Glass?
Or that she naughtily, instead
Of Collects, Dress and Visage read?
And sticking on her Cheek a Patch,
Made the Responsal, We beseech, &c.
And after Benediction,
She shook her Head, and sigh'd, Amen.
Moving her Limbs, to stand upright,
With Amber Scent she struck the Knight:
And turning round, her Skin or Clothes
Gave him a Whiff of Tuberose.

At her Go-off, she cast a Smile;
He quite confounded all the while,
Did like a Marble Statue stand,
Or like one Planet-struck remain'd,
Till every Body else was gone,
Except the Clerk and he alone:
Who coming to himself, did find
The Danger of being left behind,
Which he, by going out, declin'd.
Tho's Heart was wounded, yet his Head
Variety of Fancies fed.
Reflecting that her Thoughss were roving,
He deem'd her the more fit for Loving:
And from the Mixture of the Sinner,
Conceiv'd the greater Hopes to win her.
For tho' in Faith he was not weak,
Yet but for Hope his Heart must break.
If the fam'd Knight o'th' Mancha knew well
To feed his Flames with Fancy's Fuel,
And burn outrageously for one
Whose Visage was to him unknown,

What fiercer Flames, and greater Raging,
Must our Knight feel? (you may imagine)
Who took the Philters charming Dose
In at his Ears, and Eyes, and Nose?
Which strongly seizing on his Heart,
Diffus'd it self thro' ev'ry Part,
That in this manner, as he walk'd,
Disturb'dly to himself he talk'd.

On me the Pow'rs above have laid
Enough to make another mad.
If I'm the Atlas and the Prop
O'th' Government, why let it drop.
Let Whiggs and Trimmers take their ease,
And set at Liberty their Bees,
Go water their Ranunculus's,
And other Plants, in Pots and Cases:
Let them pursue their Sports, make Play-day
Until a good while after May-day,
While I go in pursuit of Lady.
Each Man has Bus'ness of his own,
To be dispatch'd, or left undone.

May's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

Selena as she lies in Bed
Holds Conversation with her Maid:
A Visit puts her out of Order.
Taking the Air, who then should board her,
But Sir Pendragon, by the Way?
All in the merry Month of May.

'Tis fit the Business of the State
On that of mightier Love's should wait;
While we are treating of Amours,
On Politicks to shut the Doors,
And not to suffer them to enter
At Times when they impertinent are.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
Bright in at Chamber-window shone,
E'er Madam does one Ray disclose,
But fast lock'd up in deep Repose
Senses and Beauties all lay hid,
In Blankets, Sheets, and Coverlid.

Mean while her Handmaid, who lay nigh,
In a small dark Apartment by,
From out her Bed in silence slips,
With Petty-coats about her Hips;
Softly she came, and draws the Curtain,
Finding her Mistriss fast and snorting,
In a low Voice she Madam cries,
Good Madam, when d' you mean to rise?
Selena then stirr'd, and began
To stretch her self, and sigh, and yawn,
To scratch her Bosom, Arms, and Neck,
And opening of her Eyes, she spake;
Curse on you for a silly Whore;
Speak, What a Devil d' wake me for?

Troth, Madam, then quoth Thomasine,
I'll take my Oath, 'tis after Nine;
But if you find your Eye-lids heavy,
I'll go away again, and leave you.

No, Housewife, you can do no worse;
Judge if you don't deserve a Curse.
Ah Wench! but just before you wak'd me,
Methoughts a War-like Man attack'd me;
Fierce, like the fam'd St. George, when I
Did like the Dragon at him fly,
Tearing and biting with my Teeth,
And grappling till I wanted Breath.
Quite tir'd, I by main Strength was thrown
Flat underneath the Champion:
And who knows what had been my Doom,
Had not you come into the Room?

'Twas in good time (quoth Thom'sine) then,
Or my poor Lady had been slain.
In stead of raising of your Anger,
Thank me, that you are out of danger.

But may I speak my Mind t'you freely?
This Dreaming, Madam, 's very silly,
And only serves to make you talk,
Like one who feeds on Dirt and Chalk.
Was Beauty giv'n you, and warm Blood,
Nor for your own nor others good?
In such a Frolick Age as this,
Who durst report, you do amiss?
As if the sooty Pottage-pot
Would mock the Kettle for its Smut.
Not, Madam, but one would abhor
The broad and common Name of Whore,
That's seldom giv'n, but to the Poor.
'Tis thousand Pities you should cumber
Your self with your Virgin'ty's Lumber,
And carry ev'ry Night to Bed
An aking, irksom Maidenhead,
Which plagues its Keeper, but when gone
Nor troubles her, nor any one.
Are not you pleas'd with this Advice?

Softly, the Lady then replies,

By this Instruction one may guess well
The Frailty of thy Earthen Vessel;
And thy Advice most plainly speaks,
Thy Pitcher's crackt, and therefore leaks:
But, Thomasine, she foully does ill,
Who measures mine by her own Bushel.
Thou mak'st Reflections on thy Mistriss,
As if she was reduc'd to Distress.
Has any one more Liberty
Or Freedom in her Choice than I?
Whether my Fortune 'tis, or Favour,
Or something else which has the Savour
To draw so many Supplicants
Upon me, to relieve their Wants,
And daily bring me in Addresses,
Both from the smooth and wither'd Faces,
'Tis not so easie to discover
The Cause that animates the Lover.
However, know, that 'tis decreed
By Fate, (with all convenient speed)
Nought shall resist my Vows to wed.

I'll see them all; to whom I find
My self most furiously inclin'd,
Him from among the Heard I'll chuse, and
Ev'n take him for my Wedded Husband:
Rather the Hazard run of Marriage,
Than of a Clap, or a Miscarriage.
If Matrimony, in conclusion,
Agrees not with my Constitution,
Then I'll turn Tail against its Force,
And take a clear contrary Course.

This Resolution's very sudden
(Quoth Thom'sine) and perhaps a good one:
For Wedlock is (tho so sought after)
The greatest Lottery in Nature.

Let Fools depend (Madam replies)
Upon their Luck in Lotteries:
If any thing occurs of ill,
By my Prerogative, my Will,
I'll either overcome it quite,
Or move my self out of its sight.

Since almost every Faculty
But Will, to Woman they deny,
Can they expect she'll That surrender
To their imperious Masc'line Gender?
Or less than unto Death maintain
It, tho' fantastical and vain.

Quoth Thomasine, these strange Perswasions
Will plague you upon all Occasions;
Let them seem ne'er so Great and Noble,
You'll find them bring prodigious Trouble.
For while without Controll, Dispute,
Or Whartle, you rule Absolute,
What precious Qual'ties would you have
Endow your conjugated Slave?

I'd have him (quoth Selena) be
In his own Government as free;
Our Wills act in a diff'rent Sphere,
And one to th'others ne'er come near.
Then, to be sure, he must be rich:
Poverty's worse than Pox or Itch,

Palsie, Deformity, or Frenzy,
Folly, or Insufficiency.
Of ancient Family descended,
Or by his Money so befriended,
To buy himself Titles of Worth,
To hide th'Obscurity of Birth.

Sir Grog'ram's such a piece of Stuff;
He's rich, and passable enough;
And there's least Cause to be afraid
Of marrying one, who drives a Trade;
When there's no danger of his Failure,
I shall not stand in awe of's Valour.

Young Parrot has a fair Estate;
But 'tis a Fop so full of Prate,
So disagreeable a Person,
He very much is my Aversion.

There's no Man pays me such Devoirs
As Serjeant Wigeon, 'mongst the Lawyers;

But wo be to his wedded Wife,
Now he has laid aside his Coif,
And spends whole Nights in Broils and Roaring,
In Taverns, and in double Whoring.

Since Age (if not too much decay'd)
You can dispense with, (quoth the Maid)
Pray, Madam, how d' you like Squire Hugh?

Fough! Nasty Fellow, I shall spue,
(Quoth she.) Nay, (answer'd Thomasine)
You wrong him; for he's very clean,
And neither Money wants, nor Wit.

No matter, do not make me spit,
(Said she.) And going on with more,
They hear a Rapping at the Door.
Up Thomasine starts, holds fast the Latch,
And crys, Who are you there? A Wretch,
(Quoth Voice without) an humble Slave,
The very'st. Vassal that you have.

(Which Voice betray'd, it being a hoarse one,
The Devil they did last discourse on.

Hah! Hugo! (then the Lady said)
Enter not here; I'm in my Bed:
Without another VVord be gone,
And leap from Top to Bottom down.
This is no time a Day to visit,
Unless y' had Bus'ness to sollicit.

And so I have (quoth he:) My Heart
Is wholly yours. (Quoth she) A Fart;
And swell'd, as if she'd burst with Choler,
For want of utt'rance of her Dolour.

While Hugh without doors says he'll thank her
If she'll assuage her cruel Rancour;
And promis'd, he would straightways leave her,
Provided she will grant the Favour
To condescend to bless his Eyes
VVith a View of her as she lies:

Engaging not t'advance one Step.
Selena agrees to let him peep:
But tipt the VVink, and made a Sign
VVell understood by Thomasine;
VVho plaid her part, and pinch'd full sore
His Noddle 'twixt the Post and Door;
But let him draw it back, for fear
Of damaging the surdous Ear.
Now while the Maid secures the Lock,
The Lady leaps out in her Smock
VVith all speed possible, puts on
Her Shooes, and her loose-body'd Gown,
Advancing, threw the Door wide open,
And bid her Maid she should not stop him.
Enrag'd, she vents her fell Displeasure,
Thus rounding him beyond all Measure.

Can you conceive that I'll dispense
VVith this unequal'd Impudence,
To me, of making your Pretence?

As well the Cobler might address
Himself with Passion to Queen Bess,
And hope from her as good Success.
Thy Phiz, more tough than Parents Leather,
Is able to out-wear the Weather,
Out-face the bright Meridian Sun,
When lowing Herds to Coverts run:
'Tis such, no Scandal, Guilt, nor Shame,
Can pump up Blush into the same.

Hold, and contain your self, (quoth he)
You're out of Breath with Raillery:
Come, pretty Lady, you must lack it;
A Virgin may say Nay and take it.

(Quoth she) Be gone, thou filthy Monster
Fly from my sight; for if I once stir
My Foot, and on the Board stamp thrice,
Footmen with Cudgels shall arise,
To give the swinging Bastinado,
For which if thou art pleas'd to stay, do.

(Quoth he) Since you're so humoursom,
Farewell; I say no more but, Mum.
I know you'll look, for all you're vext,
More kindly when I see you next.
And Mistriss Thomasine, with a P---x,
I sha'n't forget your Christmas-Box.
And thus compell'd the Field to quit,
He made inglorious Retreat.

So Tory, when he would prevail
For kind Caresses, waggs his Tail;
But when his Master chides, he flags,
And sneaking claps it 'twixt his Legs.

Selena too as much put out is
Of humour; first i'th' Hoititoities
She rants, and swears, and stares, and flings
About her Clothes, and tears her Things;
Breaks China, clatters Looking-glasses,
And calls him Twenty thousand Asses.

Thom'sine, to put her by this Chafing,
Set Thumbs to Sides, and fell a laughing.
At that, the Lady on a sudden
Chang'd her bad Humour for a good one;
Bursts out into a Fit of Laughter,
And eas'd her self by making Water.
Gets on her Clothes with little pains,
Drest a-la-mode en negligence,
With a lac'd Scarf and Vizor-Masque on,
She gathers up her Galligascoins,
And in St. James's Park she walks,
Where, by the Ponds of Ducks and Drakes,
By lucky Chance, and help of Scout,
Bold Sir Pendragon finds her out;
Who bearing up unto her close,
Strikes Sail, and then attack's her thus:

Sweet Lady, whose Perfumes environ
Your Slaves, and draw like Grapling-iron,
When you have boarded us per Force,
Pray how d' you use your Prisoners?

