 | Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose |  |
133
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES
135
REPARTEES between CAT and PUSS at a CATERWALLING
In the Modern Heroic Way
It was about the middle Age of Night,
When half the Earth stood in the other's Light;
And Sleep, Death's Brother, yet a Friend to Life,
Gave weary'd Nature a Restorative:
When Puss, wrapt warm in his own native Furs,
Dreamt soundly of as soft and warm Amours,
Of making Galantry in Gutter-tiles,
And sporting on delightful Fagot-piles;
Of bolting out of Bushes in the dark,
As Ladies use at Midnight in the Park;
Or seeking in tall Garrets an Alcove,
For Assignations in th' Affairs of Love.
At once his Passion was both false and true,
And the more false, the more in earnest grew.
He fancy'd, that he heard those amorous Charms,
That us'd to summon him to soft Alarms,
To which he always brought an equal Flame,
To fight a Rival, or to court a Dame:
And, as in Dreams Love's Raptures are more taking,
Than all their actual Enjoyments waking,
His amorous Passion grew to that Extream,
His Dream itself awak'd him from his Dream.
Thought he, what Place is this! or whither art
Thou vanish'd from me, Mistress of my Heart?
But now, I had her in this very Place,
Here, fast imprison'd in my glad Embrace,
And, while my Joys beyond themselves were rapt,
I know not how, nor whither thou'rt escap'd:
Stay, and I'll follow thee—With that he leap'd
Up from the lazy Couch on which he slept;
And, wing'd with Passion, through his known Purlieu,
Swift as an Arrow from a Bow, he flew,
Nor stop'd, until his Fire had him convey'd,
Where many an Assignation h' had enjoy'd;
Where finding, what he sought, a mutual Flame,
That long had stay'd and call'd, before he came,
Impatient of Delay, without one Word,
To lose no further Time, he fell aboard;
But grip'd so hard, he wounded what he lov'd;
While she, in Anger, thus his Heat reprov'd.
C.
When half the Earth stood in the other's Light;
And Sleep, Death's Brother, yet a Friend to Life,
Gave weary'd Nature a Restorative:
When Puss, wrapt warm in his own native Furs,
Dreamt soundly of as soft and warm Amours,
Of making Galantry in Gutter-tiles,
And sporting on delightful Fagot-piles;
Of bolting out of Bushes in the dark,
As Ladies use at Midnight in the Park;
Or seeking in tall Garrets an Alcove,
For Assignations in th' Affairs of Love.
At once his Passion was both false and true,
And the more false, the more in earnest grew.
He fancy'd, that he heard those amorous Charms,
That us'd to summon him to soft Alarms,
To which he always brought an equal Flame,
To fight a Rival, or to court a Dame:
And, as in Dreams Love's Raptures are more taking,
Than all their actual Enjoyments waking,
His amorous Passion grew to that Extream,
His Dream itself awak'd him from his Dream.
Thought he, what Place is this! or whither art
Thou vanish'd from me, Mistress of my Heart?
But now, I had her in this very Place,
Here, fast imprison'd in my glad Embrace,
And, while my Joys beyond themselves were rapt,
I know not how, nor whither thou'rt escap'd:
136
Up from the lazy Couch on which he slept;
And, wing'd with Passion, through his known Purlieu,
Swift as an Arrow from a Bow, he flew,
Nor stop'd, until his Fire had him convey'd,
Where many an Assignation h' had enjoy'd;
Where finding, what he sought, a mutual Flame,
That long had stay'd and call'd, before he came,
Impatient of Delay, without one Word,
To lose no further Time, he fell aboard;
But grip'd so hard, he wounded what he lov'd;
While she, in Anger, thus his Heat reprov'd.
Forbear, foul Ravisher, this rude Address,
Canst thou at once both injure and caress?
P.
Thou hast bewitch'd me with thy pow'rful Charms,
And I, by drawing Blood, would cure my Harms.
C.
He, that does love, would set his Heart a Tilt,
Ere one Drop of his Lady's should be spilt.
P.
Your Wounds are but without, and mine within;
You wound my Heart, and I but prick your Skin:
And while your Eyes pierce deeper than my Claws,
You blame th' Effect, of which you are the Cause.
C.
How could my guiltless Eyes your Heart invade,
Had it not first been by your own betray'd?
Hence 'tis, my greatest Crime has only been
(Not in mine Eyes, but yours) in being seen.
