Strephon's Revenge A Satire on the Oxford Toasts. The Third Edition Corrected [by Nicholas Amhurst] |
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 | AN APPENDIX.
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 | Strephon's Revenge |  |
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AN APPENDIX.
Being a Collection of Verses and Epigrams, occasion'd by the foregoing Poem.
To Mrs. Jennings,
upon her being concern'd at her Character in STREPHON's Revenge.
When Strephon's Verse before my Eyes was laid,
With Wonder I the nauseous Stuff survey'd;
I read and laugh'd at all the Fop had writ,
Such Malice mingled with so little Wit:
Grubstreet and Billingsgate at once conspire
A Fury strung, and Dullness touch'd the Lyre;
At length I own he could my Passion raise,
Not that he durst to censure, but to praise:
Praise from th' Unworthy, Praise from Strephon's Muse
Is the worst Satire, Wit it self could chuse.
Yet let it not be said fair Jennings' grieves,
(One Tear from Her would cost ten Thousand Lives)
'Twas not Respect the forc'd Encomium drew,
A Foe alike to Virtue and to You,
Resolv'd to blame what set the World on Fire,
He curs'd himself he could not but admire:
Pepar'd to rail, by endless Merits crost,
And what he most commends, he hated most.
With Wonder I the nauseous Stuff survey'd;
I read and laugh'd at all the Fop had writ,
Such Malice mingled with so little Wit:
Grubstreet and Billingsgate at once conspire
A Fury strung, and Dullness touch'd the Lyre;
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Not that he durst to censure, but to praise:
Praise from th' Unworthy, Praise from Strephon's Muse
Is the worst Satire, Wit it self could chuse.
Yet let it not be said fair Jennings' grieves,
(One Tear from Her would cost ten Thousand Lives)
'Twas not Respect the forc'd Encomium drew,
A Foe alike to Virtue and to You,
Resolv'd to blame what set the World on Fire,
He curs'd himself he could not but admire:
Pepar'd to rail, by endless Merits crost,
And what he most commends, he hated most.
So while the Tortur'd in the Dark abode,
Revile alike all Goodness and their God;
'Midst all their Horror, Curses and Dispair,
Should the bright Object of their Hate appear;
Spight of their Pangs, they bless superior Pow'r,
And what they just blasphem'd, are forc'd t'adore.
Revile alike all Goodness and their God;
'Midst all their Horror, Curses and Dispair,
Should the bright Object of their Hate appear;
Spight of their Pangs, they bless superior Pow'r,
And what they just blasphem'd, are forc'd t'adore.
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To Strephon.
Can Indignation so much Rage infuse?And dwells there then such Malice in a Muse?
The sacred Nine, genteel and debonair,
Scorn to call Whore and Billingsgate the Fair:
Say then, from whence this mighty Fury rose,
Thus to attack our Belles in rhiming Prose?
By Laura's batter'd Charms disabled, hence
Thou rail'st, a Foe to Woman and to Sense,
In Dulness made a Bard and Impudence.
Unhappy Youth! who in both Ends dost fail,
How like thy Poem!—neither Head nor Tail!
Advice to Cælia and Belinda.
While Strephon's Verse, with honest Rage reprovesFat Cælia's Pride, and Tyrrel's guilty Loves:
Cælia confronted, haughty Airs forgets,
And loaded with her num'rous Thousands sweats:
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And boast a Red, as nat'ral as her Hair!
Blame not, ye Fair, the advantageous Lay,
But wish for such a Satire every Day,
So may Belinda artful Paints despise,
And Cælia sweat her Waist to shapely Size.
CATULLUS.
ELEGY XLI.
To Belinda.
Hail, O Belinda, flatter'd Fair,With brazen Front, and colour'd Hair;
With no small Prominence of Chin,
A doubtful Fame, a borrow'd Skin,
Whose Eyes no winning Graces boast
Of Beardless Boys, the fav'rite Toast;
With Laura durst thy Pride compare?
Thee shall a beauteous Age call fair?
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O! foolish Age! O! dull Mankind!
Belinda defended.
Belinda swears by G---d her Hair is Black,And who denies it is a saucy Jack;
The leaden Comb each Morning makes it so,
Is then Belinda perjur'd?—I say, No.
FINIS.
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