Those who have Worth (quoth she) I rifle,
Others I value not a trifle.

Being yours (quoth he then) by Reprisal,
Tell me my Doom. (Quoth she) Go whistle;
For I believe you have no Treasure
Of value, nor in Weight, nor Measure.

And so, perhaps, you'll lose (quoth he)
A Prize, thro' Infidelity.

I may (said she) do so, perhaps;
But Taste is flat in wither'd Grapes:
And no Knight ever won my Grace
Of th'Order of th'Ill-favour'd Face.

Well, (quoth Sir Knight) this your Reflexion,
I grant, would be enough to vex one
Who has no other able Talents,
That may with handsom Features balance.

But Worth in Secret often lies.

You'd fain insinuate (she replies)
That you're possest of Treasure hidden,
Which is too good to be forbidden,
And bear about you conceal'd Merit,
Relating to your Flesh, or Spirit.
The first I must suppose but weak;
The latter for its self can speak:
For Nothing's less a Secret, than
The vast Productions of your Brain;
Which, like a common Prostitute,
Yields daily most unwholesom Fruit:
Of which throughout the Kingdom surfeits;
And it encreases, not cures her Fits;
Altho' the Press no Prints produces
For more Variety of Uses.
To Pies and Tarts your Papers cling,
And make Band-boxes Covering;
Beside the many thousand Pages
Back-side receives, and Privy lodges.

Since then sufficiently you're known,
I need not bid you to be gone,
And haste home to your Pen and Ink-horn.
He star'd like Devil over Lincoln,
His Speech being stopp'd thro' Wrath & Wonder.
They parted several Ways asunder.
Thus Days, and Hours, and Minutes fly,
While the Sun goes thro' Gemini,
To all alike not pleasantly.
Great Wits, as well as Heroe's Great,
Are never always Fortunate.

June's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

Selena's well, never look'd finer,
Laugh'd more, nor eat a heartier Dinner.
Sir Grog'ram wooes with costly Present:
With other Matters not unpleasant;
Which as you find them represented,
Are very eas'ly apprehended.

At the Sun's entring into th'Crab, he
Makes the long Day of bright Barnaby:
When our fam'd Lady, no less bright,
Triumphs o'er both the Squire and Knight.
The first repuls'd with Box o'th' Ear,
The latter struck with Shame and Fear

Of losing what he never had,
His Heart was sunk and very sad,
Which drove him almost to Despair,
(I say, Not quite, but very near)
Of ever getting Ladies Favour,
At least so as to Hold and Have her.
Whom for a time we leave to forage
On his own preternat'ral Courage,
And keep th'Head-Quarters of Affliction
In Philosophy's Jurisdiction;

While we shall, without Breach of Charity,
Attend the Lady in Prosperity:
Who th'other Day, tho' down in Crest,
Behold her now compleatly drest;
Her sullen Dumps, and lowring Powts,
Transform'd to Waggery and Flouts.
All Spirit, Life, and Air possess her,
In stead of Chagrin and Displeasure:
And tho' in Habit lately careless,
Now her 'Attire was rich and peerless.

And strange Conjectures may be made,
According as a Woman's clad;
The Body being much inclin'd
To wear the Liv'ry of the Mind:
And as the first is mobb'd or drest,
The others Humour may be guest.

Those Looking-glasses, which she threw
About before are plac'd in view,
And the Resemblance proudly bear
Of gay Selena, lovely Fair.
Charm'd with her Features in the Mirrour,
She owns her self a Conqueror,
Laughs at the Names of fam'd Statira,
Of Parisatis, Albemira;
The proper Lustre of her Eyes
Strike such Reflexions, which despise
The Poet's Fopperies and Stories
Of Phillis, Amoret, and Chloris:
Because she thinks her self possest
Of Charms as powerful as the best.

Which pleasing Images are brought
By needful Train of flatt'ring Thought,
First kindled at the sight of Skin,
To blow up Self-conceit within:
Which can be reckon'd no Crime at all,
If it be of Necessity Fatal.

Many Conveniencies beside
To Woman-kind accrue from Pride.
'Tis that keeps Ladies under Switch,
It dares not scratch where it does itch,
Preserves the stagg'ring Reputation
Of many a Lady in the Nation,
And that no more of them fall down
To th'Lacquey, Groom, or Countrey Clown;
That makes them splendidly accouter'd,
And always sets the best Side outward,
Appearing to the Stranger's Eye
Of good sufficient Quality,
When Wits Contrivance is put to 't
To compass Morsel for the Gut:

That hides Infirmities, Defects,
And common Blemishes of Sex.
That makes them, on occasion, swear
Themselves much younger than they are;
And when the Fortieth Year is gone,
But Eight or Nine and twenty own.
And that the same Assistance lends
To Mankind, for the self-same Ends.

Now tho' Selena all this while
Was pleas'd to have her Thoughts recoil,
Yet so many strong Excellencies
Tir'd almost her Intelligences:
Variety new Pleasure brings;
She trips about the Room, and sings
To her soft Pendent-bearing Ears,
Hence, hence ye vain fantastick Fears
Of Ills to come—And so to th'end on't,
In Airs melodiously transcendent.
When Thom'sine came in to acquaint her,
The Dinner on the Board did want her.

Of which to make exact Relation,
Would be below the Reputation
Of any of the High-born Muses,
Such Common Work about the House is,
Too sordid for the Child of Jove,
Got on Mnemosyne his Love.
Ours therefore does forbear to treat
Of the choice Bits the Lady eat;
Or to demean her self to wait
Behind a Chair to change a Plate;
Or talk o'er all the Tittle-tattle
Of Womens Table-talk and Prattle:
For ev'n Selena the Accomplish'd
Sometimes talks idlely, and is nonplus'd.
Let it suffice for us to tell,
After sh' had din'd extremely well,
Victual, and Cloth, and all being gone,
Grace, after new Mode, they had none;
That still her Humour she maintains
In Frolicks and Extravagance.

She pinches her Companions Cheeks,
And plays them twenty wanton Tricks;
She gets across a Chair to ride,
With her divided Legs astride;
She challenges them All to leap,
And straddle widest at a Step;
From that, to molding Cockle-bread:
When in Sir Grog'ram puts his Head.
Selen' who first cast Eyes on him,
Set her self right, by saying Prim.
The rest surpriz'd, ran helter-skelter,
As Shame does always seek for Shelter.
He, seeing Coast on all Sides clear,
Thus spake, advancing up to her.

Madam, I fear my bold Intrusion
Has put the Ladys in confusion:
But you may pardon the Surprise,
Knowing the Vigour of your Eyes,
And the Grand Embassage I carry
From Love, Plenipotentiary.

Sent hither solely on his Errand,
Permit my Lips to kiss your bare Hand;
And know, this silent eager Breath
Plights Love and everlasting Faith,
Passes my Worth, and all I am,
Over to you, without a Sham.

Quoth she, Sir Grog'ram, you're mistaken;
I'm not the Person as you reckon.
But setting Raillery apart,
Suppose I should accept your Heart,
With its Appurtenances, then
You'd gladly eat your Words agen;
Or if we were about t'Indent,
And Article for Settlement,
The Terms on which I should insist,
Would fright you like a Will i' Wisp;
And at the Matrimonial Noose
You'd be as daunted, I suppose.

To which he answer'd, I imagine
The Worst you'd have me to engage in:

Hap what hap may, Fall Back fall Edge,
Madam, I say, I do engage;
Be your Conditions what they will,
I'll to a Tittle them fulfil,
If you with Matrimony close:
Now, Lady, pray where's your Suppose?

She not expecting him so ready
In his Compliance, cry'd, God speed ye,
Sir Grog'ram; for I shall require
Wainscot of Cedar, Cedar Fire,
Gold never to desert my Pockets,
Nor Pearl my Neck, nor Arms rich Lockets:
For other Parts, if ill supply'd,
I shall, as Need requires, provide:
And, to that End, I shall demand
A Coach and Six always at hand,
With Foot-men, Liveries, and Pages,
Kept, as the Mode is, at Board-wages.
Nor would I have you take 't in dudgeon,
I tell you of a Blot in Scutcheon.

Your Aunt, the Daughter of your Grannum,
To whom y' allow Two Pound per Annum,
Let her complain no more, nor mention
The backward Payment of your Pension.

Sir Grog'ram, tho' the thing was true,
Was more concern'd because she knew
His mean Original and Kindred,
Lest by 't his Marriage should be hindred;
And fearing such another Bob,
He steals his Fingers into Fob,
And then reply'd, Madam, I'm sorry
You're troubl'd at an idle Story:
Alas! What has a viler Name
For Lying, than Report and Fame?
And he who credits all he hears,
Prostrates his Faith, and fools his Ears.
Pray let us talk no more about
A thing so frivolous. Then out
Drawing his clumsie Fingers forth,
Madam, (says he) tho' 'tis not worth

Th'acceptance of so fair a Lady,
Yet 'tis presented to perswade you
That He who gives it does bestow
His Heart intirely with it too.

Selena thought not fit to dally
With any thing of such a value;
And having well the Necklace ey'd,
Truly, Sir Grog'ram, she reply'd,
I thank you for your Heart; but since,
When you depart you take that hence,
This may content me for a Pawn,
Or a Remembrance when you're gone.

The secret Joy that he conceiv'd
Hereat, was scarce to be believ'd;
Concludes himself cock-sure to have her,
Since she accepted what he gave her.
Delighted with these happy Thoughts,
Taking his Leave, away he trots.

Selena, no less gratify'd,
Her Speech thus to her self apply'd:
“A Present of Five hundred Pound
“Affords a comfortable Sound,
“And is a most substantial Proof
“The Donor loves me well enough.
“There's nothing makes the Purse-strings fly
“Of an old Fool, like Letchery.
“But in return what must I do?
“Marry, and kiss, and cokes him? Fogh!
“That's but an awkerd sort of Pleasure:
“I'll think upon it more at leisure.
“Honey has Stings.—With that she stopt here,
For in they came to interrupt her,
To make a Jest and Sport about her,
Having Sir Grog'ram for a Suitor.
Selena no less merry was,
And laught most, having the most Cause.

But let us leave her in fruition
Of present prosperous Condition;

And make a Visit to the Knight,
Too long left out of Mind and Sight.
(Note, When we say The Knight, we mean
Sir Pendragon κατ' ευξοχμην.)
With whom the Curate, having heard
How he in late Adventure far'd,
Does with submission offer Solace,
In most obliging Terms, as follows.

Sir, What the Lady to you said
So smartly, was in Masquerade.
Tho' she knew you, you can't infer
From thence, She knew that you knew her.
And 'twas but Raillery, to try
Your Courage, or your Constancy.
Had her own Father been in place,
She'd not ha' bated him an Ace;
But as she found him a-transgressing,
Backward she would have ask'd him Blessing.
Or had he attempted to abridge
Her of her Sexes Privilege,

To lay Restraint on Lingua Franc,
She would have conn'd him scurvy Thank.

Alas! (quoth Sir Pendragon) I
With ease could bear her Raillery;
But by some Words she did impart,
I fear that she's a Whigg at Heart:
She told me, as I understood,
My Writing did more Harm than Good;
Wherein the Want of Jest does shew
The rather, she believes it True.
If so, 'tis fit she should be mumbled,
And in all sort of Senses humbled.

Quoth Laurence, If she be a Whigg,
Then I'm a very Putt, a Prigg.
I know she very often speaks
Perversely, for the nonce to vex;
And nothing in the World's more pleasing
To her, than being Cross and Teazing.
Whate'er her Words may sound, she means
Things of a clean contrary Sense,

And must have almost all her Speeches
Read backwards, like to other Witches.