P.
I hurt to love, but do not love to hurt.
C.
That's worse than making Cruelty a Sport.
P.
Pain is the Foil of Pleasure, and Delight,
That sets it off to a more noble Height.
C.
He buys his Pleasure at a Rate too vain,
That takes it up beforehand of his Pain.
P.
Pain is more dear than Pleasure, when 'tis past.
C.
But grows intolerable, if it last.
P.
Love is too full of Honour, to regard
What it enjoys, but suffers, as reward.
What Knight durst ever own a Lover's Name,
That had not been half murther'd by his Flame?
Or Lady, that had never lain at Stake,
To Death, or force of Rivals for his Sake?
137
When Love do's meet with Injury and Pain,
Disdain's the only Med'cine for Disdain.
P.
At once I'm happy, and unhappy too,
In being pleas'd, and in displeasing you.
C.
Prepost'rous Way of Pleasure, and of Love,
That contrary to its own End would move!
'Tis rather Hate, that covets to destroy;
Love's Business is to love, and to enjoy.
P.
Enjoying and destroying are all one,
As Flames destroy that which they feed upon.
C.
He never lov'd at any gen'rous Rate,
That in th' Enjoyment found his Flame abate.
As Wine (the Friend of Love) is wont to make
The Thirst more violent, it pretends to slake;
So should Fruition do the Lovers fire,
Instead of lessening, inflame Desire.
P.
What greater Proof, that Passion do's transport,
When, what I would dye for, I'm forc'd to hurt?
C.
Death among Lovers is a Thing despis'd,
And far below a sullen Humour priz'd.
That is more scorn'd, and rail'd at than the Gods,
When they are crost in Love, or fall at odds.
But since you understand not what you do,
I am the Judge of what I feel, not you.
P.
Passion begins indifferent to prove,
When Love considers any Thing but Love.
C.
The Darts of Love (like Lightning) wound within,
And, though they pierce it, never hurt the Skin;
They leave no Marks behind them, where they fly,
Though through the tend'rest Part of all, the Eye;
But your sharp Claws have left enough to shew,
How tender I have been, how cruel you.
P.
Pleasure is Pain, for when it is enjoy'd,
All it could wish for was but to b' allay'd.
C.
Force is a rugged Way of making Love.
P.
What you like best, you always disapprove.
C.
He that will wrong his Love will not be nice,
T' excuse the Wrong he does, to wrong her twice.
P.
Nothing is wrong, but that which is ill meant.
C.
Wounds are ill cured with a good intent.
138
When you mistake that for an Injury,
I never meant, you do the Wrong, not I.
C.
You do not feel yourself the Pain you give;
But 'tis not that alone, for which I grieve;
But 'tis your want of Passion that I blame,
That can be cruel, where you own a Flame.
P.
'Tis you are guilty of that Cruelty,
Which you at once outdo, and blame in me:
For while you stifle, and inflame Desire,
You burn, and starve me in the self-same Fire.
C.
It is not I, but you, that do the Hurt,
Who wound yourself, and then accuse me for't:
As Thieves, that rob themselves 'twixt Sun and Sun,
Make others pay for what themselves have done.
139
UPON PHILIP NYE'S THANKSGIVING BEARD
A beard
is but the Vizard of a Face,
That Nature orders for no other Place;
The Fringe and Tassel of a Countenance,
That hides his Person from another Man's;
And, like the Roman Habits of their Youth,
Is never worn until his perfect Growth;
A Privilege, no other Creature has,
To wear a nat'ral Mask upon his Face,
That shifts its Likeness, every Day he wears,
To fit some other Persons Characters;
And by its own Mythology implies,
That Men were born to live in some Disguise.
That Nature orders for no other Place;
The Fringe and Tassel of a Countenance,
That hides his Person from another Man's;
And, like the Roman Habits of their Youth,
Is never worn until his perfect Growth;
A Privilege, no other Creature has,
To wear a nat'ral Mask upon his Face,
That shifts its Likeness, every Day he wears,
To fit some other Persons Characters;
And by its own Mythology implies,
That Men were born to live in some Disguise.
This satisfy'd a reverend Man, that clear'd
His disagreeing Conscience by his Beard.
