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The Lover's Session.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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The Lover's Session.

In Imitation of Sir John Suckling's Session of Poets.

A session of Lovers was held t'other day,
And Venus her self was present they say.
The best in Christendom long kept in reserve,
Was now to be his who least did deserve.
Therefore the Fools of all Parties came thither,
'Twas strange to see how the Owls flock'd together;
There were Fops by Breeding, and Tonies by Birth,
Damn'd Oafs of all sorts this fat Island brings forth.
Gentle Fools of the Flute, and Fools of the Pen,
Virtuosi thrice married turn'd Bullies agen,
Dancing Fools a vast Crowd, and Fools learn'd in Arts,
Fops furnish'd in France with good Natural Parts.
Familiar dear Hearts who kiss all they salute,
And out of meer Dulness with no Man dispute;

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Who think themselves welcome wherever they come,
And call all they know Jack, Will, Harry, Tom.
Sour Fanaticks, Christ's wealthy ill-favour'd Breed,
With strong carnal Itches and spiritual Pride;
Popish Priests in the Garb of lewd Lay-Brother,
Still whoring in Couples to absolve one another.
Turn-servers, who hopeful Imployments devour,
Drunken Brutes in the Badges of Absolute Power,
Cits aping Court Fops in Debauchery and Dress,
And proud ignorant Statesmen hard of Access.
Dull Blockheads in Cassocks, Law-Knaves dy'd in Grain,
Physicians in Querpo, and Clowns in Champaign;
Like Bees they came swarming at Venus's Call,
There was Fop of Fop-Corner, and Fop of Fop-Hall.
Song Sackvill with all the new Beaux at his back,
Lewd rakelly Spencer and finical Pack,
Warcup near Newburgh, for they kept no Order,
Montrath and Frank Villers a little further.
Harry Wharton fresh reaking from Norfolk's lewd Moll,
Shamplot-maker Lumly, and Colchester Voll,
Northumberland wrapt in his Mother's lov'd Smock,
And D' Arcy kept lean by old Guy's young Hock.
Harsh favor'd Scarburgh with Scarsdale the stinking,
And Bridges created a Wit for hard drinking.
Soft Whitaker next, Fop Gerards both the Brothers,
Fop Hewit, Fop Baber, and divers others.
Devonsh***, who all his mistaken Life long
Has delighted in Show, publick Meeting and Throng,
And at fifty against all Reason and Rule
Seems resolv'd to persist in playing the Fool.
E'er this strange High Commission Court was well set,
Came and knock'd with a Lover's concern at the Gate,
And cozening the Doorkeeper with his Fop Mien,
Without any Ticket had like t'have got in.
But Venus, who knew him much better than they,
With a Frown like dead Lady Betty, they say,

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Forbad his Admittance, and told him in short,
'Twas an old fundamental Rule of the Court.
Tho some the best stor'd never any did use,
But liv'd as if Frampton their Business did choose;
Tho others drest high, and half star'd out their Eyes,
Not one who had Sense must pretend to the Prize.
And tho his French Breeding floated at top,
And has tawder'd his Outside over with Fop;
It plainly appear'd to all the World's wonder,
The Man of true Wit, and Worth that lay under.
When Mord--- heard this, he leapt up from the Throng,
And in whimsical Raving full three Hours long,
With gross want of Judgment, for Bedlam more fit,
He daily mistakes for abounding in Wit.
He excus'd his intruding and breaking of Rules,
Protesting he did not know they were Fools;
But took ev'ry Member there by his Mien,
For as hopeful a Wit as his Pupil Gwyn.
This said, he would fain have slipt out of the Crowd.
But Venus recall'd him, and told him aloud,
None there to the Place had a better pretence;
For just talking, not much, was the Mark of good Sense.
That his rambling Vien, for holding out well,
The ablest Fanatick's Light did excel;
Tho no Man could for Wit or Reason approve,
Might pass with young Women for Passion and Love.
But she bid him beware when his Throws did begin,
By his Noise not to call all the Neighbourhood in,
For his Friends Expectation too oft had been bit.
By the loud, but false crying out of his Wit.
For a deal of Love the fair Sex did owe him,
As well as the Good of all who should know him:
She pray'd that the Muses Lucina would deign
To deliver him of his no Jests with less Pain.
While Mort---'s Perfections she thus did display,
She perceiv'd little Falkland sneaking away,