Here, to the Curate, and the Knight
Enters the Squire, in dismal Fright,
Upon whose Perriwig did stand
The Hairs, quite out of Curl, on end;
And told them, (being ask'd, What News?)
Worse than if Hell it self broke loose.
The Stubborn Prelates, late committed,
Have all been Try'd, and are Acquitted.
One Minute bore the cursed Shout
Of Mob for sev'ral Miles about.
We teach to Lay-men Loyalty,
Which Clergy, when concern'd, defie:
Passive Obedience ne'er begot 'em;
And They, or We, are in wrong Bottom.

Quoth Sir Pendragon, 'Tis amazing,
And sets my inward Lights a-gazing.
Too strong Convulsions needs must loosen
The Macro, as the Microcosm:

And Griping in the Guts does boad ill,
Because it may affect the Noddle.
Let us advise upon this Junto,
Consider what it may amount to:
For when Times wear a Face of Trouble,
Then should our Diligence be Double.

Quoth Hugo, Si non sero sapis,
I hope you'll prove an Æsculapius.
A Cloudy Morning may grow clear,
And make an Evening Bright and Fair.

July's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

Knight, Squire, and Curate hold I ebate
Concerning—None of them know what.
Yet each one eagerly maintains
His own peculiar Sentiments:
And many are severely chidden,
Who will not do as they are bidden.

Old Bays, according to his Name,
Had long wore Chaplet of the same,
That gracefully his Temples-crown'd:
But when Times chang'd, his Brows were bound
With Rosary thereof in stead,
Which caus'd new Singing in his Head.

As he the famous Fable forges
Of Beasts, and Birds, and Men, and Churches,
He a new Method institutes,
In managing his several Brutes:
Which bona fide he commends
To Smith and Johnson, two old Friends.
For out he brings his Wolf and Boar,
And shew'd them; but he did no more:
He would by no means let them fight,
Which nor instructs, nor yields Delight;
But when he 'ad giv'n the Character
Of Hind and Panther, Fox and Bear,
And all sufficiently were seen,
He wisely shut them up again.

So pardon if we imitate
One of Authority so great:
We shall not let our Hero's deal
Either with Powder or with Steel;
Tho' they may snarl, talk high, and chafe,
Yet all the while we'll keep them safe.

They really shall do no hurt;
For, Mischief always spoileth Sport.
But when they've run their Risque, and try'd
(While they had with them Wind and Tide)
What they'd be at, by change of Wind
We'll send them Puff as far behind;
We'll make them scour (when the time's come)
Abroad, or be confin'd at home.

Such is the Contest in the Game,
Of so much celebrated Fame;
Which we in English call The Goose,
And Rome's Wise Conclave did compose:
Where ev'ry Party still does strive
(Preserv'd by equal Hopes alive)
To compass that, which can be done,
In the conclusion, but by one.
He that's repell'd, as much of Chance has,
As he who the mean while advances:
And he that's laid in Custody,
Looks for a Time to be set free,

And feeds on Expectation
To rise from Prison to a Throne,
Till by the strong decisive Cast,
The Fortunate confounds the rest.
But 'tis not fit too long Preamble
Should from the present Bus'ness ramble.

In Grays-Inn Walks we lay the Scene
Where Knight, Squire, Curate met again,
And reassum'd Discourse once more
On that they enter'd on before.
Pendragon first did Silence break,
And thus from Second Thoughts he spake.

The Changes which are rung from Steeple
Are always pleasing to the People:
And the most dangerous Commotion
Is kindled from too hot Devotion.
But the poor Priest is more the Zealot:
We seldom find it in the Prelate,
Who having got a bigger Share
Of this Worlds Goods, divides his Care,

And makes him hold the Balance even
As e'er he can, 'twixt Earth and Heaven:
Yet spite on's Teeth, he'll be inclin'd
To th'Scale where lies the Earth refin'd:
While poorer Wretches, less content
With that which Providence has sent,
Raise Faction, and tear all in pieces,
In hopes of better Benefices.
But as for want of a Supply
Of Fuel, Flames do quickly die;
So will your formidable Shout
In Fumo vanish, and go out.

My Shout! Deliver me! (quoth Hugh)
It does as much belong to you.
What Hurt can I sustain, should all
The Bishops in the Kingdom fall?
And yet, on th'other Side, what Good
Will that be to my Livelihood?
Who am as firm a Son o'th' Church,
Tho' I say 't my self, as D--- B---

Or as your Worship's self, Sir Knight,
Tho you get much, I nothing by't.

Nay, quoth Pendragon, if you're teasty,
Try what you'll get by riding resty;
And if you fancy you have far'd ill,
Go turn the Buckle of your Girdle.
Howsoe'er my self I have acquitted,
Let me be envy'd, and not pitied.

Pray, quoth the Curate, give me leave
This sudden Squabble to retrive,
And offer something in due season
To Men of so much Worth and Reason;
Who both are real Friends to th'Church,
And scorn to leave her in the Lurch.
(By Church, I mean the Hierarchy,
Its Grandeur, Power, and Dignity.
Cœtus fidelium is the Mobb,
Who may our Shrines and Altars rob.)
Therefore to you I dare appeal,
If what those Bishops did was well.

I judge them damnably mistaken,
Tho' by good Luck they sav'd their Bacon.
The Crime was very great and foul,
The Prince's Pleasure to controul.
Whatever he would have them read,
They ought to do't; and so I did;
And so should ev'ry Loyal Priest,
Without Refusal, or Contest.
If we have any who profess
Supremacy beyond the Seas,
In this they may comply, the rather,
Because approv'd by Holy Father;
With whom the Church in this our Nation
Might meet with Reconciliation,
If 'twas not kept at such a Distance
By those who love to make Resistance.
Why should we not in Manners come
As near as e'er we can to Rome?
Since she upon the Hills is high
In Honour and in Quality,
It is more reasonable and fitter
That we should first advance to meet her:

And if we're not too proud to stoop,
VVith open Arms she'll take us up,
Never reproach our going astray
So long, and being out o'th' VVay;
But bid us VVelcome, and caress
Us with the greatest Tenderness.
The Papist, and the Protestant,
Exploded Terms of foolish Cant,
VVhen once made Friends, whoever thinks on,
This or that Name for a Distinction,
I'd have him hang'd up by the Neck,
Or Spitcock'd for a Heretick.
And here, Great Sir Pendragon, you
May justly claim our Thanks as due,
That the Church-Trimmers (who the while
VViden what we would reconcile)
Have that Nick-name preserv'd alive,
To make their Infamy survive.
In all your VVritings your strong Reasons
Have strangely mended my Perswasions.
That which we call The Reformation,
Is but a Scandal to the Nation;

And for John Calvin and Mart. Luther,
I won't say what I think they both were.

Hold, quoth Pendragon, you say more
Than e'er you had my Warrant for:
You never met with such Expressions
In all my First or Second Lessons.

That's true, you are too wise a Man
(Quoth he) to speak your Mind so plain:
But you'll allow me so much Sense,
From Doctrine to raise Inference.

(Quoth Hugh) Methinks you both are in, and
Out too, by turns, with your Opinion.
Quicksilver's very hard to fix,
It has so many shifting Tricks:
And Weather-glasses fall or rise
According to the Clouds i'th' Skies.
I've hearken'd to you till I'm giddy,
And do but grow the more unsteady.

Could I discern wherein you differ,
My Thoughts were easier to deliver.
You, Master Laurence, very fairly
Seem to be bound for Rome thus early;
And tho' I can't keep equal Pace,
I love a Man that shews his Face;
But wish your Riding so Tantivy
(As the Whiggs call it) don't deceive you.
If Sir Pendragon would unveil
Himself as far, 'twould please me well;
And not converse with us, when he has
A Misty Cloke on, like Æneas.

Good Squire, compose your self to rest,
(The Knight reply'd) Repeal of Test
We all are for, and think it just
To gratifie the Royal Lust.
There's none of us would make Defeisance
Of Active, or Passive Obeysance.
And sure my Writings clear this Case
Plain as the Nose upon your Face.

All People that on Earth do dwell,
But those who purpose to rebell,
Without Conditions should obey
What Rulers bid them do or say.

Hamlet, because he was a Prince,
The Lord Polonius could convince,
That the same Cloud was like in all
T'a Camel, Weezel, and a Whale:
And make another (spite of Thought)
Say as he pleas'd, 'twas Cold or Hot.

Indostan's Greatest Emperor
Rules with so uncontrol'd a Power,
That if at Noon, when Sun shines bright,
He says, 'tis middle of the Night,
His Courtiers dare not for their Ears
But cry, Behold the Moon and Stars.

No Monarch in the Universe
Has more his Peoples Dread and Fears,

Than Boutan's Arbitrary Lord,
Who's like a Deity ador'd.
Being set, or Justice to dispense,
Or to give needful Audience,
Whos'e'er into his Presence goes
Must clap his Hands together close
Above his Forehead, then fall down
At a good distance from the Throne.
Thus prostrate on the Ground when laid,
He dares not once rear up his Head;
Which humble Posture and Condition
Those use too, who prefer Petition;
And he that makes Retirement quite,
Moves backwards till he's out of sight.

But what is yet more strange, and greater,
When e'er their King has eas'd his Nature,
They carefully preserve his Ordure,
And dry it like to Sneezing-Powder;
Then, as we Snuff in Boxes shut,
So they the choice Provant do put,

And with them ev'ry Market-day
They carry that, to give away
To Men of Wealth, with whom they Trade;
Which Kindness is by them repaid.
Who thus possest of Good so rare,
Convey it home with no less Care;
And when they invite their Friends to eat,
They strew the Powder on their Meat.
Two Boutan-Merchants, says my Author,
Shew'd me their Boxes, and the Powder.
These Eastern People can digest
What ours would not vouchsafe to taste:
They swallow a Sir-Reverence
With greediness, that comes from Prince.
Nothing goes down with us, forsooth,
But what is pleasing to the Tooth.
And more he was about to say,
When he was call'd in haste away:
The Squire and Curate at the Gate
Parted too, without further Chat.

100

'Twas now the Time the Politicians
Seem'd wondrous full of good Conditions,
Made Proffers very much obliging
To All of different Religion.
And tho' Dispensing Power they held,
Yet they in Loving-kindness yield
To have all Penal Laws repeal'd,
Which gave the Subject any Grief
Concerning Matters of Belief.
Some eagerly catch't at the Bait,
And with the Sugar-plums were caught;
But others more considerate,
At distance having spy'd the Trap,
Sought Means the strong-laid Snare to scape.
While those who were possest of Places
Found themselves driven to Distresses,
From which they could have no Release,
Unless they left behind their Fleece.

For when the Question once was put,
Yes, you must answer, or turn out.

101

Will you at Call of Parliament
Give Vote for such who will consent
To take off Test and Penal Laws?
He that said Yes, was where he was:
He that unhappily said No,
Was us'd untowardly, like a Foe;
Threatn'd with Fines on Goods and Chattels,
Confinement, and the Lord knows what else.
Which Method, needs must be confest,
Was driving out of Test with Test.

The Thoughts of riding in the Saddle
Made weak Dissenter's Brains turn addle;
He could not see (he grew so blind)
The Jesuit getting up behind;
Who soon with unexpected Flirt
Would throw his Worship in the Dirt.

Many they were to whom the Question
Was boldly put: Among the rest, one,

102

A stout and valiant Son of Mars,
Who had spent all his Days in Wars,
Regardless of Religion,
'Twas thought that any might go down.
Therefore they pray'd him (with his leave)
That he'd the Romish Faith receive.