H' had been prefer'd i' th' Army, when the Church
Was taken with a Why not? in the lurch;
When Primate, Metropolitan, and Prelates
Were turn'd to Officers of Horse, and Zealots,
From whom he held the most Pluralities
Of Contributions, Donatives, and Salaries;
Was held the chiefest of those spiritual Trumpets,
That sounded Charges to their fiercest Combats,
But in the desperatest of Defeats
Had never blown as opportune Retreats;
Until the Synod order'd his Departure
To London, from his caterwalling Quarter,
To sit among 'em, as he had been chosen,
And pass, or null things, at his own disposing;
Could clap up Souls in Limbo with a Vote,
And for their Fees discharge, and let them out;
Which made some Grandees bribe him with the Place
Of holding-forth upon Thanksgiving-Days,
Whither the Members, two and two abrest,
March'd to take in the Spoils of all—the Feast;
But by the way repeated the Oh-hones
Of his wild Irish and chromatic Tones,
His frequent and pathetic hums and haws,
He practis'd only t' animate the Cause,
With which the Sisters were so prepossest,
They cou'd remember nothing of the rest.
His disagreeing Conscience by his Beard.
H' had been prefer'd i' th' Army, when the Church
Was taken with a Why not? in the lurch;
When Primate, Metropolitan, and Prelates
Were turn'd to Officers of Horse, and Zealots,
From whom he held the most Pluralities
Of Contributions, Donatives, and Salaries;
Was held the chiefest of those spiritual Trumpets,
That sounded Charges to their fiercest Combats,
But in the desperatest of Defeats
Had never blown as opportune Retreats;
Until the Synod order'd his Departure
To London, from his caterwalling Quarter,
To sit among 'em, as he had been chosen,
And pass, or null things, at his own disposing;
Could clap up Souls in Limbo with a Vote,
And for their Fees discharge, and let them out;
Which made some Grandees bribe him with the Place
Of holding-forth upon Thanksgiving-Days,
140
March'd to take in the Spoils of all—the Feast;
But by the way repeated the Oh-hones
Of his wild Irish and chromatic Tones,
His frequent and pathetic hums and haws,
He practis'd only t' animate the Cause,
With which the Sisters were so prepossest,
They cou'd remember nothing of the rest.
He thought upon it, and resolv'd to put
His Beard into as wonderful a Cut,
And, for the further Service of the Women,
T' abate the Rigidness of his Opinion;
And, but a Day before, had been to find
The ablest Virtuoso of the Kind,
With whom he long and seriously confer'd
On all Intrigues, that might concern his Beard;
By whose Advice he sat for a Design
In little drawn, exactly to a Line:
That, if the Creature chance to have Occasion
To undergo a Thorough-reformation,
It might be born conveniently about,
And by the meanest Artist copy'd out.
His Beard into as wonderful a Cut,
And, for the further Service of the Women,
T' abate the Rigidness of his Opinion;
And, but a Day before, had been to find
The ablest Virtuoso of the Kind,
With whom he long and seriously confer'd
On all Intrigues, that might concern his Beard;
By whose Advice he sat for a Design
In little drawn, exactly to a Line:
That, if the Creature chance to have Occasion
To undergo a Thorough-reformation,
It might be born conveniently about,
And by the meanest Artist copy'd out.
This done, he sent a Journeyman Sectary,
H' had brought up to retrieve, and fetch, and carry,
To find out one, that had the greatest Practice,
To prune, and bleach the Beards of all Fanatics,
And set their most confus'd Disorders right,
Not by a new Design, but newer Light;
Who us'd to shave the Grandees of their Sticklers,
And crop the Worthies of their Conventiclers;
To whom he shew'd his new-invented Draught,
And told him, how 'twas to be copy'd out.
H' had brought up to retrieve, and fetch, and carry,
To find out one, that had the greatest Practice,
To prune, and bleach the Beards of all Fanatics,
And set their most confus'd Disorders right,
Not by a new Design, but newer Light;
Who us'd to shave the Grandees of their Sticklers,
And crop the Worthies of their Conventiclers;
To whom he shew'd his new-invented Draught,
And told him, how 'twas to be copy'd out.
Quoth he, 'tis but a false, and counterfeit,
And scandalous Device of human Wit,
That's absolutely forbidden in the Scripture,
To make of any carnal thing the Picture.
And scandalous Device of human Wit,
That's absolutely forbidden in the Scripture,
To make of any carnal thing the Picture.