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And vow'd she admir'd how that frivolous Chit
Ever came to pass on the Town for a Wit.
His Grandfather, honour'd by all, is confest
Was with Wisdom and Riches like Solomon blest,
But he left him nothing, and 'twas his hard Fate
To inherit no more of his Parts than Estate.
A Mimick he is, tho a bad one at best,
Still plagu'd with an impotent Itch to a Jest;
In appurtenant Action he spares no Expence,
He has all the Ingredients of Wit but the Sense.
His Face oft of Laugh and Humour is full,
When his Talk is impertinent, empty and dull:
But if so low buffooning can merit our Praise,
Frank Newport, and Jevon, and Haines must have Bays.
Or if French Memoirs read from Broadstreet to Bow,
Can make a Man wise, then Falkland is so.
And for full confirmation of all she did say,
She produc'd his damn'd Prologue to Otway's last Play.
Some reply'd, What her Majesty said was most true,
Yet to give the ignorant Devil his due,
Tho he made good Judges but indifferent sport,
He was the best Fop of a Statesman at Court.
But Dorington now started up in great Wrath,
What not Falkland a Wit! No Sir by my troth;
Of which for the present clearer proof needs none,
Than his taking the coxcombly Worship for one.
The Sect of Songsters here stir'd up Sedition,
And in shoals prefer'd a tumultuous Petition;
Beseeching the Court not to think them too wise,
To raffle their Time and Estates for the Prize.
Alledging,
They us'd the Muses but as Bawds to Intrigues,
Caring for them no more than Cromwell or Migs;
And that but for their frantick amorous Fits,
They had ne'er took upon them the Business of Wits.
Humbly hoping that Sense would not pass for a Crime,
That was flatten'd to Panegyrical Rhyme;

160

And offering good proof from Maids, Widows and Wives,
Of the inoffensive Dulness of their Lives.
Protesting at last, if the Sex were in fears,
They could e'en use their Fancies as bad as their Ears;
That rather than the Hopes of their Favours they'd quit,
They'd lay by their impudent Title to Wit.
But Venus, who all their Adventures had learn'd,
With a gracious Smile bid them not be concern'd;
For that little they had was so void of all Charm,
As it did them no good, so 'twould do them no harm.
Young Griffin, apparent Son of the Old,
In the same belle Air his booby Father roll'd,
Just Image of the Pride with which he swells,
And in whom the Fulness of his Folly dwells;
Not doubting Success, first of any did rise,
And in arrogant Terms demanded the Prize.
But when told by the Court, which his Carriage did blame,
He a reason must give for his confident Claim;
He pertly reply'd, Truth, Reason, and Wit,
Were three things ne'er ask'd of his Family yet;
And tho he lov'd Whoring because 'twas a Vice,
He ne'er should be able to pay such a Price.
Newburgh was the next who stood up to his Tryal,
Ne'er dreaming that Face could e'er meet with Denial;
That Face which so often i'th Circle was prais'd,
And Dissension among the Q---s Virgins had rais'd.
But the Jewess, who still of his Purse stood in need,
Had privately advis'd the Bench to take heed,
Not to judg by the Outside, howe'er likely and fair,
For tho stiff in the Back he was limber elsewhere.
Harry Henningham thought himself sure of a Grant;
But O foolish, cries out Villain Frank, he's a Cant,
His Mistress ne'er knows, so odd 'tis exprest,
Whether he means to make Love or a Jest.
For he puts on so many several Faces,
Is so full of his frank, familiar Grimaces,