'Tis true (said he) that saying Pray'rs
Has been the least of all my Cares;
But if I ever change from That
Wherein I first was bred and taught,
My Honour is engag'd t'embrace
That of the Emperor's of Fez,
Who shew'd me Death, and Blood, and Wounds,
Yet could not get me to renounce.
Poor Slaves were brought into his Court,
And murder'd, only to make Sport:
The Agonies I saw, and Twitches,
Of miserable dying Wretches,
Yet I ne'er turn'd my Head awry,
Nor frown'd, nor ask'd that Monarch, Why

103

He caus'd the needless Execution.
Who when he saw my Resolution,
And found me not inclin'd to Pity,
Cry'd, Our Religion best would fit you.
(You Christians use to shew Remorse)
Your Faith should be the same with ours.
If I chang'd mine, I promis'd then
That I would turn Mahometan.

Their Wisdoms had as ill Success
With other Closettings, as this;
And Corporations Regulator
Prov'd a good Subject, fit for Laughter

In Man no greater Folly is,
Than that of being over-wise.

104

August's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

By Curate's Help, the Knight and Lady
Meet merrily, and Days are gaudy
A while, too hot to hold; Cold Dew
Is usher'd in by Barthol'mew.
But yet the Curate's Heat does grow
Towards Thomasine, and warms her too.

Tho' Hero's Pictures best do show
In Shades of Misery and Woe,
And more the Lustre shines when set
In Frame of Ebony or Jet,
As all our Logicks tell us, else
Their Rules of Opposites are false:

105

Yet, on the other Hand, if they
Should never see one happy day,
Meet with no comfortable Chequer,
Their very Vigour would grow weaker,
And from the greatest Wits and Braves,
Become the meerest Sots and Slaves.

Poor Sir Pendragon yet has had
His Love-Concerns run Retrograde,
Without Support of one kind Look,
Which any other Heart had broke
But his, that lay so fortifi'd,
Entrench'd in Self-conceit and Pride.
Now therefore 'tis extremely fit
To let him lie no longer by 't,
And for his Sally to set ope
Altho' but a Trap-door of Hope.

Laurence, to further this Intent,
Proves a successful Instrument;
Who, big with joyful Tidings, came
In so much haste to tell the same,

106

That all in Sweat the thick round Drops
Cours'd one another down his Chops.
Some Time he took to gather Wind
Sufficient to express his Mind.
He to Pendragon then imparts
That his unparallel'd Deserts
Were to Selena truly known,
Which she in sober Mood did own;
That all was Banter in the Park,
And Random-shot beside the Mark.
Nay, she requested me, moreover,
(Quoth Laurence) very like a Lover,
That I'd engage, without Delays,
T'oblige her with the Happiness
Of making you and her acquainted,
And promis'd I should ne'er repent it,
And made me in a manner swear
That you should come and visit her.

I thank you (quoth Pendragon) if
'Tis safe to be of your Belief:

107

Yet 'tis not strange; for there's no doubt
But Weather-cocks may turn about:
Methinks 'tis worth my while to go
And try if she continue so

Ay, (quoth the Curate) pray be gone
This instant, while the Day's your own;
For to the Gods belongs to morrow,
And who knows whether Joy or Sorrow?

Cutbeard was call'd to cure Excrescence,
And bring his Jass'mins choicest Essence;
To fill his Perriwig with Powder,
And dab it round about his Shoulder.
Thus very smug, and very sweet,
Drest in all Circumstances neat,
He sallies forth on bold Adventure,
The charming Lady to encounter;
And Laurence with him takes along,
To be his Guarrantee from Wrong,
That he receive no further Harms
Than what come fairly from her Charms:

108

And neither could th'Advantage carry
By their Perfumes Auxiliary.
After Attack betwixt their Cheeks,
(As fitting) first Pendragon speaks.

Madam, To Master Laurence I
Pay Thanks for this Felicity;
That he has brought me to salute you
With all Devoir, and do my Duty
Unto the fairest of the Sex
Which our Horizon circumspects.
Beauty and Wit surround your Throne,
And you, like both the Sun and Moon,
Maintain an equal Power and Right
To govern us by Day and Night.

Quarter, (Dread Sir) Selena cry'd;
I can't so fierce a Charge abide:
I'm altogether insufficient
To prove your Stock of Ammunition,
And do confess my self unfit
T'engage with such a Fund of Wit,

109

VVhose strong Redoubts make all Opposers
Retreat, and turn away the Losers.

I bear no Terrors (quoth the Knight)
VVhich may your Ladiship affright.
VVhat I pretend to of Abilities,
VVith all th'Efforts of my Virilities,
A Sacrifice without Reserve is
Devoted solely to your Service.

Beasts were for Sacrifice of old,
(Selena said) as I've been told,
Creatures with Horns and cloven Feet,
VVhich after that were exc'lent Meat,
First broyl'd on th'Altar of Devotion,
Then serv'd at Supper for Collation;
VVherewith not only hungry Priest,
But VVife and Children made a Feast.
Now to suppose that you were slain
On such account, 'twould be profane;
Or were you to be carbonado'd,
He gad! I could not be perswaded

110

To suffer come betwixt my Lips
The tightest Bit about your Hips.
And tho' my Kindness may be great t'you,
Yet not to that degree to eat you.

(VVhen Laurence thus engag'd did see
Them in slap-dash at Repartee,
He slipt out of the Room unseen
To find out Mistriss Thomasine.)

Quoth Knight, Dear Madam, have a care;
You drive the Metaphor too far.
In Lit'ral Sense I should be sorry
To verifie the Allegory,
And run into that rash Mistake
VVhich pious Origen did make;
VVho, to become more good and gracious,
Parted with Movables so precious.
To complement away my Gender,
My self incapable would render
To pleasure You, and do that Duty
Which I in special manner vow t'you.

111

Thank you (quoth she) that I'm befriended
With so much kindness but intended;
Altho' your promis'd Resolution
Be frustrate of its Execution:
For 'tis a Truth, That Ferdinando
Can do no more than what he can do.
And you shall find me so well bred,
As to accept the Will for Deed.

That's kindly said, (quoth he) Dear Lady:
But it behoves me to perswade you
(For Credits sake, without Denial)
To have this Business put to Trial.
Suffer my Love to take its Course,
And prove its energetick Force.

Softly, good Sir, Selena cries;
We 're merry, and we should be wise.
Determination of this Matter
May be made time enough hereafter.

112

We have advanc'd as far as fitting
For any Two at their first Meeting.
Blind Love ought to be gently led,
And taught to step, and taught to tread.

Mean while Pendragon slily strove
To pull from off her Hand a Glove.
She ask'd him if he meant by that
To have it fastned in his Hat,
And wore thereon, like Wedding-Garter,
To shew the Passion he did bear t'her;
As Brunswick's Duke the like was seen
To do for the Bohemian Queen.

(Quoth he) That famous Duke of Brunswick
Saving his Love, was mad and Brain-sick;
All whose frenetick Actions shew'd
Him Cruel, Barbarous, and Lewd:
And scarce, since Julian that Apostate,
Has the Church known a Foe more cross to't:
For if on Steeple high as Paul's
He spy'd a Work-man stopping Holes,

113

He ne'er ceast pelting him with Stone,
Until he foully fetch'd him down;
And such a Fall from Top of Steeple
Must beat out Brains, or make a Creeple.

In Munsters sacred Dome he sees
The Twelve Apostles Images,
All of substantial massie Plate;
When pond'ring well their Worth and Weight,
After reproachful Speech to th'Statues,
For keeping idle Station gratis,
He swore he'd make them travel thro'
All Countries, as th'were bid to do.
Then with them (coin'd into Rix-Dollars)
He paid his Army off, and Followers.

To Priests he bore such fell Antipathy,
He caus'd them to be smitten Hip and Thigh:
Deaf to their miserable Moans,
Either he cut their Throats or Stones.
But I run on with a Discourse
Unsuitable to Love-Affairs.

114

She (looking round her with a Frown)
Perceiving Laurence was withdrawn,
Inquir'd, and found him not within,
But gone abroad with Thomasine;
Replies, O rare! Your Curate-Thief
Has stole away, without my leave,
Not only his own Logger-head,
But hers whom I do call my Maid:
On what particular Pretence,
A little Time will evidence.
At present I'm become uneasie.
Since then my Company can't please ye,
You being a most accomplish'd Courtier,
Will cut your Visit so much shorter.

Madam (quoth he) I'll ne'er dispute,
Your Will and Pleasure's absolute.
Then bowing low, with a loud Smack
He kiss'd her Hand, and turn'd his Back.

115

Your Servant, Sir, (quoth she) God b' ye;
Adieu to Love and my Dear Joy—
She softly sung in silent Tone,
Till he was out of hearing gone.
Then smiling said, I've seen enough
Of this Sir Curly-murly Puff,
Whose Screams (I'm told) are cursed loud
'Gainst Patriots for the Publick Good:
I'm sure his making Love's a Farce,
In Strains untunable and harsh.
If with his Quail-pipe he decoys
Some heedless o'er-grown Scholar-Boys,
Who with their Money part, to buy
Dear Pen'worths of false Loyalty;
Let him not think that I'll be fed
With his gilt printed Ginger-bread.

Infallibly that Man's in fault
Who calls his Neighbours all to naught.
Trim-tram, such as this Master Tory,
Such Man Squire Hugh, such Chaplain Laury.

116

Then fretting at the Misbehaviour
Of Thomasine, a while we leave her
Riding on Grubb, a Trot most sore hard,
And put the Clock a little forward,
To make it just the Time o'th' Year
Of famous Bartholmæan Fair.
Not that we mean to sing the Matter
Of such Variety for Laughter;
But in brief only to disclose,
Among the many Raree-Shows
Then met to make all London Town stare,
There was a Female German Monster
Had Scales on one Side, like a Fish,
T'other clear-skinn'd as one would wish;
One Buttock was just like a Horse's,
T'other like other Humane Arses;
Mis-shapen Leggs, and on Feet grows
Members too big for Petit-Toes.
She, the Chief Princess of this Sort,
Could never fail of a full Court,
To pay a Courtier's Complement,
Brought Sir Pendragon to her Tent.

117

At the same time, to gratifie
An Itch of Curiosity,
Unto the same identick Place
Blindfolded wanton Chance conveys
Selena, splendid as the Moon,
Well guarded by a Beau Garconne.
The Knight, thro' his Sagacity,
Had quickly got her in his Eye;
When moving forward to salute her,
She as quickly turn'd about, Sir.
At that, he chang'd his Course; she then
As nimbly tack'd about agen;
As he to get the nearer strove,
Perceiv'd she hitch'd the further off.
He sate him down, o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
Despairing of the least Relief,
Because his Noble Heart was sunk
Down to the bottom of his Trunk.
While thus in melancholy mood
He chew'd Tobacco and the Cud,
And at a distance, with her Centry,
Selena looks for Monster's Entry,

118

Laurence and Thomasine were got
More close together, piping hot:
Not in a Booth of Monsters frightful,
But where they found it more delightful.
No Puppet-Shews, nor Dancing Bears,
Nor merry Drolls of Strouling Players;
No Tumbling Andrew, nor Jean Pudding,
Could please them, who were set a brooding,
And hov'ring o're each others Love,
In Box as warm as any Stove.
To noisie Jests they bid Defiance
With Sack and Sugar, Cates and Viands,
And nothing wanting on the Place
To make their am'rous Flames encrease;
Which was perform'd by secret Course,
Unsearchable as is the Source.
Great was their mutual Satisfaction,
Where Passion makes up all the Action,
And Interjection all the Speech,
Description is beyond our reach.
By Thoughts, and in Dumb-shew, the rest
Is with best Eloquence exprest.

119

Laurence thus drawn (as with a Cable)
By this Importance Comfortable,
Had all the Faculties of's Mind,
To gratifie the Flesh, resign'd;
And his acute Intelligences
Were humble Servants to his Senses.
His Ratiocination far'd ill,
While his Wit work'd beneath his Girdle:
And him th'insatiate Gypsie drains
Of Money, Blood, and Guts, and Brains.

Among the poignant wise Adages,
Recorded by th'Italian Sages,
One is, Priests, Women, and the wide
Ocean, are never satisfied.

120

September's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

Laurence and Thomasine's Proceeding,
Who make at Westminster a Wedding.
A Letter to the Knight does come,
With Present, from he knows not whom;
Which struck him with tormenting Cares,
And dread of Change in State-affairs.

'Tis plain, by what was lately said,
That Thomasine's a cunning Jade;
Who having made a Wit a Fool.
Had the Sense not to let him cool,
But ply'd him with warm Clothes and Kisses,
Till sh' ad accomplished her Wishes,

121

And got him hamper'd with a Padlock
As strong as could be made of Wedlock.

The better to bring this about,
She most successfully had wrought
Her self into her Lady's Favour,
And her good Grace, as firm as ever:
Which Reconcilement was so hearty,
Selena was become a Party,
An Accessary to the Chouse
Of drawing Priest into the Noose:
Who now grown pamper'd with high Feeding,
Impatient grew to fix his Wedding;
Of which was held Solemnization
(Meerly to give gratification
To his own Humour) on those Days
When London-Town was all on Blaze
Just Two and twenty Years before,
And Rome did brand her for The Whore,
When their St. Peter mock'd the Fall,
And triumph'd over our St. Paul.

122

Let Rome Burlesque the same, while we
Regret the sad Calamity.
The Time's a-coming, not far off,
When we shall have our Turn to laugh.

But other Matters press us much
To give these Nuptials a Dispatch.
At Westminster their Hands were join'd,
And at a Tavern there they din'd;
Its Sign (O wondeful in this Age!)
Was the Pope's Nuncio, Dada's Visage.
Selena's Bounty clear'd those Scores,
Beside a hundred Loui' d' Ors,
Oblig'd for Portion of the Spouse,
On Day of Marriage to depose.
At Night she gave them a Sack-posset,
And with the Stockin Bridegroom's Nose hit.
Then after all the merry Guests
Their Wits discharg'd in Bawdy Jests,
Selena drew the Curtains close,
And left them to their Discompose,

123

Not suffering any one to come at
The marry'd Pair while they consummate.

Pendragon, late opprest with Wrong,
Calls out to have his Cause come on,
And prays he may no longer wait
His Hearing in the Court of Fate;
With Hopes to have from its Decrees
Allow'd him Costs and Damages
For Falsehood and injurious Slight,
Wherewith his Mistriss did requite
His Love unfeign'd, and so debarr'd
Both that and him of due Reward.
Expecting Fortune more benign,
In haste his Boy came running in,
Tells him a Parcel's left i'th' Passage,
By a Porter brought with blund'ring Message,
Who being ask'd, he would not say
From whence he came, but run away.
That 'tis a very handsom Packet,
And for his Worship's Use directed.

124

Fetch it up hither, (quoth the Knight)
I find I'm not forgotten quite:
When the kind Donor will not tell you
His Name, the Present's of most value.
And here's a Parcel which within has
For certain a good Purse of Guinea's.
But first he found, handling the Matter,
That the Direction was a Letter;
Which shall be ev'ry Tittle read,
Without the Breaks Pendragon made:
And after that is fully done,
We shall impart his Notes thereon.

125

THE SUPER-SCRIPTION.

THESE

To Sir Pendragon be convey'd,
At the next Door to Godfrey's Head,
In Upper Old-bourn, toward St. Giles,
Where there be Two or Three Turn-Stiles,
Deliver,
With a Parcel ty'd,
Carriage paid and satisfi'd.

The LETTER.

SIR,

After hearty Commendations
Tender'd to you and your Relations;
Hoping your Health's as good a plight in
As mine is at this present Writing.

126

Accept these Lines from unknown Hand,
Yet from a true unfeigned Friend,
Who doing the Duty of Plain-dealer,
Treats you with Terms the more familiar,
To bring y' acquainted with your Sins,
Which very seldom Favour wins;
Yet much more Good may work upon you,
Than gath'ring you a little Money,
Than hawking for you up and down,
To pick up here and there a Crown,
From the unwilling Contributor,
Who when hard prest, is forc'd to do't, or
With his Great Neighbour lose his Credit:
Thus many 'gainst the Hair have paid it,
And their own Foolery have blam'd,
For being topp'd upon, and shamm'd.

Yet to tell Truth, and shame the Devil,
Scarce Man of Honesty believe will
The Sums that have been gather'd for you,
Of which thou art so little worthy,

127

That put thy Merits, nay, put all
Thy Loyalty into one Scale,
And throw a single Brass Half-crown
In t'other, that shall weigh it down.
The only Reason, I conceive,
For your extravagant Relief,
May be, that when there's a Collection
Made for the Head of any Faction,
You always greatest Gathering have
For him who is the greatest Knave.
So Beggars raise Supplies for Want,
By their Felicity of Cant;
Not he that needs it, most does get,
But he who best can counterfeit:
And 'tis a common thing to pay
False Guides for leading us astray.
This, to your former Comfort, you
At others Costs have found so true.
There's an old Proverb, which doth say,
That ev'ry Dog shall have his Day.
You have had many that are past,
Successful to your Interest;

128

Crowds of Disciples you have led on,
Like Loyola, or John of Leyden;
When many a small High-Priest did watch,
Thy precious Oracles to catch,
And preach'd them to their Congregations
In Doctrines, and in Applications.

As a fam'd Traveller once had
His Ordure Sacred Relique made,
When Votaries scrap'd clean his Breeches,
So carry'd those to Church thy Speeches,
And did on Sunday following vent
For Holy Truth, thy Excrement:
Which if a wiser Man then blam'd,
Or disapprov'd of, he was damn'd.
Till Arbitrary Pow'r, grown strong
And malapert in doing Wrong,
Seiz'd on the Properties of Priest:
Thenceforth thy Oracles have ceast;
Exploded is thy slavish Lore,
By those who cry'd it up before;

129

Who blush to have been led aside
By such an Hocus-pocus Guide.
The Blaze your Reputation kindled,
Of late is grown so dim, and dwindled,
And with that shameful haste declines,
It with as little Lustre shines
As Glow-worm, or Tobacco-coal,
Or rotten Wood in a dark Hole.
The Time is past which thou hast seen,
And ne'er to come about agen.
Let Friar Bacon's Brazen Head
Tell thee, thy Golden Days are fled.

By this time you may grow impatient
To be acquainted with your Present,
(One may presume) and that you're scarce well
At ease, until you've open'd Parcel.
Prepare your self then, wipe your Eyes,
And see how prettily it lies
In Rolls, and Folds, which you may take
Perhaps at first sight for a Snake;

130

Like one in Timon's cover'd Course,
To sting his vip'rous Senators.
But ben't affrighted; on my word,
'Tis but an honest Hempen Cord,
A Halter, which alone to you
By your own Hands can Justice do;
The due Reward of all your Pains,
And best Cure for your Flux of Brains:
Before the Mobb shall gut your House,
And greater Troubles interpose;
With that small Joy you yet possess,
And ev'ry Day is growing less;
While you have some Remains of Reason,
Prethee make use of them in season;
And without any more delay,
In secret make thy self away.
Dear Rogue, go hang thy self; I vow,
I would not urge thee to it now,
But that it will so well become you,
And ev'ry one expects it from you.
'Twill be the most Heroick thing,
Resolv'd like a true Brentford King,

131

Who by his own Hands would have fell a
Sad Sacrifice to dead Lardella.
You may give out, Selena's Scorn,
Intolerable to be born,
Occasion'd it; and you may feign,
The dire Effects of her Disdain
Cut you so deeply to the Heart,
That it was better to depart
This Life, and end your Miseries,
Than to die daily by her Eyes.

You've read o'th' Queen of Carthage, Dido,
That dancing, drinking, merry Widow,
When her belov'd Æneas shook her
Off, and unworthily forsook her,
She grew the melancholiest Creature
On Earth: She'd wring her Hands, and beat her
Breast, plung'd in ruful Woe: At last,
Convinc'd all Hopes from him were past,
An end to her fell Grief she puts,
By striking Dagger in her Guts.

132

This useful Halter, if you please,
Would fain afford you the same Ease,
And free you by convenient Stretch
From growing more and more a Wretch.
Altering the Motion of a Muscle,
Or so, does it without a Bustle.
More Instances I dare engage
To cite, and Arguments alledge,
To prove this Action truly needful,
And graceful for you, tho' 'tis dreadful:
But if you're scrupulous to do't,
Let these Five Motives press you to't.

First then, You far in Years are gone,
And broke in Constitution;
Your Vigour fails, and Nat'ral Talent,
Which best should fit you for a Gallant,
Is now enfeebled, and become
Already a meer Pendulum.
Yet by your Freaks, and Monkey-Tricks,
Do you debauch the weaker Sex.

133

Not that the slender Wast of Miss
By you receives a Prejudice;
There your Efforts are ineffectual:
But on their slenderer Intellectual,
By the Fop doodle of your Wit,
What horrid Rapes do you commit?
And Ravishment, you know, is Death,
Anno Dec. Oct. Elizabeth.

Secondly, Once for all to dangle,
Is better than continual Wrangle,
Than Roguing the King's best Leige people,
As meriting the Gallow Tripple,
Without affording the least Proof,
As if thy Say-so was enough,
And held by Patent Ipse dixit,
Infamy where you please to fix it.
No Man reputed Loyal was
For his Obedience to the Laws,
And therefore ought to be protected,
But he who did as you directed.

134

Go hang thy self, since Cæsar's Due
Is not to be purloin'd by you.

Thirdly, You ought to close your Chaps
By your own Hand, because, perhaps,
Transgressions by thee perpetrated
Are with that Subtilty committed,
They cannot come within the reach
Of Laws, or Cognizance of Ketch;
Yet, if well-weigh'd in their own Nature,
They may be judg'd to merit greater,
And should have Punishment severer,
Than either Felon or Burglarer.
Hence therefore you're oblig'd to be
In Equity Felo de se.

Fourthly, You cannot think it strange
If Times should have a sudden Change:
Nothing (you know) that's violent
In Nature, can be permanent.
Britannia sore with Wrongs opprest,
Has her Eyes fix'd towards the East,

135

And seems with eagerness from thence
To look for a Deliverance.
Such Revolution will for certain
In no wise meliorate your Fortune.
The Office may your House ensure,
Yet not your Person be secure:
For on so great an Alteration
The Whipping-posts throughout the Nation,
The Rods and Axes, Pill'ry, Gibbet,
Will change their Side too, and distribute
Due Punishments for old Abuses,
On those who put them to wrong Uses.
All this may come to pass, and rotten
Eggs for a little may be gotten.
Rather than (like Sir Hudibrass)
With Orange-tawny Slime your Face,
Some bold unlucky Knave should maul,
Truss up your self for good and all.
Which brings me to the Fifth and Last
Motive to make you tie it fast.
(For do but you secure the Knot,
I'll pass my Word the Rope holds out.)

136

Fifthly, You can't for shame refuse
To thrust your Head into the Noose,
Because so many of your Followers
At Tyburn have wore Hempen Collars.
Thither your Devilish Doctrines brought them,
Meerly for doing as you taught them:
Your self the Procatarctic Cause
Of their transgressing of the Laws.
Your Will i' Wisp was their Undoing,
And led the Wretches to their Ruine.
Therefore what I advise you, do Man:
You know 'twas usual with the Roman;
Who when he found himself in trouble,
Esteem'd the Practice Brave and Noble
Himself by Ponyard to dispatch:
Why not as Brave, by Rope to stretch?
Why should the Rope be reckon'd meaner?
When Sons and Brothers o'th' Grand Seignior
Repute it no ignoble thing
To have Death giv'n them by a String.

137

For Use then, Quæ cum ita sint,
You'll hang your self, I'm confident.
Let not one Doubt or Fear prevail;
Be res'lute, and you cannot fail.
Farewell; make haste to Execution;
Do't handsomly; and, for conclusion,
When in th'High-way they've made your Crave,
I'll give you this for Epitaph.

EPITAPH.

Here lies (take notice you that travel)
With Stake of Wood drove thro' his Navel,
That which remains of Sir Pendragon,
A famous Writer not long agone;
Who, when his Ink-bottle was spent,
Thus perish'd in a Discontent.
Die with him all Prevarication
On Laws, Religion, Prince, and Nation.

Yours, ---

138

Yours,—(quoth the Knight) and there's an end.
My what?—My precious loving Friend.
A fine Epistle, to collogue
Me to believe my self a Rogue!
Nay, 'twould perswade me very fain
I am so great a Rogue in Grain,
That I without demurring ought
Into this Rope to thrust my Throat,
And (maugre natural Aversion)
Destroy my goodly proper Person.
Soft! if I've plaid the Knave, no Rule
From thence, that I must play the Fool,
Murder my self, for sneering Knave
To gibe thereat, and jeer, and laugh.
I'm not from Glory's Precipice
So fall'n, to follow this Advice.—
And then he paus'd.—But yet I doubt
My Candle is a going out.
This filthy Letter does unfold
More Truth than's fitting to be told,

139

And hits some things so devilish pat,
From Lapland it must bear its Date.
What but some Devil-Scout could tell
That lately all my Presents fail?
Because I'm sure no Man alive
Can ever prove a Negative.
And what but such could undermine
Each secret Practice and Design
That I have driven on of late
Both in Affairs of Church and State?
What else could give that shameful Tergi-
versation to me from the Clergy?
And some of them who lick'd my Spittle
Sent me perhaps this very Snittle.
What made Selena (like a Jilt)
To foster Love, and then to kill't?
As they who wrote this base Epistle
Know that she us'd me like a Beast, ill.
Yet I must yield, for want of Powers
To force the Sex to pay her Scores.
Tho' I bristle like a Turkey-cock,
I have not half so fine a Dock.

140

'Tis as in vain t'attempt to spread
My Tail, as it would be to tread:
I'll walk no more amongst the Hens,
Lest they find out my Impotence.
A long Farewell to now the stupid
And childish Fooleries of Cupid:
But I've no Reason to complain
Of Disabilities of Brain.
Yet should the Fourth vile Motive prove
A Truth, I may see Cause enough
To hang my self; I should be a Man
In worse Condition than was Haman:
The very Thoughts whereof do make
My Limbs and Faculties to shake;
Because there flies a strong Report
Concerning terrible Effort
Preparing to be made against
Our Tory Friends, and Popish Saints.
But Hope says, Accidents may slip
Betwixt the Cup and upper Lip:
Let not (before the time, so soon)
My noble Courage be cast down;

141

And let not Fear with wonder gaze
On what may never come to pass.
I and my Monarch rest secure,
Defended by the double Power
Of potent Army in the Land,
And Judges, who the Laws command.

142

October's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

The Knight and Squire in Coffee-house
Hear most unacceptable News:
They meet their Match, be'ng told their own
By one to both of them unknown.
Yet Laurence Tidings doth impart,
Which puts them both again in Heart.

Pendragon , when we left him last,
Promis'd Security and Rest
T'himself, and those of his Adherence;
But ev'ry Day gave less Appearance
(From the black Clouds of threatning Storm)
That he this Promise could perform.

143

For not a Night he laid him down
Without deep Sighs, and many a Groan.
His Anguish sometimes made him Weep;
And if by chance he fell asleep,
It yielded melancholy Theams
Dire Spectres, and most frightful Dreams;
A formidable Whigg Hobgoblin,
With Sawcer-Eyes, appears to trouble him,
And running on, with crooked Prongs
Pok'd at Sir Knight, for former Wrongs.
If this withdrew, his Fancy next
A Hempen Apparition vext.

While Hugh, kept waking with like Fears,
Betimes unto the Knight repairs,
To ask him whether he could tell
If what was talk'd was credible;
Or knew from out what Trumpet came
This strange Report of tat'ling Fame.
I'm in great hopes (quoth Hugh) it flies
From that wherewith she scatters Lies.

144

Pendragon said, I'm not without
Some Fears, and Jealousies, and Doubt,
That such concurring various Causes
Might contribute some pretty Crosses:
But saw no danger of Event
To over-turn the Government:
Nor did he think the Tales which flew
About confus'd'ly, could be true.
Yet that they well might understand too
The Quis, Quid, Quomodo, Cur, Quando,
Of this bold Whisper, Both agreed
To walk with all convenient speed
To the next Coffee-house of Fame,
To learn the Certainty o'th' same.

Mean while there's not a Word let drop
About th'Adventure of the Rope;
Of which the Knight as little said
As Hugh when he was nipt o'th' Head.

145

Crossing the Street, it so did fall
By chance, that Hugh was next the Wall;
For which he doth apologize,
And cries, Sir, let me blush for this;
'Tis indecorous; nor should I
Take Place of better Quality,
But that a Surdity in Ear sinister
To me much Trouble doth admin'ster.

The Knight reply'd, Custom and Use
Was a sufficient full Excuse;
And bid him speak no more of that,
But keep the Wall, and put on's Hat.

When they were come in Coffee-room,
Thro' misty Clouds of different Fume
Spying one empty Table there,
They sat them down with prick'd-up Ear.

No sooner each had call'd for's Dish,
But enters one with smiling Phiz,

146

With Riding-Whip, and dirty Boots,
And in 'twixt Knight and Squire he puts.
What News? was ask'd by ev'ry Body,
Who had their Answers to't as ready.
Yet Hugh this Stranger pumps beyond
Good Manners, and the decent Bound
Of Modesty, that he'd unload
What he had gather'd on the Road.

Sir, quoth Ignotus, (so an't please ye
We call the Stranger) You're uneasie
Methinks, at these Reports which fly
About our Ears, beneath the Sky:
Therefore, for Satisfaction, know,
Arthur of Britain, like a Crow,
Has gone the World round many a Year,
And just now we expect him here.
Which News as sure and certain is,
As that there was an Amadis
De Gaul, a Fiarbras, or Guy
Of Warwick, or of Burgundy

147

A Lanc'lot de Lake, and Queen Genover,
(Who by none living now were seen ever)
A British Lady call'd Quintanione,
Who drank as much Wine as did any one:
Yet, says the Knight o'th' Mancha, those
Must not be reckon'd Fabulous.

As sure as (I dare boldly say)
Perseus reliev'd Andromeda,
Prince Arthur's sailing cross the Seas,
Even now, Britannia to release,
To heal her Wounds, and break the Shackles
Put on her by unnat'ral Rake-hells;
Who by pretence of Loyalty,
Would bring us into Slavery;
And fain would cokes us, or affright,
From Liberties, and Law, and Right:
Who Rome's Religion here would fix,
In Masses, and the Crucifix;
And would have nothing more to do
With the Old Testament, or New:

148

As Dunkeld's Bishop told Dean Thomas,
I've liv'd as comfortably as some has,
And yet, upon my Word and Troth,
I ne'er read either of them Both.
Look you, Sir, whosoe'er you are,
I know not, and as little care:
But mind me; We have had of late
Such precious Ministers of State,
Such Priests, and Lawyers, who laid by
Religion, Law, and Property.
Once cry'd a Priest of ours, Alas!
Why should we start at hearing Mass?
We lik'd it once, before we lost it,
And shall again when we are us'd to't.
'When introduc'd (over or under)
Twill give us about Nine Days Wonder.
As well might the same Gentleman
Have said Nine more for th'Alcoran.

Another, some few Years before,
Fond of a Popish Successor,

149

In his Address he makes to th'King,
Tells him, to fright him from the Thing,
His next Heir's Disinherison
Was such, that no Religion,
No Law, no Fault, no Forfeiture,
(Take Wind a little, Doctor G---)
Could the same alter or diminish:
And why not, add to, or replenish?
Such was the Learned Doctor's Speech,
As Coblers, who when heard to preach,
Do always go beyond their Last,
This out-run Constable as fast,
Who might (upon a due Enquiry)
Have seiz'd him on a Præmunire.
Thus 'tis when Priest will blindly rush on
Things quite beside his Pulpit-Cushion.
Suppose the next Heir was a Felon,
And caught i'th' very Act of Stealing;
Sure that which takes away his Life,
Will of Succession him deprive.
Which for a Truth you may rehearse.
Sir, I love Reasoning in Verse.

150

All this did Sir Pendragon hear,
Who could not for his Blood forbear
Longer from giving smart Reply;
Sir, 'tis a sawcy Liberty
You take, in making these Reflexions
On Statesmens, Priests, and Princes Actions.
You who the Government arraign
For not conforming to your Brain,
To know your Duty better ought,
Or be t'its Rods Submission taught.
'Tis therefore very fitting I
Demand of you Security,
Or make your Mittimus unto
A Place where you'd be loth to go.

How! (quoth Ignotus) What I've told
Touches your Worships Copy-hold.
Have I found where the Shooe doth pinch?
I see I make a gall'd Horse winch.
On second Thoughts you'll take Advice,
And e'er you act, consider twice;

151

Suspend your own Authority
A while, and lay Resentment by.
Not that I want sufficient Bail;
But 'tis at present under Sail.
I'll be forth-coming, on Parol,
On day of Trial, safe and whole.
You hear of strange unusual Lights
Which in the Skies appear at Nights:
Some wear a discontented Look,
That High-Commission Seal is broke,
Now that Old Charters are restor'd,
And Councils tend to an Accord.
He that afresh creates a Squabble,
Displeases both the Court and Rabble.
'Tis unsafe to lay a Man by th'Heels
Now a Day's coming for Appeals.

Pendragon gnash'd his Teeth for Anger,
Not knowing how to deal with Stranger.
Hugh bit his Lips with Indignation,
To hear of Charters Restoration;

152

Grew pale, lest he who caus'd Surrender
Should be impeach'd for an Offender.
But the Knight mutter'd, Talk's but idle,
Licentious Tongues may meet a Bridle
When least they think to feel Restraint.
Then up he rose, and out he went.
Hugh stands and strikes his Fist like Muttons
On his own Breast, against his Buttons.
Quoth he, No Man that wears a Head
Durst speak the Things that you have said,
Without being call'd t'account therefore:
Then cock'd, and strutted out a-door.
Pendragon made a little Stop
A Pissing-while, till Hugh came up;
Then whisper'd, as along they sawnter'd,
What a strange Fellow we encounter'd!
Who, had he what to him belong'd,
Ought to be whipp'd, and rack'd, and hang'd
A Commonwealths-man, you may swear,
By his unlucky Looks, and Fleer;
And in Religion his Opinion
Is Calvinist, or else Socinian.

153

I hate him for the News he told,
Which makes my very Blood turn cold,
Puts me all o'er into a Shiver,
Like a strong Access of a Fever.
Nor can I draw a Right Conclusion
From Things appearing in Confusion.

O lamentable, Sir, (quoth Hugh)
What we have heard's most certain true;
And should our Fears too come to pass,
We're in a miserable Case;
All of us ruin'd and undone,
The Father, Mother, Sister, Son.
Thus with Complaints most dolorous
Hugh waits upon the Knight to's House:
Where Laurence met them at the Door,
And, seeing them look sad and sowre,
Courage, (he cry'd) my worthy Friends,
Much better Fortune us attends,
Perhaps, than may to you be known:
By an Express this Afternoon

154

Certain Intelligence is come,
That adverse Storms have driven home
Th'Armado, which it seems design'd
To reach our Coasts against the Wind.
The Fleet which would have been invading
Our Shore, is on their own unlading.
Strong Boreas, and the gentle Zephir,
(Thank them) have done their Bus'ness clever.
And bravely whistled in the Poop
Of those who bore so briskly up;
Who sail without the leave of Neptune,
And Æole better might have kept in,
Than thus to hazard what they've lost,
That is, their Labour and their Cost.
A most severe Rebuff from Fortune.
And now the Days begin to shorten,
Now Sol curtails his daily Journeys,
No fear in haste of their Return is.
In Arms next Spring we'll meet our Foes,
And all the Winter sing Old Rose.

155

Your welcom News (Pendragon said)
Revives and makes my Spirits glad.
In hopes kind Fortune won't forsake us,
We'll make a Sacrifice to Bacchus.
Come in, Friend Hugh, and honest Laurence,
I'll find a double Flask of Florence;
Of which we'll drink first every Man
A Bumper to the Health of Pan.
That down, we'll fill and drink another
To beauteous Syrinx, happy Mother
Of little Daphnis; then a Third
To that young, thriving, hopeful Bird:
And then, Confusion to all States,
Founded on Piles, and Water-Rats.

So these Canary's of a Feather
Do for the present flock together.
And 'tis but reas'nable and fit
That short-liv'd Pleasures should be sweet.
Mensis Octobris explicit.
So was Authentick Chaucer wont
At a full Period or Point
Of the same Tale, to close the Joint.

156

November's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

The last Months Rumour true in this is:
And Knight and Squire are broke in Pieces.
The one the others Woe recites,
While Sol in Sagittary smites:
And all unfortunate Presages
Promise them Payment of their Wages.

Just as old Time does Seasons vary,
So does he all Things Sublunary.
Fortune stands never at a Bay,
But dances a continu'd Hay
To the same Measures, and same Tune;
As little Orbis, Sun and Moon.

157

Things Good, Bad, and Indifferent are
Making a Tripartite Indenture.
Sometimes the Best, and sometimes Worst,
Are First, and Last; and Last, and First.
Of some sweet Pleasures the Acquaintance
Is dearly purchas'd by Repentance.
Joy ended, turns to Melancholy,
And Wisdom quits the Chair to Folly.
Sun-shine doth for a Time prevail,
Then down it pours in Rain and Hail.
Riches themselves are brought to (by
Privation of them) Poverty.
Long Luxury and Idleness
Make War succeed inglorious Ease.
Which Aphorisms, like conj'ring Spells,
Hebrew or Pagan Oracles,
With the same ease may be read backward,
And teach us how this World is checquer'd.
As, War brings Poverty and Peace;
And, When 't has rain'd enough, 'twill cease.
Health follows Sickness; Plenty, Dearth;
And, Sorrow is reliev'd by Mirth.

158

Pleasure arises from Disasters;
And, Sores are cur'd by healing Plasters.
Fortune the Riches may encrease
Of one so poor he scarce can piss,
And such like intermediate Changes
Turn on Occasions pliant Hinges.
An Evil and a Happy Day
By Turns each other will repay.
The faulty Curate, Squire, and Knight,
So lately wrapp'd in false Delight,
Are now to drink unwelcom Dose;
And, Sweet Meat must have sowr Sawce.

The Mirth which with the Flask was brought,
Almost as soon as That, was out.
Approaching Changes in the State
Alarm'd our wise Triumvirate,
And made them shake their Ears, and rise
From their mistaken Paradise.
With Consternation they were struck,
And shew'd it plainly in their Look;

159

And the most wise amongst them knew
Not what to think, or say, or do,
Convinc'd that Laurence's glad Tiding
They could no longer now confide in;
Hearing the Wind about had turn'd,
And quite contrary News confirm'd.

For Carriers, Travellers, and Post,
Not only told, that Arthur's Host
Was landed: but Bells jolly Ringing,
And Peoples merry Looks and Singing,
Proclaim'd the glad Intelligence
Of the Deliverer's Advance.

As Hugh walk'd out, a Raven o'er
His Head flew croaking,—Come a-shore.
To shun that Sight, he downward looking,
Spy'd wrong side outward of his Stockin;
And when at Dinner, by mishap,
He spilt the Salt in his own Lap.
Then hastning to Pendragon's House,
Three Drops of Blood fell from his Nose.

160

Entring he stumbl'd at the Threshold,
And had fal'n, had he not caught fresh Hold.
All which ill Omens, so tremendous,
Made Hugo sigh, Ye Powers defend us.

The Knight receiv'd him with an Air
Disclosing Grief and sad Despair;
Not bid him Welcom, or Sit down;
But wrapp'd up in his Studying-Gown
The thoughtful Sir Pendragon sate,
Most wofully disconsolate,
Depriv'd a while as much from Speech
As when Selena turn'd her Breech.
Hugo, no less concern'd, was fretted,
And felt his Spirits agitated;
Who thus accosts the Knight, Your Silence
Was not so great, when but a while hence,
Sir, you could laugh, and talk, and drink:
Now, Sweet Sir, tell me what you think.
They're landed, and advance; I pray,
What is thy Counsel? Prethee say,

161

What 'tis that you design to do?
Sir, (quoth the Knight) What's that to you?
Your Question's insolent and base;
I liv'd before I saw your Face,
And shall know how to steer my Course
Unaided by your Silver Spurs.

If this be all that I (quoth Hugh)
Can for an Answer get from you,
I ask no Succour from your Gilt ones;
Your Par'dise is as lost as Milton's:
Your Friend, the Devil, call'd Old Nick,
Has serv'd you but a slipp'ry Trick,
And keeps himself at greatest distance
When you've most need of his Assistance.
I thought the Articles, when drawn
Betwixt you, had been made more strong,
The mutual Compact and Agreement
Been seal'd with a more lasting Cement;
Not to determine at a Day,
But hold for Ever and for Aye:

162

So that no Chance of War, no Change
In Church or State, could make you strange
To one another, once so loving,
And in one Int'rest interwoven.

Quoth Sir Pendragon, You're a Puppy
To talk thus, and 'tis time to stop you.
A sawcy Jackanapes you are,
Or turn'd as mad as March's Hare.
You should be shackl'd, and sent home,
And lock'd up in a darken'd Room,
Blooded and purg'd, to keep you quiet,
With Meal and Water for your Diet;
Fresh Straw, your Hair close cut, or Shaving
Your Coxcomb, to prevent its raving.

Quoth Hugh, You're sooner like to find
A Lodging of another kind:
Be sent to the same Place again
Where you in former Days have lain,
Safely by Locks and Bars secur'd,
Betwixt thick Walls of Stone immur'd:

163

The Room not dark, shall yield you Light
Enough for you to see to write;
Where Sun-shine, Rain, Beetles, and Gnats
Shall play betwixt the Iron Grates.
The Walls embelisht with the Slime
Of Snails, which winding upward climb:
In ev'ry Corner of the Room
A Spider working at her Loom:
Visits from Courteous Rats and Mice,
Millions of Philanthropick Lice,
Unwillingly will meet abstersion
From close adherence to your Person:
With great variety of swarming
Insects, and pretty sort of Vermin.

Thou tak'st a wonderful delight
In thy own Prate, (reply'd the Knight)
But canst thou think that I shall take it,
Without belabouring thy Jacket?
Or fairly breaking of the Scull
Of such a gross insipid Fool;

164

Whom nothing can retrieve, so lost in
His Wits, but Cudgels and Dry-basting.

(Quoth Hugh) before you go to Blows,
Think what you're like to get or lose.
Tho' I so Low, and you so Tall,
Your Haughtiness may catch a Fall;
And when I've got you underneath,
Should you escape with any Teeth,
With Limbs un-broke, or Life, I dare say,
'Twill be all owing to my Mercy:
Or if I leave that Nose your Face on,
Thanks to my Bowels of Compassion.

Hear me (quoth Knight) e'er Passion rise
To these most dire Extremities.
Before you further me provoke
To such an all-confounding Stroke
As may prove fatal to Squire Hugh:
'Twere better timely he withdrew;
'Tis worth his while t'avoid the Blow,
And while Skin's whole, to keep it so;

165

To fly from Lord and Master's Anger,
Before 'tis grown to too much Rancour.

So then (quoth Hugh) since both to quarrel
Are thus agreed, whichever Barrel
Betwixt us be the better Herring,
Give me, before we part, a Hearing.
You've been a sort of Lord and Master
To me and many in Disaster;
But such an one as no Description
Will suit, but that of an Ægyptian,
Expecting from us Labour hard,
And Toil, without the least Reward.
Thou'rt Author of our Griefs and Ails,
But never got us any Veils.
Is it enough to call me Friend,
Without a Peny Dividend?
Crosses indeed I've shar'd, but not
One Cross in all the Coin you've got;
Maugre your specious Promises,
And cheating me of all my Fees;

166

Maugre the Sums that you have gather'd,
My Nest's not much the better feather'd.
Take notice, that I let you know,
I'll not go Snips with you in Woe.
I doubt not but to make good shift,
When thou art sadly run a-drift.
Whatever Turn of Times we see,
My Legs shall be at Liberty,
When yours, committed to a Jayl,
Shall lie without Mainprise or Bail.

So, (quoth Pendragon) like a Dolt
Thou wisely hast discharg'd thy Bolt:
'Tis n't strange when Cowards and Poltrons
The Cause they have espous'd, renounce;
Who make by their vile treachrous Fears
The weakest sometimes Conquerors.
Thou hast betray'd thy self too soon,
And dost, before thou needest, run:
You change your Side, before you know
On which Side, Victory will go.

167

But should the Foe receive Defeat,
I'll stop you from a fresh Retreat.
No petty Riot in the West
Of Loyalty shall me divest;
Not Arthur shall obstruct the Course
Of my all-conqu'ring Monarch's Force.

Tho' 't may be so, (quoth Hugh) it is
More likely to be otherwise:
Because I'm very confident
You're not so blind and ignorant
As not to know, Shoals of Deserters
Run daily into Arthur's Quarters.
His Army gathers like a Snow-ball,
While t'other only grows in trouble;
As plainly may be seen (I' fack!)
By th'Face of ev'ry Teague and Mac,
Who frighted, starts at his own Shadow.

Be gone, thou scoundrel Renegado,
Take that ill-boading Phiz (quoth Knight)
Henceforth for ever from my Sight.

168

For ever then (quoth Hugh) farewell;
And in my Breast, where Love did dwell
To thankless Knight, let Hatred come,
With Wrath, and fill up all the Room.
Let me with Scorn as much despise
The Blockhead I once thought was wise.

Pendragon could for's Skin and Bones
No longer put up these Affronts,
Nor more such Provocations bear;
But up he rises from his Chair,
(With much ado he did refrain
From medling with his Sword or Cane)
Takes Hugh by th'Shoulder, and per Force
Thrust him directly out of Doors.
Which, tho' it vex'd him to the Guts,
Yet walking forth, he cocks and struts.

Pendragon, in distracted Thought,
Now found it time to cast about

169

What Course was best to save his Bacon,
Suppose his Cause should be forsaken.
Like Hugh he could not save himself,
Because he wanted Hugo's Pelf:
And, for Offences more notorious,
He fear'd Catastrophe inglorious.
The great Volpone was at a stand,
Driv'n, by his Fears, to his Wits end.
The crafty, but distress'd Ulysses
Himself most wofully bepisses.

170

December's CANTO.

ARGUMENT.

In haste Selena gets a Spouse.
Laurence in haste from his gets loose;
Who cross'd the Seas, with many more,
Whom guilty Consciences made scowr.
Hugo runs in, with Coin compounds.
Pendragon in Despair absconds.

One Labour more (Dear Arethuse)
Thou canst perform beyond a Muse:
For none of them, like thee, can sing
Of Scowring and of Scampering;
Who learnt to play at Hide-and-Seek
When Alpheus put thee to the Squeek.

171

Perform this Task which I impose
Upon thee, and I'll let thee loose.
But it will prove like that which shuts well
All Homer's Iliads in a Nut-shell.

Since Phœbus last was in the Balance,
Selena had try'd all her Gallants,
Search'd each Man's Humour, Wit, and Person,
Estate in Present, and Reversion:
And having weigh'd them all, she found
Sir Grog'ram heaviest many a Pound;
Who had not only the best Purse,
But took the most obliging Course.
Whats'e'er she ask'd, he granted all;
His Love was Unconditional.
She was supply'd of ev'ry Want,
And unconfin'd without Restraint:
While he consented to be ty'd,
And make all binding on his Side.
What Woman can on Terms like those
A Husband get among the Beaus?

172

Beau would be free himself, yet have
His Wife a perfect Indian Slave.

Pendragon, grown both Old and Poor,
She slighted; but a great deal more,
For that so much concern'd he was
In the declining Tory-Cause,
Now like to bring him to a Noose
Much worse than that of Married Spouse.

'Twas she, assisted by Whigg-Friend,
Who jointly did compile and send
That Roguish Letter, and the Cord,
Which he was told of afterward.
The more she saw the Times unsettl'd,
She grew the more agog and nettl'd
To marry; for her Character
Was to do nothing Regular.
Since Hand-maid Thomasine was gone,
Friend, Servant, and Companion
In her was lost; but yet she found
No Woman in the versal Round

173

E'er met Encouragement to Wed
On Terms so advantageous made:
So, without any further arguing,
She boldly struck the Marriage-Bargain,
And swore she'd try't, whate'er it cost her,
Tho' undone, as Man undoes Oyster.
To whom we have no more to say,
But send the Violins away,
The Drums, the Trumpets, and Haut-boys,
To wish them all the thundring Joys.

Mean time, one melancholy Morn,
About Sol's entring Capricorn,
As Thomasine lay fast a snorting,
Laurence lay thinking of His Fortune.
Unwilling to disturb her Sleep,
He slily out of Bed did creep,
Groping for Slippers underneath,
He brought out a Glass-bottle, with
This Paper Label fix'd thereon,
Aqua Te-tra-chi-ma-ga-gon:

174

Which Sentence struck him so, he took hold
(Being satisfied he was a Cuckold)
Of Thom'sine's Head-clothes, whom with Shriek
Most dismal, he compell'd to wake:
Then cry'd, Look here, (my precious Evil,
Fit to be married to the Devil)
What a Discov'ry have I made!
Thou damnable confounded Jade.
She soon obtain'd her Breath, and she
Was not behind in Repartee;
When the best Words in eithers Speech
Were Whore and Rogue, and Dog and Bitch.
Which Decency will not repeat,
Nor will our Brevity admit.
Laurence grown sensible beside
Of the quick Turning of the Tide;
Finding both Spouse and Times too hot
For his abiding on the Spot;
Resolv'd, since he could have no Room here,
Straightways to pack off to St. Omar.
And in the Turning of ones Back
Behold him under Sail of Smack.

175

Thom'sine put Finger in her Eye
At Parting, but she could not cry;
When all she said was, Since 'tis so.
As he came, lightly, let him go.

Many with Laurence put to Sea,
And some of Highest Quality.
The Mixture was as universal
As that of Grand Dance in Rehearsal.
Here a fat Friar may be seen
Shouldring and sidling to a Queen:
A Foot man there in Cabin thrust is
With one but late a Lord Chief-Justice.
A Prelate, lately clad in Purple,
Stuck 'twixt a Laundress and a Tarpol.

So may be seen, in the same Cellar,
In London-Town, of some close Dweller,
Cold Scraps set by, with Shooes and Sandals,
Raw Joint hung up near Pound of Candles,
Drink-Barrel, Cobwebs, Culm, and Coal,
Behind the Door the Privy-hole.

176

As diff'rent Sort did now embark,
As once were stow'd in Noah's Ark:
But only those were Beasts and Fowl,
And these had once a Humane Soul;
Which now transform'd to that of Hare,
Was put in such a Fright and Scare,
That ev'ry pitiful Crowdero,
That could but tune or sing Burlero,
Beyond-Sea drove the flying Heroe.
Ev'n Fear in Triumph rides and seizes
All Sorts now; (Pardon Catechresis)
Not only those who were surrounded
With Guilt, were by its Terrors wounded;
But Men of Honesty Britannick
Were strangely struck with Horror Panick,
As if Old England was to perish
By a small Handful of Wild Irish;
Towns burnt, Throats cut i'th' Neighbourhood,
Tho' no Man saw nor Smoak nor Blood.
Yet the false terrible Alarms
Provok'd the Peasant to his Arms.

177

Great was the Out-cry in its kind,
Which, carry'd on the Wings o'th' Wind,
Left Danger, Fears, and Foes behind.
Tho' soon the frightful Dream was o'er,
And Foes, Fears, Danger, out of door.
Who fell on Thursday in a Swoon,
Oppress'd with Laughter, tumbled down
On Friday Morning, for the Cause
Of Terror so ridiculous.
So soon the Innocent were freed
From Harm and Peril, Fear and Dread.
But to th'Obnoxious, various Ill
Doth threaten to continue still.

Tho' Hugo was last Month o'er-run
So far with Superstition,
Made by ill-boading Birds afraid,
Which muted (as they flew) on's Head;
Yet he took Heart-a-grace, and try'd,
By the quick changing of his Side,
His Neck and Substance both to save,
For all he' ad plaid so much the Knave.

178

Perceiving where his Bread was butter'd,
(Himself equipp'd and well accouter'd)
Away he gallops on his Horse,
Until he met with Arthur's Force;
Whom he shakes kindly by the Hands,
And cries, You're welcom, my dear Friends:
This is the joyful Day indeed
When we shall be from Bondage freed:
The Popish Priests and Emissaries
Rub off in Mists, like juggling Fairies;
Our Properties are laid a whitning,
And our Foes fly away like Lightning.

Strangers believ'd the Man spoke true,
Because they saw him clad in Blue;
And if it was Dissimulation,
He manag'd it with great Discretion.
He patiently Reproaches bore
From those who knew him heretofore;
And if he met with Kick or Cuff,
Put it up quietly enough.

179

Who of his past vile Actions told,
Had his Mouth straightways stopp'd with Gold.
Hugh's open Purse was held in Common,
And many a Friend he made with Mammon.
He now stands (having paid his Fine)
Rectus in Curia, by his Coin.

Not so Pendragon, whom we said
Was sore afflicted and dismay'd:
He knew not where he best could stay,
Nor had the Power to run away.
If seiz'd, he must expect to fare
Alike with Æsop's Trumpeter:
His pleading that he ne'er drew Blood,
Would do him very little good;
Himself not fighting, only was
An Aggravation to his Case;
Because it was most evident,
That he had been an Instrument
To blow the Bellows of Destruction,
Who shares more Guilt than he who looks on.

180

A Tyrant in his raging Fits
Owes half the Murders he commits
To scoundrel Cowards, who incense
Him with the specious Pretence,
That Cutting Throats, and Desolation,
Is for the Publick Good o'th' Nation;
That driving Subjects from their Dwelling,
Is but to hinder their Rebelling;
To burn, and stab, and hang, and flea,
Means of expelling Heresie;
And the well-exercis'd Dragoon
Fittest to plant Religion;
That Monarchs who the same won't licence
Ought to be made away with Poysons.

Sick at the Heart Pendragon grew,
And as unsav'ry as a Jew:
It cut him to the very Soul
To meet with nothing but Controul;
To find the Politicks he taught
Were render'd false, and worse than naught.;

181

His Wit, so sharp in the Lampoon
On Mobb, was by the Mobb run down;
And for the Crimes his Wit committed,
By Mobb he fear'd to be De Witted.
All his Offences with his Pen
VVere by the same paid home again:
Expos'd and made ridiculous,
And pepper'd worse than D'avenant's Mouse,
VVhich got (poor Thing!) a Pocky Clap:
But a more fatal dire Mishap
Impended o'er Pendragon's Head;
For when an Act of Grace was read,
(Pardon almost for ev'ry Crime
VVas granted to the present Time)
He heard (poor harmless VVretch!) by Name
Himself excepted in the same.

Nay then (quoth he) where-e'er I go,
The Halter still does me pursue.
Of all the Friends I lately had,
There's none in Circumstance so bad.

182

Laurence, who parted with his Faith,
VVith a false Consort parted hath;
VVelcom to his Fraternity,
He's safe enough, from Hanging free.

Madam, once Darling of my Soul,
Has plaid the Jilt, but not the Fool:
She's married to a wealthy Cit,
And Money far surpasses VVit.

Witness that Rogue my quondam Squire,
Lately so much at my devoir,
Abus'd me grosly to my Throat,
And turn'd (without a Blush) his Coat.
His having Money, makes the Knave
Now in his Life and Fortunes safe.
Eas'ly that Wretch doth Scandal slight,
Who saves his Life and Substance by't.

My Life's on Wing, my Fortune's flown,
And Infamy survives alone.

183

A Diego's Will before my Death,
(When I have Nothing to bequeath)
Would but expose me to the Mock
Of all Men for a Laughing-stock.

Strange Things my Fancy doth presage;
It sets before my Eyes a Sledge,
By which there stands, with uncomb'd Hair,
A Blear-ey'd Executioner,
With Night-cap, Halter, Saws, and Knife,
Prepar'd to take away my Life.
My Ears hear nothing but the Knell
And Sound of St. Sepulchre's Bell.

The Turks believe, and Tunquinese,
That Death most Honourable is
Which sheds no Blood thro' any Hole,
But keeps the Skin intire and whole:
Then Hanging they must needs prefer.
But what make Saws and Hatchets there?
Avaunt—My Brains grow hot, and burn;
And tho' I can't, yet they may turn,

184

And so may prove the happiest Remedy
That can assist me in Extremity.

Mean time, these frightful Sentiments
Do not become a Man of Sense,
A celebrated Wit to cry,
Because he is about to die.
For shame! Since Pow'r is left me yet
To walk, and talk, and drink, and eat,
I Life enjoy, and so long hope
That I may slip beside the Rope.
Which to effect, it will be wise
To put my self in such Disguise
That none can know me, and then skulk
Close under a Translator's Bulk.

185

THE CLOSE.

The Farce is ended: What remains
Will not become our Dogg'rel Strains.
Let a refin'd Heroick Verse
Great Arthur's History rehearse:
Be That committed to the Care
Of wise Apollo's Son and Heir,
Who all (so wondrous are his Merits)
His Father's Faculties inherits.
His Cures extend to Humane Kind,
Diseas'd in Body and in Mind;
Expells the Modern Malady
Which had o'er-run our Poetry.
His Verse, so purg'd and fin'd from Dross,
Exalted, others doth surpass

186

Far as the Heroe whom he sings
Excells all other Mortal Kings.

Burlesque may serve us to remove
(Wheel-barrow-like) our Dunghills off;
To clear the Rubbish from our Home:
But He must sing of King Dom. Com.

FINIS.