Quoth th' other Saint, you must leave that to us,
T' agree what's lawful, or what scandalous:
For, till it is determin'd by our Vote,
It's either lawful, scandalous, or not;
Which, since we have not yet agreed upon,
Is left indiff'rent to avoid or own.
T' agree what's lawful, or what scandalous:
For, till it is determin'd by our Vote,
It's either lawful, scandalous, or not;
141
Is left indiff'rent to avoid or own.
Quoth he, my Conscience never shall agree
To do it, till I know what 'tis to be;
For, though I use it in a lawful Time,
What, if it after should be made a Crime.
To do it, till I know what 'tis to be;
For, though I use it in a lawful Time,
What, if it after should be made a Crime.
'Tis true, we fought for Liberty of Conscience
'Gainst human Constitutions in our own Sense;
Which I'm resolv'd perpetually t' avow,
And make it lawful, whatsoe'er we do;
Then do your Office with your greatest Skill,
And let th' Event befall us, how it will.
'Gainst human Constitutions in our own Sense;
Which I'm resolv'd perpetually t' avow,
And make it lawful, whatsoe'er we do;
Then do your Office with your greatest Skill,
And let th' Event befall us, how it will.
This said, the nice Barbarian took his Tools,
To prune the Zealot's Tenets, and his Jowles;
Talk'd on as pertinently, as he snipt,
A hundred times for every Hair he clipt;
Until the Beard at length began t' appear,
And reassume its antique Character,
Grew more and more itself, that Art might strive,
And stand in Competition with the Life:
For some have doubted, if 'twere made of Snips
Of Sables glew'd and fitted to his Lips;
And set in such an artificial Frame,
As if it had been wrought in Filograin,
More subtly fil'd and polisht than the Gin,
That Vulcan caught himself a Cuckold in;
That Lachesis, that spins the Threads of Fate,
Could not have drawn it out more delicate.
To prune the Zealot's Tenets, and his Jowles;
Talk'd on as pertinently, as he snipt,
A hundred times for every Hair he clipt;
Until the Beard at length began t' appear,
And reassume its antique Character,
Grew more and more itself, that Art might strive,
And stand in Competition with the Life:
For some have doubted, if 'twere made of Snips
Of Sables glew'd and fitted to his Lips;
And set in such an artificial Frame,
As if it had been wrought in Filograin,
More subtly fil'd and polisht than the Gin,
That Vulcan caught himself a Cuckold in;
That Lachesis, that spins the Threads of Fate,
Could not have drawn it out more delicate.
But b'ing design'd and drawn so regular,
T' a scrup'lous Punctilio of a Hair,
Who cou'd imagine, that it shou'd be portal
To selfish, inward-unconforming Mortal?
And yet it was, and did abominate
The least Compliance in the Church or State;
And from it self did equally dissent,
As from Religion, and the Government.
T' a scrup'lous Punctilio of a Hair,
Who cou'd imagine, that it shou'd be portal
To selfish, inward-unconforming Mortal?
And yet it was, and did abominate
The least Compliance in the Church or State;
And from it self did equally dissent,
As from Religion, and the Government.
142
PROLOGUE TO THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON,
Acted before the Duke of York, Upon his Birth-Day
Sir, while so many Nations strive to payThe Tribute of their Glories to this Day,
That gave them Earnest of so great a Sum
Of Glory (from your future Acts) to come;
And which you have discharg'd at such a rate,
That all succeeding Times must celebrate:
We, that subsist by your bright Influence,
And have no Life, but what we own from thence,
Come humbly to present you, our own way,
With all we have (beside our Hearts) a Play.
But as devoutest Men can pay no more
To Deities, than what they gave before;
We bring you only, what your great Commands
Did rescue for us from ingrossing Hands,
That would have taken out Administration
Of all departed Poets Goods i' th' Nation;
Or, like to Lords of Manors, seiz'd all Plays,
That come within their Reach, as Wefts and Strays;
And claim'd a Forfeiture of all past Wit,
But that your Justice put a stop to it.
'Twas well for us, who else must have been glad
T' admit of all, who now write new, and bad:
For still the wickeder some Authors write,
Others to write worse are encourag'd by't.
And though those fierce Inquisitors of Wit,
The Critics, spare no Flesh, that ever writ;
But just as Tooth-draw'rs find among the Rout
Their own Teeth work in pulling others out;
So they, decrying all of all that write,
Think to erect a Trade of judging by't.