161

They cannot but think he's acting a Part,
And his passionate Speech has gotten by Heart.
Besides, Lady Bellamount had let the Court know,
That his Person was good for just nothing but Show;
That his slim Barbary Back was too long,
His Stomach too weak, and Hectic too strong.
When Kildare's Name was call'd, all thought he would speed,
And sure he was Fool enough to succeed.
But new R---r strait (O how unlike the first!)
In terms of a Treasurer's Insolence burst.
And as Venus was going his Suit to allow,
On the Faith of a cast Politician's Vow,
That of all Men living he needed it least,
For his Wife's he knew well was as good as the best;
Huntington, that his weaking Whey Visage might pass,
Pul'd out the best thing that belongs to an Ass;
But in Love's Court, tho ours might use such a Tool,
They abhor'd an inconstant Weathercock Fool.
Villain Frank, well advis'd by a small Pocket-Glass
Of his damn'd disagreeable Vermin-like Face;
And knowing what juster Pretensions would be,
Brought the Bench a Mandamus subscribed S. P.
The Court on this dangerous Practice reflecting,
Cry'd out, We'll maintain our old Right of Electing;
C---s still have been free, nor can any confine 'em,
Or bring to the Bench their Jus Divinum.
But resolving however to shew some respect
To the State whose Commands they'd good cause to reject,
Like Maudlins they approv'd, to th'Assistants great Joy,
Sir Courtly unfit for the courted Employ.
To his shame and confusion his Friends swore point blank,
No Nun was so spotless a Virgin as Frank;
All thought it unjust, the fair Sex's Pride
Should run any risk with a F---r untry'd.
The Court, tho against the strict Rules of their Laws,
Declar'd, on that Issue they'd put the whole Cause:

162

Had he e'er rem in re, he should now have the best,
But his guilty Silence the Scandal confest.
Here his Exchequer Clerks, e'er they let him retire,
Told the Court 'twas not Virtue but want of Desire;
And tho he was unable, they had very good Proof,
Sister Nancy would for the whole Name do enough.
Montrath was in Foppery conceiv'd another
Of Whitehall true Breed, Sir Nices Twin Brother;
None could tell, so alike all their Follies did seem,
Whether he acted Mumford, or Mumford him.
But all cry'd at the sound of that Irish Name,
His Birth was for ever a bar to his Claim;
No League to make Love could his blockishness shape,
They had only the Gift of Murder, and Rape.
Harry Lumly some thought for an elderly Beau,
By the help of his Dress made a pretty good show;
His Back too was prais'd since he first found the trick,
To make ramish Williams content with one P**.
But he had a blemish by's blighted Look shown,
Which in Beauties Adonis was never yet known:
The Pox that was given him by his own Wife,
Was likely to last him as long as his Life.
When M---ague appear'd, the Court gave him a touch
For affecting the Wit, and the Bully so much;
For the one neither Nature had form'd him nor Art,
And the other was ne'er thought a Gentleman's Part.
He had Faults too that lost him so much with the Fair,
As neither his Face nor his Youth could repair;
They found the raw Temper with half Sense accurst,
Too presuming at last, too bashful at first.
Their Eyes were more kindly on Constable cast,
For judging so ill, and prating so fast;
He slightly skims o'er all that comes in his way,
With as hasty, and shallow a Fathom as they.
But tho his light Humour most Women did hit,
His Parts have a nearer resemblance of Wit;

163

The Court too declar'd they would first be assur'd,
Whether yet the thrust in his Groin were well cur'd.
Little Rowley was miss'd, for the Whigs who did know
His Wit no where else but in Dutchland would go,
Had there sent him Leger with full Deputation,
To make Jests on the Court for the good of the Nation.
But one of his Friends swore he'd leave the Queen's cause,
And turn Rebel to Love's irresistible Laws;
If in all her wide Empire she ever did see
A Coxcomb so fit for a Cully as he.
But Politicks employ'd all his time, and 'twas said,
Our pert offer'd Scholar would ne'er be well bred,
Nor brought (so vain is th'unformable Elf)
To advice, or mind any thing else but himself.
Here the Bench in one Language their Anger exprest,
And told his Whig Friends, they should bid him at least
Get so much good Sense in his magotty Pate,
As to use his Wife well till he got her Estate.
Fe---am in his Sedgemore Star, and Glory,
Proud as the Treasurer, and pettish as Lory,
Forgetting how oft he had wrong took his Aim,
With a French Assurance next put in his Claim.
But Fifty had brought a defect of that sort,
As ne'er found forgiveness in Venus's Court;
He was never in health, as himself would oft own,
But when he did let that Business alone.
M---nt would be thought to have already the best,
But let his Wife's Covetous—be at rest;
In vain his Invention is still on the Tenters,
Don Quixot ne'er went on more luckless Adventures.
The damn'd tedious Lies he tells in's own Praise,
That supreme Adoration he to himself pays,
That contempt of his Friends, and that unsettl'd Head,
An aversion in the most forward has bred.
His babling Tongue at St. James's large Square,
Could punctually tell both the when, and the where,

164

In the middle of all his vain towring Hopes,
He was beaten with his own Ladder of Ropes.
Sir James Hayes here his fluent Flattery display'd
To the Fair, and a Thousand fine Promises made,
If Faulkland might pass a Night with her in bed,
But Dapperwit had a trick worth two on't he said.
The Sodomite Itch his Fancy did sway,
He would fain have us'd his Wife the wrong way;
But the Slattern was resty, and vow'd she would ne'er
Give any Man joy who grudg'd her a share.
Nor---land now to his Trial stood forth,
And pleaded the Preference due to his Birth;
No Fool he did hope, howe'er eminent, wou'd
Presume to compare with a Fool of the Blood.
Appealing besides to his scandalous Marriage,
His beautiful Face, and his dull stupid Carriage,
To a Soul without sense of Truth, Honour, or Wit,
If e'er Man was form'd for Woman so fit.
But his Prince-like Project to kidnap his Wife,
And a Lady so free to make Prisoner for Life,
Was Tyranny to which the Sex ne'r would submit,
And an ill natur'd Fool they lik'd worse than a Wit.
Gr---ton, back'd by his Officers, made an effort
To have the new Venus seen naked in Court;
Urging, whate'er Fame in her favour had spoke,
'Twas unfit Men should buy a Pig in a Poke.
But had she appear'd, D---comb swore by his Life
He had us'd her as once he did Elland's vain Wife;
No sooner was his rude Request disallow'd,
But on the whole Bench he lookt big, and talkt loud.
What his bluff Speech did mean they were all in suspence,
Some say 'twas Tarpaulin Language, and Sense:
But this was e'ery tittle the Court understood,
It began with G***me, and clos'd with G*** Blood.
An old ugly Lawyer at last did appear,
And brought in black Boxes a Thousand a Year:

165

At which all th'Assembly murmur'd, contending
He had long since past the Age of pretending.
But Venus reproving them, bid him come nigher,
And when he was mounted up a little higher,
She openly declar'd that Wealth and Estate
Was to catch Womankind the infallible Bait.
This pow'rful Temptation none e'er cou'd oppose;
It covers all Faults, and all Virtue bestows;
'Tis a lure which the highest flown Jilts can command,
Make 'em stoop, and bring the wild Haggards to hand.
Fifteen it can draw to the Arms of Threescore;
Procure Apsly a Wife, and Clifford a Whore,
It still carries with it, such Philtres are in it,
The Canonical hour, and the Critical minute.
'Twas this Spell the fair Montagues eyes so put out,
She could neither see S---olks Age nor his Gout;
And in spite of his Humour, yet worse than his Face,
Brought long averse Newport to Herberts Embrace.
This, this is the Charm which never did fail
O'er Beauty, Youth, Merit, and Wit to prevail;
And without a Syllable more or less said,
To young Luck she put the old Fumbler to Bed.
Much muttering there was, and some spar'd not the Queen,
In every Man's Face displeasure was seen;
Each thought himself by the strange Sentence ill us'd,
And the partial blindness of Fortune accus'd.
But all cheer'd up at last, not a Sot that was there
But hop'd in his turn with the Lawyer to share,
And that since for twenty good Summers at least
He had left being a Man, she would make him a Beast.