143
By being persecuted multiplies:
But here th' are like to fail of all Pretence;
For he, that writ this Play, is dead long since,
And not within their Pow'r: for Bears are said
To spare those, that lie still, and seem but dead.
144
EPILOGUE Upon the same. To the DUTCHESS.
Madam, the Joys of this great Day are due,No less than to your royal Lord, to you;
And, while three mighty Kingdoms pay your Part,
You have, what's greater than them all, his Heart,
That Heart, that, when it was his Country's Guard,
The Fury of two Elements out-dar'd;
And made a stubborn haughty Enemy
The Terror of his dreadful Conduct fly;
And yet you conquer'd it—and made your Charms
Appear no less victorious, than his Arms:
For which you oft' have triumph'd on this Day,
And many more to come Heav'n grant you may.
But, as great Princes use, in solemn Times
Of Joy, to pardon all, but heinous Crimes;
If we have sin'd, without an ill Intent,
And done below what really we meant,
We humbly ask your Pardon for't, and pray
You would forgive, in Honour of the Day.
145
AN EPISTLE to a FRIEND
A FRAGMENT
This Night we are met at the Globe of PurposeTo Drink, and to write to thy Gentle Corpus;
Where, having got Sack, Pen, Paper, and Inke,
I wish I could write as easy as thinke;
But th' best way of all to put us in,
I think, is with Drinking first to begin.
Here's a Health to thy self, and thy second Part,
The wine's not so neare, as y' are both to my Heart,
And that's not very far of[f], Pardy!
For I feel it warme my Pericardy.
This Night w' intend to sup, and lodge at Kingston,
Where wee shal want a Poet, unles thou bring'st one. [OMITTED]
146
TO THOMAS ------
Thomas, thou art so great a Drunkard,Th' art able to o'relay a Dung-cart.
Thomas thou art all Ale, thy Skin
Hath nothing else but ale therein.
That Scull of thine, instead of Braines,
Is Stuft with half a Peck of Graines,
[Thy] Heart, thy liver, and thy Lungs,
Is made of that, that stoppeth Bungs;
Thou dost not drink at any club
But tun Ale int' another Tub
Which Learned Brewers call a Fat,
And none can say but thou art that;
Thence it Run's out at a Small Tap,
That ha's indured man' a Clap;
But now 'tis safe enough, No whore
Can ever hurt it any more,
Unless she could shoot Pox at distance
A Furlung of[f], for such Resistance
Thy Belly makes—Belly said I?
No, Thomas, I confess I ly.
It was a Belly once, but now
It is a Tun, and like to grow
As mighty, if our hopes it answer,
As that at Heidleburg, thy Grandsire.
147
TRIPLETS UPON AVARICE
As Miners their own Laws Injoyn
To weare no Pockets in the Mine
For feare they should the Oare Purloyn;
To weare no Pockets in the Mine
For feare they should the Oare Purloyn;
So he that Toyles, and Labours hard
To Gaine, and what he Gets has Spard,
Is from the use of all Debard.
To Gaine, and what he Gets has Spard,
Is from the use of all Debard.
And tho he can Produce more Spankers
Than all the usurers, and Bankers,
Yet after more and More he Hankers.
Than all the usurers, and Bankers,
Yet after more and More he Hankers.
And after all his Paines are don
Has nothing he can call his own
But a meare Livelyhood alone.
Has nothing he can call his own
But a meare Livelyhood alone.
148
EPIGRAM ON A CLUB of SOTS
The jolly Members of a toping Club,Like Pipestaves, are but hoop'd into a Tub;
And in a close Confederacy link,
For nothing else, but only to hold Drink.
149
DESCRIPTION OF HOLLAND
A cuntry that Draw[s] fifty foot of Water,In which Men live, as in the Hold of Nature;
And when the Sea dos in upon them break
And Drown a Province, dos but Spring a Leak;
That always Ply the Pump, and never think
They can be Safe, but at the Rate they stink;
That Live as if they had been Run on Ground,
And when they dy, are cast away, and Drownd;
That dwel in Ships, like Swarms of Rats, and Prey
Upon the Goods all Nations Fleets Convey,
And, when their Merchants are Blown up and Crackt,
Whole Towns are cast away in Storms, and wrackt;
That feed like Canibals on other Fishes
And serve their Coussen Germans up in Dishes:
A Land that Rides at Anchor, and is moord,
In which they do not live, but go abourd.
| Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose | |