Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
 | I. | [Part I.] |
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| II. |
| III. |
 | Streams from Helicon |  |
1
I. [Part I.]
BEAUTY IN DISTRESS.
The radiant Sun, had ta'en his pompous March,
Thro' twice two Houses, of th'ætherial Arch;
Driv'n to the Tropick his triumphant Car,
View'd Scythia's hot and bloody Scenes of War.
Now wheeling's Chariot in the spangled Path,
He puffs at Leo, with his hottest Breath:
Scouring with Speed, thro' this fifth Northern Sign,
He hastes against his Day to make the Line.
In his swift Course, both Light and Heat divides,
Thus from's high Solstice to th'Æquator rides,
Where, th'Ascii lose their Shadows in his Rays,
Melt with the Heat of his Meridian Blaze;
Where's glowing Pencil, limns the Æthiop Black,
And Drought and Heat in their full Vigour act:
This Torrid Zone, is all a burning Coal,
Tho' still they freeze, whose Zenith is the Pole.
His Beams wou'd quickly burn the parched Grains,
Did not the Ev'ning Dews refresh the Plains,
And Noon-day Vapours turn to Mid-night Rains:
Earth's kindly Surface ope's her cooling Poers;
Clear pearly Drops, sit on the Tops o' Flow'rs;
And rising Morn regal with healthful Showrs.
Thro' twice two Houses, of th'ætherial Arch;
Driv'n to the Tropick his triumphant Car,
View'd Scythia's hot and bloody Scenes of War.
Now wheeling's Chariot in the spangled Path,
He puffs at Leo, with his hottest Breath:
Scouring with Speed, thro' this fifth Northern Sign,
He hastes against his Day to make the Line.
In his swift Course, both Light and Heat divides,
Thus from's high Solstice to th'Æquator rides,
Where, th'Ascii lose their Shadows in his Rays,
Melt with the Heat of his Meridian Blaze;
Where's glowing Pencil, limns the Æthiop Black,
And Drought and Heat in their full Vigour act:
This Torrid Zone, is all a burning Coal,
Tho' still they freeze, whose Zenith is the Pole.
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Did not the Ev'ning Dews refresh the Plains,
And Noon-day Vapours turn to Mid-night Rains:
Earth's kindly Surface ope's her cooling Poers;
Clear pearly Drops, sit on the Tops o' Flow'rs;
And rising Morn regal with healthful Showrs.
Sol's burning Wheels a hot Mid-Summer made,
Swains leave the sunny Braes, for milder Shade;
Soft Nymphs, to flow'ry Arbours, do repair
To be refresh'd, with fanning Zephyres there:
In crystal Streams, they sport the hotter Hours,
Whose gaudy Borders smell of Gilly-Flowers:
Swains leave the sunny Braes, for milder Shade;
Soft Nymphs, to flow'ry Arbours, do repair
To be refresh'd, with fanning Zephyres there:
In crystal Streams, they sport the hotter Hours,
Whose gaudy Borders smell of Gilly-Flowers:
'Twas July in her Pride, when th'Earth looks gay,
More sanguine grow'n than in her youthful May,
To golden fin'ry chang'd her silver Gray.
Her Azure Robes and ruddy Cheeks appear;
The sweetest laughing Month in all the Year:
Nature exerts her utmost at this Time;
Her Youth's run off, and she is in her Prime.
More sanguine grow'n than in her youthful May,
To golden fin'ry chang'd her silver Gray.
Her Azure Robes and ruddy Cheeks appear;
The sweetest laughing Month in all the Year:
Nature exerts her utmost at this Time;
Her Youth's run off, and she is in her Prime.
Hyperions Daughter with her rosy Feet,
Eight Hours and more, had made her dark Retreat
To Titan's watry Couch, where Sea-Gods are,
Usher'd by Lucifer, the Morning-Star.
Long had her Brother Titan burry'd Night,
The Welkin cloathed with Meridian Light;
When bussy Mortals to the Fields resort;
Some to their Labours, others to their Sport.
In Woods are heard the mournful Lovers Cries;
At fair Corrinna's Feet her Damon lies
Off'ring fresh Vows, sent up with ardent Sighs.
Strephon with Nosegays complimenss his Phillis:
Didon in Madrigals his Amaryllis.
Adonis in a Grove t'express his Flame,
Engraves upon a Beech his fair Nymphs Name,
Four magick Letters carves upo' the Tree,
Cloe the Name he gives the charming She:
He thinks each Letter mystery contains,
Such is the Phrensie of the Love-sick Swains:
To make the Draught complete he adds an Heart;
And little Cupid peircing 'twith his Dart.
Eight Hours and more, had made her dark Retreat
To Titan's watry Couch, where Sea-Gods are,
Usher'd by Lucifer, the Morning-Star.
Long had her Brother Titan burry'd Night,
The Welkin cloathed with Meridian Light;
When bussy Mortals to the Fields resort;
Some to their Labours, others to their Sport.
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At fair Corrinna's Feet her Damon lies
Off'ring fresh Vows, sent up with ardent Sighs.
Strephon with Nosegays complimenss his Phillis:
Didon in Madrigals his Amaryllis.
Adonis in a Grove t'express his Flame,
Engraves upon a Beech his fair Nymphs Name,
Four magick Letters carves upo' the Tree,
Cloe the Name he gives the charming She:
He thinks each Letter mystery contains,
Such is the Phrensie of the Love-sick Swains:
To make the Draught complete he adds an Heart;
And little Cupid peircing 'twith his Dart.
Beneath the Hawthorn Hedge, glader than Kings,
The merry Stroller with his Doxie sings:
With artless Notes, like Chanticlere they crow,
The Song concludes, A begging we will go.
The merry Stroller with his Doxie sings:
With artless Notes, like Chanticlere they crow,
The Song concludes, A begging we will go.
In new shav'd Meadows, all the heat of Day,
Young John and Jenny, wrestle 'mong the Hay
With mutual Pastime, spend their lazy Hours;
She falls beneath him on a Bed o' Flow'rs.
In warm Embraces sinks 'mongst nat'ral Sweets;
A Bed beyond the Down, with Holland Sheets
They tug, and toy, and guzzle; O! they're glad!
She clasps the trim, the yellow-headed Lad.
He tickling, tempts her to the unblest Feast:
Jenny dare not comply, she minds the Priest.
At length, by rude Intruders they are seen;
Jenny scours off, and wants her Gown o' Green.
Then he pursues the Lass he late embrac'd,
Stretching his Arms, to grasp her round the Wast
She gives the Slip; he tumbles down for hast.
A wither'd toothless Hag stands looking on,
Who lov'd the Sport herself, crys, Till her, John:
He jumps to's Feet, and takes a nimbler Race;
Jenny loves to be catched in the Chase.
Holding her fast, he throws her on the Grass,
Lies down himself, and courts his buxom Lass:
Glutting his Eyes with gazing on her Charms,
They chat, and fall asleep in others Arms.
Lyrus lies near the Brook, 'mongst Rows of Ews;
The rhiming Bard their rustick Dalliance views,
Thinks it a proper Subject for his Muse.
Young John and Jenny, wrestle 'mong the Hay
With mutual Pastime, spend their lazy Hours;
She falls beneath him on a Bed o' Flow'rs.
In warm Embraces sinks 'mongst nat'ral Sweets;
A Bed beyond the Down, with Holland Sheets
They tug, and toy, and guzzle; O! they're glad!
She clasps the trim, the yellow-headed Lad.
He tickling, tempts her to the unblest Feast:
Jenny dare not comply, she minds the Priest.
At length, by rude Intruders they are seen;
Jenny scours off, and wants her Gown o' Green.
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Stretching his Arms, to grasp her round the Wast
She gives the Slip; he tumbles down for hast.
A wither'd toothless Hag stands looking on,
Who lov'd the Sport herself, crys, Till her, John:
He jumps to's Feet, and takes a nimbler Race;
Jenny loves to be catched in the Chase.
Holding her fast, he throws her on the Grass,
Lies down himself, and courts his buxom Lass:
Glutting his Eyes with gazing on her Charms,
They chat, and fall asleep in others Arms.
Lyrus lies near the Brook, 'mongst Rows of Ews;
The rhiming Bard their rustick Dalliance views,
Thinks it a proper Subject for his Muse.
SONG.
At the Root of the green Willow,Grassy Banks their Couch and Pillow,
John and Jenny lay:
In her Bosom,
He'll repose him,
Tir'd with Sport and Play.
Her plump Arms are round her Jewel;
Can so fair a Nymph be cruel,
To a Lad so gay?
Her Breasts are white like Lilly Leaves,
Her Lips like Roses red;
Her Breath a sweeter Perfume gives,
Than e'er Dianas did, &c.
5
(When Gods descend none blyther are than they:)
This Paphian God takes many a phrentick Fit,
So thick his Arrows fly, so sure they hit;
They wound the Fops, and Fools, and Men o' Wit.
He'll arbitrary Government display;
Ev'n o'er the Men of Morals will he sway:
For Beaux and Belles, do easily obey.
There's one wrap'd up in Thought, walkes all alone,
Studying how many Ways to slice a Cone;
Peeping thro' Glasses, to himself he Swears,
That Saturn's Motion, a resemblance bears
Unto the Curve, that he had lately drawn,
And on the truth thereof, his Life he'd pawn:
Call'd Ptolemy a Fool, and Tycho mad,
And with him, all the rest were ev'n as bad.
Runs thro' a tedious Scheme, and he can prove,
That all the Planets in Ellipseis move:
For Nature must have fram'd and made it so,
Else Gods themselves, did not Equations know.
Cupid enrag'd, when sawcy Mr. Euclid,
As if the Gods had never ope'd a Book lid,
Arraign'd cœlestial Pow'rs with Want of Knowledge,
(Should Gods descend, and pass their Course at College;
Have all the Whimseys taught them of this droll Age)
Lets fly his Arrows at the Math'matician;
Makes Wounds cannot be cur'd by learn'd Physician:
He soon forgets the Heavens, where his Trade is,
And quickly falls to courting of the Ladies:
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Such is the fatal Government of Cupid;
And gazes on each Face whose under Part is hooped.
But tush, says th'Urchine, where's the gain to wound
An Addle-pate, whose Brains before turn'd round,
No Man by this can know right what my Pow'r is;
I'll try the Doctors utriusque juris.
Grave Aulus and Prioli he inspires,
Tho chil'd with Age, they're scroch'd with vi'lent Fires:
Magnetick Love, doth the old Judges draw
From musty Books, and noding o'er the Law.
They're Lovers grown, obey the Paphian God;
Read new Romances, and forget the Code:
Collect Loves Ditties, to compose an Ode.
Seek out for Numbers, beautiful and strong;
Susanna, is the Burthen of the Song.
In vain for Justice, Client Mævius cries,
Whose Process still, at Avisandum lies:
Prioli says, I find your Libel's lame,
It wants,—stay,—let me see,—Susanna's Name;
I'll write Acrosticks on't, and Anagrams;
Engrave them deeply on the tallest Palms.
Susanna, all the Female-Sex excells;
Her Breath, like the Hesperian Garden smells.
Confounded Mævius, star'd him in the Face:
Says, O! my Lord! you quite mistake my Case!
For my Defendant's Name's Elisabeth:
I want her Gold, my Lord, and not her Breath.
Prioli was asham'd, and quickly said,
Have patience, Sir, To-morrow I'll decide;
Excuse my wand'rings, I'll consider't better;
I think at present on a higher Matter.
Mævius gave short Salutes, and took the Door,
Damning Susanna for a common Whore.
Love makes the Judge a Fool, says he, He's mad:
His Head is turn'd to Balls, and Serenad.
More pitiable Case, Man never saw;
Prioli plagu'd with Love, Mæv'us with Law.
Tho chil'd with Age, they're scroch'd with vi'lent Fires:
Magnetick Love, doth the old Judges draw
From musty Books, and noding o'er the Law.
They're Lovers grown, obey the Paphian God;
Read new Romances, and forget the Code:
Collect Loves Ditties, to compose an Ode.
Seek out for Numbers, beautiful and strong;
Susanna, is the Burthen of the Song.
In vain for Justice, Client Mævius cries,
Whose Process still, at Avisandum lies:
Prioli says, I find your Libel's lame,
It wants,—stay,—let me see,—Susanna's Name;
I'll write Acrosticks on't, and Anagrams;
Engrave them deeply on the tallest Palms.
Susanna, all the Female-Sex excells;
Her Breath, like the Hesperian Garden smells.
Confounded Mævius, star'd him in the Face:
Says, O! my Lord! you quite mistake my Case!
For my Defendant's Name's Elisabeth:
I want her Gold, my Lord, and not her Breath.
Prioli was asham'd, and quickly said,
Have patience, Sir, To-morrow I'll decide;
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I think at present on a higher Matter.
Mævius gave short Salutes, and took the Door,
Damning Susanna for a common Whore.
Love makes the Judge a Fool, says he, He's mad:
His Head is turn'd to Balls, and Serenad.
More pitiable Case, Man never saw;
Prioli plagu'd with Love, Mæv'us with Law.
'Tis true, the Women, greatest Heroes sway;
They Solomon the Wise did lead astray:
In a Love-passion, ev'n the Stagyrite
Gave way to Nature, banish'd Reason quite.
Seneca's Morals, weak Barriers did prove;
For he was banish'd for adult'rous Love.
The Cynick his Morseness did neglect,
Laugh'd at the sullen Maxims of his Sect.
They Solomon the Wise did lead astray:
In a Love-passion, ev'n the Stagyrite
Gave way to Nature, banish'd Reason quite.
Seneca's Morals, weak Barriers did prove;
For he was banish'd for adult'rous Love.
The Cynick his Morseness did neglect,
Laugh'd at the sullen Maxims of his Sect.
So here, Don Quixot, that renowned Knight,
When he, and Sancho, with Wind-Mills did fight,
Was not by half so gross a Bedlamite,
As was our Judge; Her Eyes, her ev'ry Part,
Says he, was made to furnish Cupid's Dart:
Vanquish'd by her, it is my Glory sure;
O! She's too good to wound, and not to cure!
Love is the noblest Passion of the Souls;
Stronger than Laws, doth strictest Rules controul!
It baffles all the churlish Stoick's Art,
And finds a Way unto the wisest Heart!
Nor Bombs, nor Cannons, kill like Womens Eyes:
It's Beauty gains the greatest Victories!
Beauty can make the noblest. Victor yield;
It conquers these who conquer in the Field:
Come Brother Aulus, since we are in Love,
We'll hate the simple Innocence o'th' Dove;
Like the old Serpent, subtile be and wise,
Seduce the Beauty, in her Paradise.
When he, and Sancho, with Wind-Mills did fight,
Was not by half so gross a Bedlamite,
As was our Judge; Her Eyes, her ev'ry Part,
Says he, was made to furnish Cupid's Dart:
Vanquish'd by her, it is my Glory sure;
O! She's too good to wound, and not to cure!
Love is the noblest Passion of the Souls;
Stronger than Laws, doth strictest Rules controul!
It baffles all the churlish Stoick's Art,
And finds a Way unto the wisest Heart!
Nor Bombs, nor Cannons, kill like Womens Eyes:
It's Beauty gains the greatest Victories!
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It conquers these who conquer in the Field:
Come Brother Aulus, since we are in Love,
We'll hate the simple Innocence o'th' Dove;
Like the old Serpent, subtile be and wise,
Seduce the Beauty, in her Paradise.
Incog, the aged Lover's nimbly go;
Impetuous Love with Strength supplies the Slow:
Scroch'd with the Sun, and Loves superiour Heat,
They breathless run; yet curse their tardy Feet.
Scramble o'er Ditches, and the Garden-Wall,
With Lovers hast, down in a Pool they fall:
Poor dabbled Aulus, swat'ring thro' the Pond,
Says, I was burn'd before, but now I'm drown'd.
Prioli wish'd he'd never seen a Woman,
Takes this Disaster for a fatal Omen;
A sure Presage that moe Malheurs are coming:
Am'rous Leander, was not more afraid
Swimming the Hellespont, to his fair Maid.
Impetuous Love with Strength supplies the Slow:
Scroch'd with the Sun, and Loves superiour Heat,
They breathless run; yet curse their tardy Feet.
Scramble o'er Ditches, and the Garden-Wall,
With Lovers hast, down in a Pool they fall:
Poor dabbled Aulus, swat'ring thro' the Pond,
Says, I was burn'd before, but now I'm drown'd.
Prioli wish'd he'd never seen a Woman,
Takes this Disaster for a fatal Omen;
A sure Presage that moe Malheurs are coming:
Am'rous Leander, was not more afraid
Swimming the Hellespont, to his fair Maid.
Conceal'd from Light, the aged Lovers lay,
Skreen'd by the Shade of Oaks, more old than they:
Here's Eden, Aulus says, the Serpent we;
My dear Susanna, the forbidden Tree.
The fairest Plants which in the Garden grows,
These nat'ral Wilds, and artificial Shows
I loath; they seem to me the Works of Chance:
But she can kindle Darkness with a Glance,
Her Face too bright; for Sense, like Heav'n doth intrance.
Skreen'd by the Shade of Oaks, more old than they:
Here's Eden, Aulus says, the Serpent we;
My dear Susanna, the forbidden Tree.
The fairest Plants which in the Garden grows,
These nat'ral Wilds, and artificial Shows
I loath; they seem to me the Works of Chance:
But she can kindle Darkness with a Glance,
Her Face too bright; for Sense, like Heav'n doth intrance.
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Two gentle Nymphs attend the lovely Dame;
Not in her killing Dress, altho 'twas Noon,
Loosely attir'd, she's wrapt in Morning-Gown:
A thousand Cupids dance around the Belle,
Her ev'ry Look, and ev'ry Smiles a Spell.
Faint with inclement Air, and scorching Beams,
Susanna hasts to bath in cooling Streams;
With all the Air that Nature can bestow,
The charming Fair doth to her Orchard go:
Her Presence adds new Luster to the Place,
Decaying Plants rise up with fresher Grace;
And new fall'n Leaves resume a Summers Face.
Jes'mine, and prideful Tulips deck her Path;
Diffuse their Smells sweet, as her perfum'd Breath.
Fond by the Fair Susanna to be trod,
Lillies and Damask-Roses pave the Road;
With spicy Robes the shady Groves do smell;
From Thickets where the sweet-tongu'd Bird do dwell,
Echo repeats the Notes of Philomel.
Mavis and Lark, with Musick round her throng,
Whil'st Valley's lowly Voice return the Song;
And wanton Zephyres, on her Lips do play,
Steal with their Wings th'ambrosial Breath away:
Rich Treasure which can cool the Summers Heat,
Make sultry Air and scroching Noon smell sweet.
Susanna hasts to bath in cooling Streams;
With all the Air that Nature can bestow,
The charming Fair doth to her Orchard go:
Her Presence adds new Luster to the Place,
Decaying Plants rise up with fresher Grace;
And new fall'n Leaves resume a Summers Face.
Jes'mine, and prideful Tulips deck her Path;
Diffuse their Smells sweet, as her perfum'd Breath.
Fond by the Fair Susanna to be trod,
Lillies and Damask-Roses pave the Road;
With spicy Robes the shady Groves do smell;
From Thickets where the sweet-tongu'd Bird do dwell,
Echo repeats the Notes of Philomel.
Mavis and Lark, with Musick round her throng,
Whil'st Valley's lowly Voice return the Song;
And wanton Zephyres, on her Lips do play,
Steal with their Wings th'ambrosial Breath away:
Rich Treasure which can cool the Summers Heat,
Make sultry Air and scroching Noon smell sweet.
Phenix, Arabia's Bird, with Grief's oppress'd,
To see another Phenix in the East
Of orient Colour, beautiful and young,
Admiring from whose Ashes she is sprung:
Proud Bird, she'd gladly leave the spicy East,
And all her Citron Groves for her warm Breast,
Fittest of all, to be a Phenix-Nest.
To see another Phenix in the East
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Admiring from whose Ashes she is sprung:
Proud Bird, she'd gladly leave the spicy East,
And all her Citron Groves for her warm Breast,
Fittest of all, to be a Phenix-Nest.
Jupiter saw her, take the blessful Bow'r,
And did design another golden Show'r,
More tempting than Alc'mena to a Rape,
He'd quit his Heav'n to lie in Susan's Lap.
Knowing 'twas vain t'assume the Shape of Man;
Sometimes he thought once more t'inform a Swan:
Sport in Susanna's Arms, gaze on her Eyes;
Mix with her lovely Limbs, and Iv'ry Thighs,
Swim in her Bosom, 'bove the golden Sands;
Steal silent Kisses from her Lips and Hands;
Work Wonders: 'Till at last he warm the Stream,
Move her to listen to the pleasant Theme:
And when he's charm'd her with his Tales of Love;
How dazling Beauty drew him from above:
He'll drop his Feathers and commence a Jove.
And did design another golden Show'r,
More tempting than Alc'mena to a Rape,
He'd quit his Heav'n to lie in Susan's Lap.
Knowing 'twas vain t'assume the Shape of Man;
Sometimes he thought once more t'inform a Swan:
Sport in Susanna's Arms, gaze on her Eyes;
Mix with her lovely Limbs, and Iv'ry Thighs,
Swim in her Bosom, 'bove the golden Sands;
Steal silent Kisses from her Lips and Hands;
Work Wonders: 'Till at last he warm the Stream,
Move her to listen to the pleasant Theme:
And when he's charm'd her with his Tales of Love;
How dazling Beauty drew him from above:
He'll drop his Feathers and commence a Jove.
As much as Lillies, Hemlocks do surpass
Flowr's in their vernal Airs, the wither'd Grass;
Or fiery Courser, the dull scouling Ass.
Low bending Vines loaden with sacred Juce,
The humble Osier, or the Bramble Bush;
As much as Hero, the fam'd Sestian Nun
Outshin'd the Æthiop, taunny'd with the Son,
Above her Sex, doth fair Susanna shine;
Adorn'd with Virtue and with Charms divine.
Her Hair of yellow Cast, curles at her Ear;
Her Fore-head smooth and white, Eyes black and clear:
Bright burning Lamps, which rays like Phœbus Dart,
Rays which cou'd fire the coldest Hermite's Heart:
Stars from their lucent Orbs, in frosty Night
Glance not like these; faint is their trembling Light.
Ears short and round, but high and hook'd her Nose;
Which still with sweet and pow'rful Odours blows;
Her Cheeks are Crimson, like the blushing Rose.
Lips thin and red, and dimpled is her Chin;
Whiter than Flakes of Snow, her Teeth and Skin.
Her fragrant Breath smells like the flow'ry Spring;
To kiss her Month were banquet for a King.
Her Voice is sweeter Musick than the Flute;
To hear her sing, you'd wish the Syrens mute.
Her well turn'd Neck rich Beauties doth contain;
The Blood runs smiling through the azure Vein:
That crimson Blood is prouder of her Veins,
Than is Euphrates of its flow'ry Plains.
Her Charms the rigid Stagyrite could move;
A look of her wou'd spoil platonick Love.
Flowr's in their vernal Airs, the wither'd Grass;
Or fiery Courser, the dull scouling Ass.
Low bending Vines loaden with sacred Juce,
The humble Osier, or the Bramble Bush;
As much as Hero, the fam'd Sestian Nun
Outshin'd the Æthiop, taunny'd with the Son,
Above her Sex, doth fair Susanna shine;
Adorn'd with Virtue and with Charms divine.
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Her Fore-head smooth and white, Eyes black and clear:
Bright burning Lamps, which rays like Phœbus Dart,
Rays which cou'd fire the coldest Hermite's Heart:
Stars from their lucent Orbs, in frosty Night
Glance not like these; faint is their trembling Light.
Ears short and round, but high and hook'd her Nose;
Which still with sweet and pow'rful Odours blows;
Her Cheeks are Crimson, like the blushing Rose.
Lips thin and red, and dimpled is her Chin;
Whiter than Flakes of Snow, her Teeth and Skin.
Her fragrant Breath smells like the flow'ry Spring;
To kiss her Month were banquet for a King.
Her Voice is sweeter Musick than the Flute;
To hear her sing, you'd wish the Syrens mute.
Her well turn'd Neck rich Beauties doth contain;
The Blood runs smiling through the azure Vein:
That crimson Blood is prouder of her Veins,
Than is Euphrates of its flow'ry Plains.
Her Charms the rigid Stagyrite could move;
A look of her wou'd spoil platonick Love.
Betty, she says, run back, and bring these Sweets,
The Balls and Oil, perfum'd my nuptial Sheets:
They near the Patch-box, on the Toilet ly;
Go with her little Vennie, prithee fly.
The Balls and Oil, perfum'd my nuptial Sheets:
They near the Patch-box, on the Toilet ly;
Go with her little Vennie, prithee fly.
Upon a mossy Bank the Beauty lay,
Her Vail thrown off, did half an Heav'n display;
The Beauty of her Face eclips'd the Splendour of the Day.
Her golden Tresses eddy Winds do blow,
In careless Ringlets round her Shoulders flow,
Arch Cupid steals them for to fledge his Bow.
From off her Iv'ry Arms he pulls the Glove,
Her Arms the killing Implements of Love;
Whiter than Paros Rocks they'd charm a Jove.
The Wimple next, which round her Neck she wears
Throws by, and her warm rising Breast appears:
There Cupid reigns in his Imperial Chair,
'Mongst Arrows, Darts, and Flames of Paphian Fire,
She gazes on the Brook, which does reflect,
The stately Structure of her lofty Neck.
Her long white Arm descends, pulls of the Shoes,
Which hid the well turn'd Foot, and handsom Toes;
From th'Empyreum Jove stoops down to see
The lovely Object, Beauty cap-a-pe.
The Fair proceeds, and now the Garter's drawn,
The Petticoat turn'd up above the Brawn,
A lovely Landskip opens to the Eye;
There little Cupid's Paradise doth ly.
But stop licentious Muse, no further go;
Beauty hath Secrets which we must not know.
The Painter draws Dianna to the Wast;
Dashes the Canvass, and conceals the Rest.
She views her Image in the liquid Wave,
Fair as in Paradise, the new form'd Eve,
Whom GOD transplanted from Adamah's Side;
The crooked Rib, turn'd to a beauteous Bride.
She takes the Flute, her Song is divine Love,
The dorick Musick consecrates the Grove;
Transporting Lyricks fill the divine Ode,
Such Notes hath Gabriel, warbling Hymns to GOD;
A Song of Zion, for Elysium fit,
A Song like these, the inspired Prophet wrot:
Who touch'd the Strings when Saul was sore oppress'd,
Banish'd the sullen Dæmon from his Breast.
The mallad Swan and Langa, round her throng,
List'ning unto the instrumental Song,
Melodious, like the Musick of her Tongue:
She sings to heav'nly Quires; the Anthem flew,
Such Musick Nicolini never knew:
The Chorus was,
Her Vail thrown off, did half an Heav'n display;
The Beauty of her Face eclips'd the Splendour of the Day.
12
In careless Ringlets round her Shoulders flow,
Arch Cupid steals them for to fledge his Bow.
From off her Iv'ry Arms he pulls the Glove,
Her Arms the killing Implements of Love;
Whiter than Paros Rocks they'd charm a Jove.
The Wimple next, which round her Neck she wears
Throws by, and her warm rising Breast appears:
There Cupid reigns in his Imperial Chair,
'Mongst Arrows, Darts, and Flames of Paphian Fire,
She gazes on the Brook, which does reflect,
The stately Structure of her lofty Neck.
Her long white Arm descends, pulls of the Shoes,
Which hid the well turn'd Foot, and handsom Toes;
From th'Empyreum Jove stoops down to see
The lovely Object, Beauty cap-a-pe.
The Fair proceeds, and now the Garter's drawn,
The Petticoat turn'd up above the Brawn,
A lovely Landskip opens to the Eye;
There little Cupid's Paradise doth ly.
But stop licentious Muse, no further go;
Beauty hath Secrets which we must not know.
The Painter draws Dianna to the Wast;
Dashes the Canvass, and conceals the Rest.
She views her Image in the liquid Wave,
Fair as in Paradise, the new form'd Eve,
Whom GOD transplanted from Adamah's Side;
The crooked Rib, turn'd to a beauteous Bride.
She takes the Flute, her Song is divine Love,
The dorick Musick consecrates the Grove;
13
Such Notes hath Gabriel, warbling Hymns to GOD;
A Song of Zion, for Elysium fit,
A Song like these, the inspired Prophet wrot:
Who touch'd the Strings when Saul was sore oppress'd,
Banish'd the sullen Dæmon from his Breast.
The mallad Swan and Langa, round her throng,
List'ning unto the instrumental Song,
Melodious, like the Musick of her Tongue:
She sings to heav'nly Quires; the Anthem flew,
Such Musick Nicolini never knew:
The Chorus was,
Heav'n always guards the Fair,
Beauty's always Heave'ns Care.
Beauty's always Heave'ns Care.
Boiling with Lust, the Senators prepare
To rifle all the Sweetness of the Fair;
They from their Ambush rush, with youthful Rage,
A full Enjoyment must their Flames asswage:
Sometime they speechless stood, then Silence broke;
With rev'rend Cringes, thus Prioli spoke,
To rifle all the Sweetness of the Fair;
They from their Ambush rush, with youthful Rage,
A full Enjoyment must their Flames asswage:
Sometime they speechless stood, then Silence broke;
With rev'rend Cringes, thus Prioli spoke,
“Immortal Beauty! Heav'ns Master-Piece!
“All Majesty! Thy Shape! Thy Angels Face!
“Which all Men do adore, and they admire,
“Hath kindled in our Breasts Idalian Fire.
“We burn, we burn, with Love, with Love to you,
“O! Seraph's Figure, at they Feet we bow!
“We feel your Pow'r Divine; 'tis therefore Duty,
“T'approach and bow before the Shrine of Beauty.
“Your Bosom is all Bliss, a Heav'n of Rest,
“Yet raises Storms and Tempests in our Breast,
“On bended Knees we'll die upon the Ground,
“Unless that you who gave, do cure the Wound:
“All Natures Excellence centers in you,
“Thy Match She ne'er in all her Dramma drew:
“Like Sol's superior Light, you was design'd
“To warm our Orb, and shine upon Mankind.
“When we gaze on the Sun in's beauteous Pride,
“Like you, he doth not blush and hide his Heed;
“No, he returns love Looks, obliging Kind,
“Free, unlike yours, like yours they strike us blind;
“No Eye beholds us in the lonely Grove,
“The Favour grant, and yield to conquering Love.
“Impatient of Delay,
“I'll on thy panting blooming Bosom ly,
“And bath my Lips in Kisses till I dy.
“All Majesty! Thy Shape! Thy Angels Face!
“Which all Men do adore, and they admire,
“Hath kindled in our Breasts Idalian Fire.
“We burn, we burn, with Love, with Love to you,
“O! Seraph's Figure, at they Feet we bow!
“We feel your Pow'r Divine; 'tis therefore Duty,
“T'approach and bow before the Shrine of Beauty.
14
“Yet raises Storms and Tempests in our Breast,
“On bended Knees we'll die upon the Ground,
“Unless that you who gave, do cure the Wound:
“All Natures Excellence centers in you,
“Thy Match She ne'er in all her Dramma drew:
“Like Sol's superior Light, you was design'd
“To warm our Orb, and shine upon Mankind.
“When we gaze on the Sun in's beauteous Pride,
“Like you, he doth not blush and hide his Heed;
“No, he returns love Looks, obliging Kind,
“Free, unlike yours, like yours they strike us blind;
“No Eye beholds us in the lonely Grove,
“The Favour grant, and yield to conquering Love.
“Impatient of Delay,
“I'll on thy panting blooming Bosom ly,
“And bath my Lips in Kisses till I dy.
Like Niobe, all Tears Susanna stood,
Confusion seiz'd her Soul, and chill'd her Blood:
Pale dying Looks, her Agonies declare,
Horrour, and all the Symptomes of Despair,
She wounds her throbing Breast, tears her dishevel'd Hair
Ah, have I Pow'r to speak Susanna cries!
And Beauty blubbers from her modest Eyes;
I'm mad, has that no Force; O pitty me!
Rip up my Breast, and end my Misery:
Severe is your Demand, I'll ne'er comply,
Soften your Cruelty or else I dy.
Fast from her Cheeks, the blushing Roses flew,
And pale Revenge sat brooding on her Brow:
“Dear Husband come, she says, thou'rt only mine,
“Shall I surrender up what's only thine?
“Just Heav'n, the constant Friend of Innocence,
“Exert resistless Pow'r in my Defence:
“Against their guilty Heads thy Thunder play,
“These Criminals let thy Artil'ry slay:
“Your Arrows shoot, nor draw your Bow in vain;
“Let me behold these crim'nal Judges slain.
“Shall thy loud roaring Cannons of the Sky,
“Thy Implements of War, ly idly by?
“Sulph'rous Light'ning flash around their Head;
“Ye Thunders roll, and strick the Rascals Dead:
“I roave, all Sense is gone, I'll fly-away,
“Or, turn and tear the Villains if I stay.
“Stronger than I, a Jest, it can't be true;
“What cannot Innocence, when join'd with Madness do?
“The Doors are shut, I'll face th'audacious Foe,
“Lift my weak Arm, and Heav'n will lend the Blow;
“To whom I've sent warm Prayers with ardent Cries,
“By th'Ev'ning and the Morning Sacrifice:
“Their Vot'rie's Limbs have cripl'd been with Prayer,
“My Heart and Heav'ns pure Law, my constant Care.
“My Virgin Vows have reach'd GOD's bending Ear,
“Daily Auditor of my Wedlock Prayer.
“Shall I my dear Deliverer distrust,
“Who in the darkest Dangers save the Just?
“Upon his naked Promise I'll rely;
“He's God of Truth, sure Truth it self can't lie.
Confusion seiz'd her Soul, and chill'd her Blood:
Pale dying Looks, her Agonies declare,
Horrour, and all the Symptomes of Despair,
She wounds her throbing Breast, tears her dishevel'd Hair
Ah, have I Pow'r to speak Susanna cries!
And Beauty blubbers from her modest Eyes;
I'm mad, has that no Force; O pitty me!
Rip up my Breast, and end my Misery:
Severe is your Demand, I'll ne'er comply,
Soften your Cruelty or else I dy.
15
And pale Revenge sat brooding on her Brow:
“Dear Husband come, she says, thou'rt only mine,
“Shall I surrender up what's only thine?
“Just Heav'n, the constant Friend of Innocence,
“Exert resistless Pow'r in my Defence:
“Against their guilty Heads thy Thunder play,
“These Criminals let thy Artil'ry slay:
“Your Arrows shoot, nor draw your Bow in vain;
“Let me behold these crim'nal Judges slain.
“Shall thy loud roaring Cannons of the Sky,
“Thy Implements of War, ly idly by?
“Sulph'rous Light'ning flash around their Head;
“Ye Thunders roll, and strick the Rascals Dead:
“I roave, all Sense is gone, I'll fly-away,
“Or, turn and tear the Villains if I stay.
“Stronger than I, a Jest, it can't be true;
“What cannot Innocence, when join'd with Madness do?
“The Doors are shut, I'll face th'audacious Foe,
“Lift my weak Arm, and Heav'n will lend the Blow;
“To whom I've sent warm Prayers with ardent Cries,
“By th'Ev'ning and the Morning Sacrifice:
“Their Vot'rie's Limbs have cripl'd been with Prayer,
“My Heart and Heav'ns pure Law, my constant Care.
“My Virgin Vows have reach'd GOD's bending Ear,
“Daily Auditor of my Wedlock Prayer.
“Shall I my dear Deliverer distrust,
“Who in the darkest Dangers save the Just?
“Upon his naked Promise I'll rely;
“He's God of Truth, sure Truth it self can't lie.
16
“Springing with fresh Delights, O don't prove Coy;
“Shake off these Qualms of Conscience, childish Fears,
“The Jaundice of the Mind young Childrens Bugbears;
“We frighten Fools with puny Conscience,
“A Story ne're believ'd by Men of Sense;
“Tho' they concur to carry on the Cheat,
“Bogle the Vulgar from the Gentries Meat.
“Freedom being each Man's Birth-Right is the Cause,
“We bridle Nature by our penal Laws:
“The Dreg we allow, a single Dish for Food;
“Varieties reserv'd to Men of Blood.
“For Proof I shall a Royal Instance bring,
“David a learn'd and religious King,
“From his exalted Roof, beheld the Fair,
“(Surely his Tut'lar Angel led him there,)
“Bathsheba bathing in the Brook below;
“(A naked Beauty is a glorious Show,)
“Viewing her Limbs, and all beneath the Wast,
“He run, and almost broke his Neck for hast:
“Commands the Watch to bring her Pris'ner in,
“The Royal Prince, commits the Royal Sin.
“The naked Bride climbs to Imperial State,
“And from that Hour became a Prince's Mate.
“'Tis true a peevish Priest rebuk'd him for't;
“'Twas well he came not soon, he'd spoil'd the Sport.
“David made Faces, Whines; but when he's gone,
“Kisses the Mother of his Solomon.
“Why is a lying Pow'r to Priesthood given,
“They scar with Hell, till to Despair we're driv'n;
“Then lull asleep with pleasant Dreams of Heav'n.
17
“The late invented Names of Virtue, Vice.
“The well-bred Man a Life of Pleasure lives,
“Freely enjoys what lavish Nature gives;
“Ranges without controul, and laughs at Fools
“Ty'd up to dull ecclesiastick Rules,
“Phlegmatick Gibbrish of the canting Schools:
“Religion's just a Bugbear like the Law,
“A State Engine, to keep the World in Aw.
“Tho petty Lords, with Gravity of Pride,
“And furly Looks their Vassals do diride;
“The Royal Sov'reign smiles on ev'ry Face,
“Receives their Homage with a God-like Grace:
“Subord'nate Judges, Prince's common Tools,
“Punish each Thing against establish'd Rules;
“But clement Princes whom no Fear doth Aw,
“Boldly contemn the Terrors of the Law.
“Madam, despise dull Tales of Innocence,
“That flows from Rudeness and a Want of Sense:
“The Greatness and the Beauty of the Mind,
“Appears in Things that's gentle, sweet and kind.
“And furly Looks their Vassals do diride;
“The Royal Sov'reign smiles on ev'ry Face,
“Receives their Homage with a God-like Grace:
“Subord'nate Judges, Prince's common Tools,
“Punish each Thing against establish'd Rules;
“But clement Princes whom no Fear doth Aw,
“Boldly contemn the Terrors of the Law.
“Madam, despise dull Tales of Innocence,
“That flows from Rudeness and a Want of Sense:
“The Greatness and the Beauty of the Mind,
“Appears in Things that's gentle, sweet and kind.
Then softly to her self Susanna said,
I'm almost Calm, my stormy Passions laid:
O then I'll try what Eloquence can do,
With low Submissions at their Feet I'll bow;
Grave Judges I must speak my Mind to you:
The grave Dispensers of the Law you are,
Then hear a Female Pleader at your Bar.
I'm almost Calm, my stormy Passions laid:
O then I'll try what Eloquence can do,
With low Submissions at their Feet I'll bow;
Grave Judges I must speak my Mind to you:
The grave Dispensers of the Law you are,
Then hear a Female Pleader at your Bar.
18
“Who's Bosom is the Solace of his Life:
“My Virtue cropt, will not Joacim say,
“I'll throw her like a wither'd Weed away,
“Your Motive hath no Force; What's Privicy?
“The supreme Legislator, GOD, is nigh:
“No Solitude excludes his peircing Eye.
“Your Guilt will stretch your Conscience on the Rack,
“You'll be arraign'd, and punish'd for the Fact.
“Dare you, O Judges, break thro' Virtue's Rules?
“Shall God's Vicegerents turn the Devil's Tools?
“Virtue abolish'd, Anguish and Cheeks remains,
“Sathan usurps its Room, the Empire gains;
“He manacles the Soul with adamantine Chains.
“With bosom Rackets, bandy'd too and fro,
“Where shall the helpless, hopeless Sinner go?
“To penal Fire, amongst the damn'd below.
“Plung'd deep in Guilt, Hell triumphs in his Fall,
“The Sinner's Heart is bitter as the Gall:
“Pleasure is grafted upon Innocence;
“Virtue doth Joy, and Peace, and Love dispense.
“Who would not amiable Virtue love,
“Which makes us look on Earth, like Saints above:
“Repent in time your Wickedness of Heart,
“Virtue's the Life, and ornamental Part.
“Check these Emotions doth your Souls invade,
“And hate the hellish lothsome Plot you've laid:
“You know the Statute-Books, When was't you saw,
“Rape and Adult'ry privileged by Law?
19
“Turn City-Rakes, Intrigue with vain Cocquet.
“Prioli, who by's Looks a Saint did seem,
Says, “Are you Captive to the Clergies Dream,
“Adult'ry, silly Cant, a holly Whim:
“The Word was never heard before the Flood,
“Broach'd since by sneevling Priests in angry Mood.
“The niggard Cassock, grudg'd it to the Clown,
“Some plead it is annex'd unto the Crown,
“And others give it only to the Gown.
“The Crown and Crozier, lawless Pow'r do take,
“Plebeians dare not do't for Conscience sake.
“Mothers debauch our Minds with gloomy Fears,
“The Child drinks in the driry Tales it hears;
“Which Priests confirm for Truths in riper Years.
“O Priestcraft Juggle! all an hocus pocus;
“Priests laugh themselves alone, when thus they mock us:
“Our Natures planted by the Pow'rs above,
“With one governing Law, and that is Love.
“Love has no Limits set by 'ndulgent Heav'n,
“Plain is the Text, corrupt's the Gloss that's given.
“But grant the Legends of the Priests were true,
“And all we've said still disbeliev'd by you;
“In granting our Requests, you'll virtuous Actions do.
“Illustrious Fair, we die of Love you see,
“Our Cure would be an act of Charity:
“We die of mortal Wounds, your Beauty gave,
“Turn pious, save two Lovers from the Grave.
“On th'Altar of thy Lips, (O nameless Bliss)
“I'll offer the Oblation of a Kiss;
“A Bless for which the Choirs above do pant,
“O let me take Possession of my Saint:
“Will your dull Dotard be the worse of this?
“He'll know no Loss, and we'll enjoy a Bliss.
Says, “Are you Captive to the Clergies Dream,
“Adult'ry, silly Cant, a holly Whim:
“The Word was never heard before the Flood,
“Broach'd since by sneevling Priests in angry Mood.
“The niggard Cassock, grudg'd it to the Clown,
“Some plead it is annex'd unto the Crown,
“And others give it only to the Gown.
“The Crown and Crozier, lawless Pow'r do take,
“Plebeians dare not do't for Conscience sake.
“Mothers debauch our Minds with gloomy Fears,
“The Child drinks in the driry Tales it hears;
“Which Priests confirm for Truths in riper Years.
“O Priestcraft Juggle! all an hocus pocus;
“Priests laugh themselves alone, when thus they mock us:
“Our Natures planted by the Pow'rs above,
“With one governing Law, and that is Love.
“Love has no Limits set by 'ndulgent Heav'n,
“Plain is the Text, corrupt's the Gloss that's given.
“But grant the Legends of the Priests were true,
“And all we've said still disbeliev'd by you;
“In granting our Requests, you'll virtuous Actions do.
“Illustrious Fair, we die of Love you see,
“Our Cure would be an act of Charity:
“We die of mortal Wounds, your Beauty gave,
“Turn pious, save two Lovers from the Grave.
20
“I'll offer the Oblation of a Kiss;
“A Bless for which the Choirs above do pant,
“O let me take Possession of my Saint:
“Will your dull Dotard be the worse of this?
“He'll know no Loss, and we'll enjoy a Bliss.
But here Susanna doth her Part begin
“O could my Face turn lothsom as your Sin,
“Boyl hot my Blood, and blister all my Skin.
“My Charms to Heav'n I willingly restore,
“Bless me with all the Wrinkles of Fourscore:
“When Beauties blasted, they'll insist no more.
“Yes Judges, I'll comply,
“When tyrant Wolfs with peaceful Lambs do sleep,
“When Day and Night no more their Order keep;
“And Mountains from their solid Basis leap.
“Bid the Poles meet, and Phœbus shine no more;
“Forbid the Fire to burn, the Sea to roar;
“Command the stormy Winds no more to blow,
“Discharge proud Babel's Streams from hence to flow.
“The dying Saint approaching Heav'n to love,
“And burning Seraphs from their Seats above;
“Rains to descend, upwards the Smoak to fly,
“And when all these obey you, so will I.
“O could my Face turn lothsom as your Sin,
“Boyl hot my Blood, and blister all my Skin.
“My Charms to Heav'n I willingly restore,
“Bless me with all the Wrinkles of Fourscore:
“When Beauties blasted, they'll insist no more.
“Yes Judges, I'll comply,
“When tyrant Wolfs with peaceful Lambs do sleep,
“When Day and Night no more their Order keep;
“And Mountains from their solid Basis leap.
“Bid the Poles meet, and Phœbus shine no more;
“Forbid the Fire to burn, the Sea to roar;
“Command the stormy Winds no more to blow,
“Discharge proud Babel's Streams from hence to flow.
“The dying Saint approaching Heav'n to love,
“And burning Seraphs from their Seats above;
“Rains to descend, upwards the Smoak to fly,
“And when all these obey you, so will I.
“Know cruel Fair, that if we don't prevail,
“(Aulus the Lawyer never wants his Tale)
“We'll vent our Spleen in Scandals 'gainst thy Name;
“Load thee with Crimes, and everlasting Shame.
“We'll make the World believe you worst of Whores,
“Womens Revenge shall be a Jest to ours.
“We'll prove the Libel, which our Malice fram'd;
“Your Sex shall blush to hear Susanna nam'd.
“We'll say, we saw you with a lusty Youth,
“(And, if we say't, the World will think it Truth.)
“He keep'd the Assignation you had made,
“And Impudence convey'd you to the Shade;
“There violate the Vows of Marriage-Bed.
“Dismiss'd your Maids, that they might see no Ill;
“Suffer'd the brawny Rogue to work his wicked Will.
“(Aulus the Lawyer never wants his Tale)
“We'll vent our Spleen in Scandals 'gainst thy Name;
“Load thee with Crimes, and everlasting Shame.
21
“Womens Revenge shall be a Jest to ours.
“We'll prove the Libel, which our Malice fram'd;
“Your Sex shall blush to hear Susanna nam'd.
“We'll say, we saw you with a lusty Youth,
“(And, if we say't, the World will think it Truth.)
“He keep'd the Assignation you had made,
“And Impudence convey'd you to the Shade;
“There violate the Vows of Marriage-Bed.
“Dismiss'd your Maids, that they might see no Ill;
“Suffer'd the brawny Rogue to work his wicked Will.
“O were I Vile (the dear Susanna cries)
“To ev'ry Sight, save my Joacim's Eyes;
“O could my Face turn Lothsom as their Sin,
“Boyl hot my Blood, and blister all my Skin.
“My Charms to Heav'n, I willingly restore,
“Bliss me with all the Wrinkles of Fourscore;
“Were Beauty blasted, they'd insist no more.
Her Speech was interrupt, a Noise was heard,
The Garden Doors flew up, and Men appear'd.
“To ev'ry Sight, save my Joacim's Eyes;
“O could my Face turn Lothsom as their Sin,
“Boyl hot my Blood, and blister all my Skin.
“My Charms to Heav'n, I willingly restore,
“Bliss me with all the Wrinkles of Fourscore;
“Were Beauty blasted, they'd insist no more.
Her Speech was interrupt, a Noise was heard,
The Garden Doors flew up, and Men appear'd.
Aulus like subtile Fox sneak'd to the Door,
“Ah Boy, he says, your Lady is a Whore;
“I, and my rev'rend Colleague walking here,
“We saw a Youth with feather'd Hat draw near,
“He embrac'd her in his Arms, O vicious Age!
Go you be damn'd old B---r, says the Page.
He hears his Lady cry, he sees her weep,
He jumps o'er many Bushes at a Leap.
The lusty Butler with his Feet and Fist,
Beat Aulus and Prioli till they Pist:
With bruised Bones, they hoble out the Way,
Cursing the Stars for this unhappy Day:
'Twould mov'd a Tygar for to hear their Groans,
Their Heart do ake with Love, their Flesh with broken Bones
But ah! What humane Eloquence can tell
Susanna's Grief, 'tis like the Pains of Hell?
Moistn'd with Tears her Checks no longer gay,
With secret Fires her Heart consumes away:
Approaching Trouble doth augment her Pain,
She can't conceal her Grief, she must complain.
O miserable Woman! sad's my Case!
How dare I look Joacim in the Face?
That Face, dear Feace, which I so oft have kiss'd;
And thought my self in his Embraces bless'd.
Alas! that Face will smile on me no more,
He'll call me Strumpet, and adult'rous Whore.
Can I believe good natur'd Soul, that he
Will ever entertain bad Thoughts of me?
Can such a pious Soul have room for Jealousie?
Oft I remember, when I've done amiss,
Sussy, he'd say, and then he'd give a Kiss:
I can't believe't a Fault, my Loves so strong,
But had another don't I'd thought it wrong.
I will not be so prodigal of Tears,
To spend my Fund for Sin on needless Fears:
I'll bear with Patience Heav'ns afflicting Rod,
And trust a smiting, as a smiling GOD:
Tho my Dear kill me, to his Arms I'll go,
And dying bless the Hand which gave the Blow.
Homewards the Lady went 'twixt Hope and Fear,
But her belov'd Joacim was not there:
She praying kept her Closet till he came,
Wrestling with God for a spiritual Frame.
“Ah Boy, he says, your Lady is a Whore;
“I, and my rev'rend Colleague walking here,
“We saw a Youth with feather'd Hat draw near,
“He embrac'd her in his Arms, O vicious Age!
Go you be damn'd old B---r, says the Page.
He hears his Lady cry, he sees her weep,
He jumps o'er many Bushes at a Leap.
22
Beat Aulus and Prioli till they Pist:
With bruised Bones, they hoble out the Way,
Cursing the Stars for this unhappy Day:
'Twould mov'd a Tygar for to hear their Groans,
Their Heart do ake with Love, their Flesh with broken Bones
But ah! What humane Eloquence can tell
Susanna's Grief, 'tis like the Pains of Hell?
Moistn'd with Tears her Checks no longer gay,
With secret Fires her Heart consumes away:
Approaching Trouble doth augment her Pain,
She can't conceal her Grief, she must complain.
O miserable Woman! sad's my Case!
How dare I look Joacim in the Face?
That Face, dear Feace, which I so oft have kiss'd;
And thought my self in his Embraces bless'd.
Alas! that Face will smile on me no more,
He'll call me Strumpet, and adult'rous Whore.
Can I believe good natur'd Soul, that he
Will ever entertain bad Thoughts of me?
Can such a pious Soul have room for Jealousie?
Oft I remember, when I've done amiss,
Sussy, he'd say, and then he'd give a Kiss:
I can't believe't a Fault, my Loves so strong,
But had another don't I'd thought it wrong.
I will not be so prodigal of Tears,
To spend my Fund for Sin on needless Fears:
I'll bear with Patience Heav'ns afflicting Rod,
And trust a smiting, as a smiling GOD:
Tho my Dear kill me, to his Arms I'll go,
And dying bless the Hand which gave the Blow.
23
But her belov'd Joacim was not there:
She praying kept her Closet till he came,
Wrestling with God for a spiritual Frame.
Ere he arriv'd, the Day was almost gone,
And Night her sable Garments putting on:
From Ærebus arose the drousie God,
Who fright'ned Phœbus to the Antipod:
In sable Garments, and a Mourning-Coach,
Nights Emp'ror deck'd with Stars makes slow approach,
Dark pitchy Clouds compose his rev'rend Train,
Sleep, Dreams, and Night-Mares, which disturb the Brain:
Thick Vapours, massy Mists, do load the Skies,
Somnus arrests the Limbs and seals the Eyes.
Screech Owls and Bats, Birds still asham'd of Day,
And stalking Ghosts of Lovers lead the Way;
Nor quaking Duck, nor noisy Chanticleer,
Nor gaggling Goose, nor wakeful Dog appear:
No piercing Sun-Beam, not the smallest Ray,
Dare cherish Nature in her deep Decay.
All hush'd and still, did ev'ry Creature ly,
As if Dame Nature were resolv'd to die;
Nor Fox, nor proling Wolf, dare stir abroad:
All must be hush'd till Nature take her Nod.
Kings on their lazy Downs take soft Repose,
In th'Arms of Morpheus, Slaves forget their Woes:
Rivers with silent Pace do murmuring flow,
They lull asleep their Pebles as they go;
And Winds to rock the Leaves do murmuring flow.
Yet cannot Sleep invade the Lover's Breast,
Tumbling upon the Couch, with Grief oppress'd,
Sad Aulus and Prioli find no Rest.
Thro' all the balmy Night they sleepless ly,
Till fresher Air proclaims the Morning nigh;
They curse the Morning for her cruel Stay,
Despairing by her long unkind Delay:
Night seems an Age, their Souls are tun'd to Grief,
But Morning came, and brought a fresh Releif.
And Night her sable Garments putting on:
From Ærebus arose the drousie God,
Who fright'ned Phœbus to the Antipod:
In sable Garments, and a Mourning-Coach,
Nights Emp'ror deck'd with Stars makes slow approach,
Dark pitchy Clouds compose his rev'rend Train,
Sleep, Dreams, and Night-Mares, which disturb the Brain:
Thick Vapours, massy Mists, do load the Skies,
Somnus arrests the Limbs and seals the Eyes.
Screech Owls and Bats, Birds still asham'd of Day,
And stalking Ghosts of Lovers lead the Way;
Nor quaking Duck, nor noisy Chanticleer,
Nor gaggling Goose, nor wakeful Dog appear:
No piercing Sun-Beam, not the smallest Ray,
Dare cherish Nature in her deep Decay.
All hush'd and still, did ev'ry Creature ly,
As if Dame Nature were resolv'd to die;
Nor Fox, nor proling Wolf, dare stir abroad:
All must be hush'd till Nature take her Nod.
Kings on their lazy Downs take soft Repose,
In th'Arms of Morpheus, Slaves forget their Woes:
Rivers with silent Pace do murmuring flow,
They lull asleep their Pebles as they go;
And Winds to rock the Leaves do murmuring flow.
24
Tumbling upon the Couch, with Grief oppress'd,
Sad Aulus and Prioli find no Rest.
Thro' all the balmy Night they sleepless ly,
Till fresher Air proclaims the Morning nigh;
They curse the Morning for her cruel Stay,
Despairing by her long unkind Delay:
Night seems an Age, their Souls are tun'd to Grief,
But Morning came, and brought a fresh Releif.
Welcom Aurora leaps from Titan's Bed,
Gilding the eastern Skies, makes Mortals glad:
Her chearful Cheeks dy'd with a blushing Red,
Smiles at young Memnon snoring in his Bed.
Healths in her Hand, Mirth sits upon her Brow;
Her Eyes pour forth thick Drops of pearly Dew;
The merry Lark attends her golden Coach,
Awakes the World with Mirth at her Approach.
Who clothes the Welkin with meridian Light,
Banishes from our Hemisphere the Night:
When all her glorious Ornaments are on,
In solemn Pomp she ushers in the Sun,
To make his daily Progress thro' the Skies;
Who summons all the lazy World to rise.
Gilding the eastern Skies, makes Mortals glad:
Her chearful Cheeks dy'd with a blushing Red,
Smiles at young Memnon snoring in his Bed.
Healths in her Hand, Mirth sits upon her Brow;
Her Eyes pour forth thick Drops of pearly Dew;
The merry Lark attends her golden Coach,
Awakes the World with Mirth at her Approach.
Who clothes the Welkin with meridian Light,
Banishes from our Hemisphere the Night:
When all her glorious Ornaments are on,
In solemn Pomp she ushers in the Sun,
To make his daily Progress thro' the Skies;
Who summons all the lazy World to rise.
Swains wind their Horns, to welcom new-born Day,
And Lambs bear Treble with their kindly Mae:
The toiling Farmer hath his Task begun,
He like his Grandsire reckons by the Sun.
But Citizens contemn that vulgar Way,
With them the eight Hour-Bell begins the Day;
Then drousy Drunkard coughing on his Cod,
Hoasts up the Phlegm of his last Ev'nings Load.
Old Toast knocks at the Door, he is let in,
Then Ev'nings Guilt begins the Mornings Sin.
From Col'nel's Arms, Miss wak'd by reeling Carts,
After a brush or two, unseen departs.
Sand, Broom and Butter, crying on the Streets,
Command the Kitchen-Wench to leave her Sheets:
Half naked, scratching down the Stairs scours she,
Meeting the Maid with Milk for Morning-Tea.
Back she returns, awakes the Chamber-Maid,
The bygone Quarters-Compt is to be paid:
The Girl starts up, plagues Day for coming on;
For she was dreaming of her sweet Miss John.
The City Emmets, get into their Hive,
Ballance Accompts, and wealthy Bargains drives.
Wak'd by a Fee, which grees'd his griping Paw,
The Gown-Man hastens to the Seat of Law:
Within the Spot, the Camp of Gowned-War,
Judge Aulus and Prioli fac'd the Bar.
Swoln with Revenge, Terror is in their Eyes,
Which blaze like fiery Comets in the Skies:
Revenge is now become their darling Food,
They'll quench their Fever with a Draught of Blood:
Destruction plot, with Wrath their Veins do swell,
Auxiliary Helps they seek from Hell:
Like honest Sons, their Fathers Counsel crave,
Who ruin'd the first Lady, Mother Eve.
O fatal Aple! strange Effect of Fruit!
To poison all the Branches and the Root!
Fully instructed are these Sons of Sathan,
Have all his Counsel got by Heart verbatim.
And Lambs bear Treble with their kindly Mae:
The toiling Farmer hath his Task begun,
He like his Grandsire reckons by the Sun.
But Citizens contemn that vulgar Way,
With them the eight Hour-Bell begins the Day;
Then drousy Drunkard coughing on his Cod,
Hoasts up the Phlegm of his last Ev'nings Load.
25
Then Ev'nings Guilt begins the Mornings Sin.
From Col'nel's Arms, Miss wak'd by reeling Carts,
After a brush or two, unseen departs.
Sand, Broom and Butter, crying on the Streets,
Command the Kitchen-Wench to leave her Sheets:
Half naked, scratching down the Stairs scours she,
Meeting the Maid with Milk for Morning-Tea.
Back she returns, awakes the Chamber-Maid,
The bygone Quarters-Compt is to be paid:
The Girl starts up, plagues Day for coming on;
For she was dreaming of her sweet Miss John.
The City Emmets, get into their Hive,
Ballance Accompts, and wealthy Bargains drives.
Wak'd by a Fee, which grees'd his griping Paw,
The Gown-Man hastens to the Seat of Law:
Within the Spot, the Camp of Gowned-War,
Judge Aulus and Prioli fac'd the Bar.
Swoln with Revenge, Terror is in their Eyes,
Which blaze like fiery Comets in the Skies:
Revenge is now become their darling Food,
They'll quench their Fever with a Draught of Blood:
Destruction plot, with Wrath their Veins do swell,
Auxiliary Helps they seek from Hell:
Like honest Sons, their Fathers Counsel crave,
Who ruin'd the first Lady, Mother Eve.
O fatal Aple! strange Effect of Fruit!
To poison all the Branches and the Root!
Fully instructed are these Sons of Sathan,
Have all his Counsel got by Heart verbatim.
26
The Clerk stands up, and reads the lying Scroll:
The Evidence is call'd, Aulus appears;
(Aulus, who's old in Wickedness and Years)
Upon the Pannel's Head his Hand doth streach,
Bows to the Bench, and makes this solemn Speech:
My Lords,
“Prioli, and my self, of late
“Visit'd Joacim's pleasant Country-Seat;
“A Magazine of Beauty catch'd our Eye,
“We did in ev'ry little Labyrinth pry.
“Nature, with Master-Strokes laid the Design,
“Th'Embellishment of Art complete the Scene:
“Fret Works, Parteres, and Colonies of Trees,
“Fresh beauteous Objects still arrest our Eyes,
“Thro' grotesque Mazes of Delights we pass,
“But ah! ev'n there, the Sneak lurks in the Grass.
“Wearied, we rested on an easy Fen,
“(Heav'ns deep Designs ly hid from humane Ken.)
“'Twas Pleasure only led us there, we thought;
“But we were for a nobler Purpose brought:
“God's Providence which guides his wand'ring Flock,
“Is like the Serpents wand'rings on the Rock,
“Which never Eye could trace, his Windings know;
“No Foot can with that nimble Traveller go:
“Providence seems a ravel'd Hasp; for we
“A Wheel within a Wheel, can never see;
“Yet all Things work for the Creator's Glory,
“Which leads me to relate the fatal Story.
“Our Sight was hunting o'er the Works of Nature,
“When we beheld this charming guilty Creature,
“Like Eve in Paradise, Empress of All,
“(Which now she justly forfeites by her Fall,)
“Enter a Tarras-Walk which fronts the Dome;
“Two Maids were with her, but she sent 'em Home:
“Loth to depart, they long her Patience vex;
“She frown'd them off, and met the other Sex.
“A tall broad Shoulder'd brawny Youth drew nigh,
“He kneel'd, as if before a Deity:
“She act'd a vitious Part, she hug'd the Youth;
“He oggling squeez'd her Hands, and kiss'd her Mouth.
“No Words they spoke, for all was done by Signs;
“Lew'd Indications of their lewder Minds:
“Billing like Doves, they dropt beneath a Shade,
“Tasted the Pleasures of a Marriage-Bed:
“Renew'd the Crimes, as if it were no Fault,
“Of Stollen Waters took a lusty Draught.
“These Eyes of mine beheld them do it there,
“And all, my Lords, I've said, I freely swear:
Sworn and dismiss'd, Prioli doth succeed,
His leach'rous Hand lays on the Lady's Head.
“Visit'd Joacim's pleasant Country-Seat;
“A Magazine of Beauty catch'd our Eye,
“We did in ev'ry little Labyrinth pry.
“Nature, with Master-Strokes laid the Design,
“Th'Embellishment of Art complete the Scene:
“Fret Works, Parteres, and Colonies of Trees,
“Fresh beauteous Objects still arrest our Eyes,
“Thro' grotesque Mazes of Delights we pass,
“But ah! ev'n there, the Sneak lurks in the Grass.
“Wearied, we rested on an easy Fen,
“(Heav'ns deep Designs ly hid from humane Ken.)
“'Twas Pleasure only led us there, we thought;
“But we were for a nobler Purpose brought:
“God's Providence which guides his wand'ring Flock,
“Is like the Serpents wand'rings on the Rock,
“Which never Eye could trace, his Windings know;
“No Foot can with that nimble Traveller go:
“Providence seems a ravel'd Hasp; for we
“A Wheel within a Wheel, can never see;
“Yet all Things work for the Creator's Glory,
“Which leads me to relate the fatal Story.
27
“When we beheld this charming guilty Creature,
“Like Eve in Paradise, Empress of All,
“(Which now she justly forfeites by her Fall,)
“Enter a Tarras-Walk which fronts the Dome;
“Two Maids were with her, but she sent 'em Home:
“Loth to depart, they long her Patience vex;
“She frown'd them off, and met the other Sex.
“A tall broad Shoulder'd brawny Youth drew nigh,
“He kneel'd, as if before a Deity:
“She act'd a vitious Part, she hug'd the Youth;
“He oggling squeez'd her Hands, and kiss'd her Mouth.
“No Words they spoke, for all was done by Signs;
“Lew'd Indications of their lewder Minds:
“Billing like Doves, they dropt beneath a Shade,
“Tasted the Pleasures of a Marriage-Bed:
“Renew'd the Crimes, as if it were no Fault,
“Of Stollen Waters took a lusty Draught.
“These Eyes of mine beheld them do it there,
“And all, my Lords, I've said, I freely swear:
Sworn and dismiss'd, Prioli doth succeed,
His leach'rous Hand lays on the Lady's Head.
“My Lords, he says, Judge Aulus went with me
“Joacim's pleasant Gardens for to see,
“Uncommon Scenes lay open to our View;
“Rich Landskip as e'er Nature's Pencil drew;
“Nature and Art, their Figures cut so well,
“With Master-Strokes, each labours to excell:
“Amidst the Pomp and grand Magnificence,
“The well wrought Statues most deceiv'd the Sense.
“Near th'east Side of the Dome, we cast our Eye
“Upon three Statues, which we thought drew nigh:
“That in the midst lookt like Joacim's Wife;
“Those are not made of Stones, said I, they've life.
“Two made retreat, the third she forward ran,
“To meet a Statue in the Shap of Man.
“Aulus, said I, we're on enchanted Ground,
“Or here's a Lady and her Lover found:
“Lock'd in each others Arms we saw them bow,
“And act the Thing, which Statues cannot do,
“The old fashion'd Thing the C---h in Marriage doth allow.
“We rose, they run, and made a quick Retreat,
“I'm sure the D---l lent the Rogue his Feet.
Thus they depos'd, and then they smiling stand,
To see the Sentence sign'd by Milo's Hand.
“Joacim's pleasant Gardens for to see,
“Uncommon Scenes lay open to our View;
“Rich Landskip as e'er Nature's Pencil drew;
“Nature and Art, their Figures cut so well,
“With Master-Strokes, each labours to excell:
“Amidst the Pomp and grand Magnificence,
“The well wrought Statues most deceiv'd the Sense.
28
“Upon three Statues, which we thought drew nigh:
“That in the midst lookt like Joacim's Wife;
“Those are not made of Stones, said I, they've life.
“Two made retreat, the third she forward ran,
“To meet a Statue in the Shap of Man.
“Aulus, said I, we're on enchanted Ground,
“Or here's a Lady and her Lover found:
“Lock'd in each others Arms we saw them bow,
“And act the Thing, which Statues cannot do,
“The old fashion'd Thing the C---h in Marriage doth allow.
“We rose, they run, and made a quick Retreat,
“I'm sure the D---l lent the Rogue his Feet.
Thus they depos'd, and then they smiling stand,
To see the Sentence sign'd by Milo's Hand.
The hollow Depmster, with an ugly Gloom,
Pronounc'd the bloody Word, I give't for Doom.
Pronounc'd the bloody Word, I give't for Doom.
Stoicks may boast of Fortitude of Mind,
Draw Schemes and Figures to amuse Mankind:
Talk big of Conquest o'er Corruption got,
And please themselves with the delusive Thought:
'Tis but a golden Dream, a Scene of Woes
Epictetus himself will discompose.
Senecas Morals can't afford Relief,
Their acted Bravery, won't remove the Grief:
Reasoning, and high Resolves, are all in Vain,
When once immers'd in Misery and Pain.
Can one upon the Rack, Passion discard?
'Twill smite him from his artificial Guard:
Rufle his Temper were he ne'er so Meek,
Morals is no Prescription for the Sick.
Man's corrupt Heart, no Self-support can yield;
Who trusts in that, will surely loss the Field.
Can weary Pilgrims Feet securely stand,
Upon the Quagmire, or the sinking Sand:
A higher Principle must fire the Soul;
We're ne'er secure till on our God we roll:
Ropose on Him, ev'n when we see no Light,
On God cast Anchor, in the darkest Night:
Upon an All-sufficient God depend,
Believers Benefactor, and their Friend.
'Twas Faith in God that made Susanna brave,
She stood like unmov'd Rocks, 'twixt Wind and Wave;
Ev'n when she look'd for Gibbet and a Grave.
Draw Schemes and Figures to amuse Mankind:
Talk big of Conquest o'er Corruption got,
And please themselves with the delusive Thought:
'Tis but a golden Dream, a Scene of Woes
Epictetus himself will discompose.
Senecas Morals can't afford Relief,
Their acted Bravery, won't remove the Grief:
Reasoning, and high Resolves, are all in Vain,
When once immers'd in Misery and Pain.
29
'Twill smite him from his artificial Guard:
Rufle his Temper were he ne'er so Meek,
Morals is no Prescription for the Sick.
Man's corrupt Heart, no Self-support can yield;
Who trusts in that, will surely loss the Field.
Can weary Pilgrims Feet securely stand,
Upon the Quagmire, or the sinking Sand:
A higher Principle must fire the Soul;
We're ne'er secure till on our God we roll:
Ropose on Him, ev'n when we see no Light,
On God cast Anchor, in the darkest Night:
Upon an All-sufficient God depend,
Believers Benefactor, and their Friend.
'Twas Faith in God that made Susanna brave,
She stood like unmov'd Rocks, 'twixt Wind and Wave;
Ev'n when she look'd for Gibbet and a Grave.
Hypocrisie a gloomy Influence shades:
Truth sits upon the Brow, and Gladness spreads.
Hypocrisie is hollow, and unsound:
Integrity the firm substantial Ground.
The honest Face is plain, no painting there;
Few Plots hath Truth, but all her Plots sincere.
Truth hath such naked Charms, so matchless sweet,
They can't be copied by the Hypocrite;
Some Flaw discovers, till the artful Cheat.
Virtue, like th'ancient legal Ointment is;
None imitated that, none truly this.
God prescrib'd both, his Signature they bear;
All diff'rent Compounds, diff'rant Figures wear.
The Hypocrite, dull languid Motion makes,
His Heart's untouch'd, for all the Pains he takes:
But heav'nly Gales the virtuous Soul doth move,
Which ventilates, and blows the Flame of Love:
Hypocrisie contracts, there is no Room within,
The Heart is fetter'd and enthral'd by Sin.
Virtue delates the Heart, sublimes the Mind,
An elevating Joy the Virtuous find
Disburden'd of their Load, they leap for Joy;
Nought can their Pleasure Damp, their Peace annoy.
Integrity is bold, doth fear no Wrath;
With Looks compos'd, can meet approaching Death:
Smiles up to Heav'n, and Heav'n smiles down again,
The virtuous Soul finds Joy in midst of Pain.
With infant Sweetness, unto Heav'n appeals:
A lasting Friend, when every Creature fails.
Strong Proof of this, see in Joacim's Wife;
Sentenc'd to dy, she appeals the Spring of Life:
She rolls her self on God, to Him she flys,
Aloud to Heaven the pious Pannel cries.
A sacred Silence, struck the suppliant Crowd;
The perjur'd Judges, in Convulsions stood,
While she darts up a Pray'r, as sweet, as loud.
With so much Ardor, is the Insence sent,
(All saw the Devotee was Innocent,)
Pours out a holy Gush with Angels Air;
Zeal dictates Words, she needs not common Prayer.
Truth sits upon the Brow, and Gladness spreads.
Hypocrisie is hollow, and unsound:
Integrity the firm substantial Ground.
The honest Face is plain, no painting there;
Few Plots hath Truth, but all her Plots sincere.
Truth hath such naked Charms, so matchless sweet,
They can't be copied by the Hypocrite;
Some Flaw discovers, till the artful Cheat.
Virtue, like th'ancient legal Ointment is;
None imitated that, none truly this.
30
All diff'rent Compounds, diff'rant Figures wear.
The Hypocrite, dull languid Motion makes,
His Heart's untouch'd, for all the Pains he takes:
But heav'nly Gales the virtuous Soul doth move,
Which ventilates, and blows the Flame of Love:
Hypocrisie contracts, there is no Room within,
The Heart is fetter'd and enthral'd by Sin.
Virtue delates the Heart, sublimes the Mind,
An elevating Joy the Virtuous find
Disburden'd of their Load, they leap for Joy;
Nought can their Pleasure Damp, their Peace annoy.
Integrity is bold, doth fear no Wrath;
With Looks compos'd, can meet approaching Death:
Smiles up to Heav'n, and Heav'n smiles down again,
The virtuous Soul finds Joy in midst of Pain.
With infant Sweetness, unto Heav'n appeals:
A lasting Friend, when every Creature fails.
Strong Proof of this, see in Joacim's Wife;
Sentenc'd to dy, she appeals the Spring of Life:
She rolls her self on God, to Him she flys,
Aloud to Heaven the pious Pannel cries.
A sacred Silence, struck the suppliant Crowd;
The perjur'd Judges, in Convulsions stood,
While she darts up a Pray'r, as sweet, as loud.
With so much Ardor, is the Insence sent,
(All saw the Devotee was Innocent,)
Pours out a holy Gush with Angels Air;
Zeal dictates Words, she needs not common Prayer.
31
“Thro' thickest Mists, and Mid-Night Shades can pry,
“The Night and Light are both alike to thee;
“All Things ly open to a Deitie.
“Thou knows, (from whom no Secret can be hid,)
“All my Designs, all that I ever did:
“My Words, my Works, my Thoughts, my Innocence,
“Without being told by humane Eloquence.
“Thy Knowledge doth my secret Struggles reach,
“My embryo Thoughts confus'd, unripe for Speech;
“Thou knows, these Judges have depos'd a Lye,
“By whose black Affidavits I must dye:
“In bloom of Youth, they've cut Susanna down,
“Death's Scyth must mow the Flower before 'tis June.
“Sentence is past, I can no longer live,
“Unless, my God, you grant a kind Reprive;
“I've Ground to seek, my God hath Pow'r to give.
“Just Heav'n, Susanna doth appeal to you:
“A Thing which none save virtuous Souls dare do.
Sighs mingling with her Tears, found out their Way;
The Audience thought her very Words did Pray.
The Audience thought her very Words did Pray.
A Troop of sowr-look'd Villains, guard the Place,
Ruffian in Black and White, with Gibbet Face,
Fetters the Fair, of Womenkind the Chief,
Her Looks dart Glory in the midst of Grief;
Her Passion kindles almost unto Wrath,
Their Bayonets and Looks are worse than Death.
When she beholds the Man she loves so well,
Press thro' the Guards, to take his last Farewell,
She rails against the Judge, doth Murder cry,
What? Will you force the Innocent to dy?
All know Susanna is a virtuous Wife,
For God's Sake and Joacim's, save my Life:
She checks herself again for doing so,
Doth this become a Child of God to do?
Can I delight my Honour to survive?
I injur'd fall, yet dying I'll forgive.
Strengthen me Lord, with thy spiritual Pow'r,
In the last Combat, in my dying Hour:
Thy shining Angels, O my God command,
To bear me to the Bank of Canaan's Land.
Farewell vain World, farewell Joacim too,
Farewell dear Babes, to all my Friends adieu;
My God's my only Hope, my Joy and comfort now.
Ruffian in Black and White, with Gibbet Face,
Fetters the Fair, of Womenkind the Chief,
Her Looks dart Glory in the midst of Grief;
Her Passion kindles almost unto Wrath,
Their Bayonets and Looks are worse than Death.
32
Press thro' the Guards, to take his last Farewell,
She rails against the Judge, doth Murder cry,
What? Will you force the Innocent to dy?
All know Susanna is a virtuous Wife,
For God's Sake and Joacim's, save my Life:
She checks herself again for doing so,
Doth this become a Child of God to do?
Can I delight my Honour to survive?
I injur'd fall, yet dying I'll forgive.
Strengthen me Lord, with thy spiritual Pow'r,
In the last Combat, in my dying Hour:
Thy shining Angels, O my God command,
To bear me to the Bank of Canaan's Land.
Farewell vain World, farewell Joacim too,
Farewell dear Babes, to all my Friends adieu;
My God's my only Hope, my Joy and comfort now.
Soft Innocence doth in her Face appear,
Now when the grand Catastrophe draws near;
Th'Effect of Virtue is a chearful Mind,
Her Will is to her Maker's Will resign'd.
Shame, Pain and Death, can't Alteration make,
Susanna can be chearful at a Stake.
She's not involv'd in Gloom, fetches a Sob,
Drops some few Tears, and marches thro' the Mob.
The Pilate's Skill is known, when Dangers nigh,
In midst of Storms and a tempestuous Sea,
Far from the sight of hospitable Shoar,
When all the waring Elements do roar.
Now when the grand Catastrophe draws near;
Th'Effect of Virtue is a chearful Mind,
Her Will is to her Maker's Will resign'd.
Shame, Pain and Death, can't Alteration make,
Susanna can be chearful at a Stake.
She's not involv'd in Gloom, fetches a Sob,
Drops some few Tears, and marches thro' the Mob.
The Pilate's Skill is known, when Dangers nigh,
In midst of Storms and a tempestuous Sea,
Far from the sight of hospitable Shoar,
When all the waring Elements do roar.
33
Dare all the battling Winds, and sweep the Shoar:
Faith makes Believers smile to see them roll,
Fix'd on the Rock, they can their Strength controul,
Th'Unbelievers still with Fears oppress'd,
Shakes like the Aspen Leaf, with ev'ry Blast.
Faith warms the Soul, and gives it vital Heat,
'Tis Faith which makes the bitter Potion sweet:
Supports Believers when their Spirits droops,
Faith hath more Courage than a thousand Troops.
'Twas Faith in God supported Abraham's Life,
When he unsheath'd the sacrificing Knife,
From Isaac's Mouth the killing Sentence came;
Lo here's the Wood and Fire, but where's the Lamb?
Must your young Isaac, grill upon the Fire?
God will provide, my Dear, Replies the Sire.
Just in the nick of Time, ere he's dispatch'd,
A Lamb is in the neighbouring Thicket catch'd.
That God who always hears Believers Pray'rs,
(Superintendent of the Worlds Affairs)
For Pray'r a divine Incantation hath,
Draws Mercies down, averts impending Wrath:
Inspir'd young Daniel, and he cries aloud,
Lo I am free of this just Lady's Blood:
O yes, O yes, take notice what you do;
Susanna is more Innocent than you.
Amidst the Mob, Heav'ns darling Daniel stood,
The Infant Prophets Voice allarm'd the Crowd:
Our God, who makes the Babes and Sucklings Mouth,
His Oracles t'instruct the World in Truth,
Made the raw beardless Bard convince the Throng,
That Sentence past against the Lady wrong:
“O Isra'lites, he says, foolish you are,
“Condemn Abraham's Daughter at your Bar,
“Without Respect to Beauty Sex or Youth;
“Nay worse, without sufficient legal Proof;
“At God's Command, this Admonition's giv'n,
“I've my Credentials from the Judge of Heav'n:
“Return the Lady, and prevent God's Wrath,
“Throw by these horrid Implements of Death;
“Th'Accusers being Interrogate by me,
“Their Falsehood and her Innocence you'll see,
“And quickly you'll reverse your last Decree.
The Senators obey th'inspired Boy,
The Populace huzza her back with Joy;
Thou'rt sent from God, the Judge to Daniel says,
Made Wise in Youth by th'Ancient of Days,
To his bless'd Name be everlasting Praise.
Therefore w' invite thee to the Judgment Seat,
Read o'er the Proofs, and all the long Debate:
Call the Deponents, re-examine them,
As you see Cause assoilzie, or condemn.
(Superintendent of the Worlds Affairs)
For Pray'r a divine Incantation hath,
Draws Mercies down, averts impending Wrath:
Inspir'd young Daniel, and he cries aloud,
Lo I am free of this just Lady's Blood:
O yes, O yes, take notice what you do;
Susanna is more Innocent than you.
Amidst the Mob, Heav'ns darling Daniel stood,
The Infant Prophets Voice allarm'd the Crowd:
34
His Oracles t'instruct the World in Truth,
Made the raw beardless Bard convince the Throng,
That Sentence past against the Lady wrong:
“O Isra'lites, he says, foolish you are,
“Condemn Abraham's Daughter at your Bar,
“Without Respect to Beauty Sex or Youth;
“Nay worse, without sufficient legal Proof;
“At God's Command, this Admonition's giv'n,
“I've my Credentials from the Judge of Heav'n:
“Return the Lady, and prevent God's Wrath,
“Throw by these horrid Implements of Death;
“Th'Accusers being Interrogate by me,
“Their Falsehood and her Innocence you'll see,
“And quickly you'll reverse your last Decree.
The Senators obey th'inspired Boy,
The Populace huzza her back with Joy;
Thou'rt sent from God, the Judge to Daniel says,
Made Wise in Youth by th'Ancient of Days,
To his bless'd Name be everlasting Praise.
Therefore w' invite thee to the Judgment Seat,
Read o'er the Proofs, and all the long Debate:
Call the Deponents, re-examine them,
As you see Cause assoilzie, or condemn.
Then holy Daniel on the Bench appears,
He stares on Aulus and his snowy Hairs;
“Says, aged Sinner, of an impious Life,
“Falsly you've sworn against Joacim's Wife:
“These secret Sins, in which you've ta'en Delight,
“Shall all be blaz'd abroad, and see the Light.
“Hold up your Hand, swear by the God of Truth,
“That no false Word shall issue from thy Mouth:
“As ye shall answer at the Judgment Day
“To God, who knows all that we do or say.
“By this your Oath, administrate by me,
“Where was't you did Susanna's Dalliance see?
Aulus repli'd, under a Mastick Tree.
“Thou'st sworn, good Daniel says, against thy Life;
“Heav'n's Messenger, with sacrificing Knife,
“Already is dispatch'd to punish you;
“His Scymiter shall cleave thy Trunk in two.
“The Wretch dismiss'd, he to Prioli said,
“O thou, the Offspring of curs'd Canaan's Seed,
“Thy baleful Looks, denote thy want of Grace,
“Thou art not sprung of holy Judah's Race:
“Beauty hath ruin'd thy ill guarded Heart,
“The Pleasures gone, and you endure the Smart.
“Thy Eyes roll with Revenge, Rage burns thy Breast,
“Conscious of Guilt, thy lab'ring Soul's oppress'd:
“Lust by Revenge, is unto Madness wrought,
“Sorrow and secret Shame perplex thy Thought.
“Thou with malignant Love, did tempt the Just,
“To quench thy burning fev'rish Thirst of Lust:
“But Judah's Daughter, being as Chast as Fair,
“Villain thou'st brought her to a fatal Snare:
“Allied to Heav'n, she like Heav'ns Saints doth shine,
“She loth'd to touch that unclean Corps of thine.
“Hold up to Heav'n thy Face, thy Hand to me,
“As you shall answer to the Dietie,
“Under what Shade, did you the Adult'ry see?
Prioli bow'd, and said, under a Myrtle Tree.
“Thou mongrel Soul, the divine Daniel said,
“Thy Oath, hath now thy Villany betray'd;
“Loaded with Crimes, thy Tribe and Nations Shame,
“Reproach and Scandal to the Hebrew Name:
“Long steel'd in Vice, thou Sins without controul,
“Stifles the innate Notions of the Soul.
“Thy Oaths a Copy of thy ugly Mind,
“And thou shalt dy the Death, for her design'd;
“And she shall be esteem'd the best of Womankind.
Then turning to the Audience, said,
“Take these two Varlets, for their Perjury,
“To Execution, stone them till they dy:
“Retaliation Law doth here take Place,
“Which Moses Law prescribes in such a Case.
He stares on Aulus and his snowy Hairs;
“Says, aged Sinner, of an impious Life,
“Falsly you've sworn against Joacim's Wife:
“These secret Sins, in which you've ta'en Delight,
“Shall all be blaz'd abroad, and see the Light.
35
“That no false Word shall issue from thy Mouth:
“As ye shall answer at the Judgment Day
“To God, who knows all that we do or say.
“By this your Oath, administrate by me,
“Where was't you did Susanna's Dalliance see?
Aulus repli'd, under a Mastick Tree.
“Thou'st sworn, good Daniel says, against thy Life;
“Heav'n's Messenger, with sacrificing Knife,
“Already is dispatch'd to punish you;
“His Scymiter shall cleave thy Trunk in two.
“The Wretch dismiss'd, he to Prioli said,
“O thou, the Offspring of curs'd Canaan's Seed,
“Thy baleful Looks, denote thy want of Grace,
“Thou art not sprung of holy Judah's Race:
“Beauty hath ruin'd thy ill guarded Heart,
“The Pleasures gone, and you endure the Smart.
“Thy Eyes roll with Revenge, Rage burns thy Breast,
“Conscious of Guilt, thy lab'ring Soul's oppress'd:
“Lust by Revenge, is unto Madness wrought,
“Sorrow and secret Shame perplex thy Thought.
“Thou with malignant Love, did tempt the Just,
“To quench thy burning fev'rish Thirst of Lust:
“But Judah's Daughter, being as Chast as Fair,
“Villain thou'st brought her to a fatal Snare:
“Allied to Heav'n, she like Heav'ns Saints doth shine,
“She loth'd to touch that unclean Corps of thine.
“Hold up to Heav'n thy Face, thy Hand to me,
“As you shall answer to the Dietie,
36
Prioli bow'd, and said, under a Myrtle Tree.
“Thou mongrel Soul, the divine Daniel said,
“Thy Oath, hath now thy Villany betray'd;
“Loaded with Crimes, thy Tribe and Nations Shame,
“Reproach and Scandal to the Hebrew Name:
“Long steel'd in Vice, thou Sins without controul,
“Stifles the innate Notions of the Soul.
“Thy Oaths a Copy of thy ugly Mind,
“And thou shalt dy the Death, for her design'd;
“And she shall be esteem'd the best of Womankind.
Then turning to the Audience, said,
“Take these two Varlets, for their Perjury,
“To Execution, stone them till they dy:
“Retaliation Law doth here take Place,
“Which Moses Law prescribes in such a Case.
The rude Militia make an horrid Noise,
The bristled Matrons, and the beardless Boys,
Grining like angry Mastives, they fall on
And furrow Aulus's back, with Plow's of Stone.
A Stone six Paces sent, an old Hag throws,
His Bull-Neck droops, he 'scapes with half an Nose;
Foams at the Mouth, and Bellows like an Ox.
His Nose grows ruddy like a Turky Cocks,
Giles struck him on the Breech with manly Force,
His graceless baudy Buttocks hang an A---:
Bess hits him on the Teeth, till Jaws do gape;
He coins his Face in many an antique Shape:
Thick Storms of Fury on his Forehead fell,
He roars and belshes Oaths with hideous Yell.
A Stone flew whizzing thro' the airy Tract,
Such was its Strength, it even'd his bungl'd Back;
His Eyes within their hollow Orbits sunk,
The Sap ran out, and dry'd the wither'd Trunk.
A Storm of Stones fell on his Arms and Thighs,
Like sprawling Wolf, upon the Ground he lyes;
He loll'd his bulky Tongue, and curs'd the B---s thrice.
With next Attack he's batter'd to the Ground,
Froth fill'd his Chops, he gave a grunting Sound,
Twice he essay'd to rise, but all was lame;
He fell and boch'd the Thing that's foul to name:
Besmear'd with Mud, the mangled Body lay,
His Soul flew thro' a Gap to Hell the nearest Way.
The bristled Matrons, and the beardless Boys,
Grining like angry Mastives, they fall on
And furrow Aulus's back, with Plow's of Stone.
A Stone six Paces sent, an old Hag throws,
His Bull-Neck droops, he 'scapes with half an Nose;
Foams at the Mouth, and Bellows like an Ox.
His Nose grows ruddy like a Turky Cocks,
Giles struck him on the Breech with manly Force,
His graceless baudy Buttocks hang an A---:
Bess hits him on the Teeth, till Jaws do gape;
He coins his Face in many an antique Shape:
Thick Storms of Fury on his Forehead fell,
He roars and belshes Oaths with hideous Yell.
37
Such was its Strength, it even'd his bungl'd Back;
His Eyes within their hollow Orbits sunk,
The Sap ran out, and dry'd the wither'd Trunk.
A Storm of Stones fell on his Arms and Thighs,
Like sprawling Wolf, upon the Ground he lyes;
He loll'd his bulky Tongue, and curs'd the B---s thrice.
With next Attack he's batter'd to the Ground,
Froth fill'd his Chops, he gave a grunting Sound,
Twice he essay'd to rise, but all was lame;
He fell and boch'd the Thing that's foul to name:
Besmear'd with Mud, the mangled Body lay,
His Soul flew thro' a Gap to Hell the nearest Way.
Prioli next appears, with horrid Face,
Able to bring the Gibbet in Disgrace;
Benum'd with Fear, ty'd to the Stake he stood,
And seem'd like it a Log of ill hewn Wood.
The Mob direct so well the honest Cuff,
His Body sounded with the strong Rebuff:
A Stone graz'd on his Cheeks, and went asloap,
It miss'd so narrow, that it cut the Rope.
Another flew o'er's Head, and hit the Priest,
Down toples he, and lyes like slaughter'd Beast;
Then all the Rable laugh'd to see the wanton Jest.
At last a Stone, which weigh'd about sev'n Pound,
Brought down the filthy Fabrick to the Ground;
Struggling to rise, he still became more faint:
All hear'd the roaring Noise he downward sent.
One slung a Stone, which could have split a Rock,
It peirc'd his Breast, and gave the mercy Stroke:
All drench'd in Blood, the beagle Body lay,
Just as it was alive, a senseless Lump of Clay.
Able to bring the Gibbet in Disgrace;
Benum'd with Fear, ty'd to the Stake he stood,
And seem'd like it a Log of ill hewn Wood.
The Mob direct so well the honest Cuff,
His Body sounded with the strong Rebuff:
A Stone graz'd on his Cheeks, and went asloap,
It miss'd so narrow, that it cut the Rope.
Another flew o'er's Head, and hit the Priest,
Down toples he, and lyes like slaughter'd Beast;
Then all the Rable laugh'd to see the wanton Jest.
At last a Stone, which weigh'd about sev'n Pound,
Brought down the filthy Fabrick to the Ground;
Struggling to rise, he still became more faint:
All hear'd the roaring Noise he downward sent.
38
It peirc'd his Breast, and gave the mercy Stroke:
All drench'd in Blood, the beagle Body lay,
Just as it was alive, a senseless Lump of Clay.
Virtutem posuere dii sudore parandam
Hes.
On a fair Lady,
Suckling a beautiful Child, holding an Apple in its Hand.
I'm all in Flame, was e'er such Beauty seen,
O she is fairer than the Lydian Queen,
For whom fierce Herc'les dropt his Lions Skin;
And dress'd in Linsey Woolsey learn'd to Spin.
O she is fairer than the Lydian Queen,
For whom fierce Herc'les dropt his Lions Skin;
And dress'd in Linsey Woolsey learn'd to Spin.
Like Venus she's of every Charm possess'd,
Lo! there is Cupid hanging on her Breast;
Fondling the Babe, his little Wagries spies,
Closs in her Bosom languishing he lies.
Lo! there is Cupid hanging on her Breast;
Fondling the Babe, his little Wagries spies,
Closs in her Bosom languishing he lies.
In that transparent Heav'n, doth Sport and Play,
Circling with am'rous Folds the milkie Way;
She holds th'o'er flowing Goblet to his Lip,
From whence he doth sweet killing Philtres sip.
Circling with am'rous Folds the milkie Way;
She holds th'o'er flowing Goblet to his Lip,
From whence he doth sweet killing Philtres sip.
39
I'm wrong, the dazling Beams my Eyes destroy;
Tho' he resembles much the Paphian Boy,
It can't be he, Cupid doth wear a Bow,
In this soft Hand doth a fair Apple grow;
Oh! now I mind the Thing, I hear'd it long ago.
Tho' he resembles much the Paphian Boy,
It can't be he, Cupid doth wear a Bow,
In this soft Hand doth a fair Apple grow;
Oh! now I mind the Thing, I hear'd it long ago.
On Pelis's Wedding-Day did Strifes arise,
The tempting Gold'n Apple was the Prize,
For which three Goddesses forsook their Skies.
The tempting Gold'n Apple was the Prize,
For which three Goddesses forsook their Skies.
Upon the Apple were these Words engraven,
Let this be to the fairest Goddess giv'n:
Each thought she'd gain the Prize, they all agree,
Paris be chosen for to end the Plea;
They'll firmly acquiesce to his Decree.
Let this be to the fairest Goddess giv'n:
Each thought she'd gain the Prize, they all agree,
Paris be chosen for to end the Plea;
They'll firmly acquiesce to his Decree.
Well knew the Boy to please the Pow'rs above,
He gav't to Venus, she's the Queen of Love:
See how she takes it from the charming Youth,
And Prints her melting Kisses on his Mouth.
He gav't to Venus, she's the Queen of Love:
See how she takes it from the charming Youth,
And Prints her melting Kisses on his Mouth.
40
ON THE RUINS OF Wallace's Tree In the TORWOOD.
Hail! rev'rend Reliques of a princely Oak,
Devouring Time Thy Giant Strength hath broke;
In Royal Pomp, six hundred Years you've stood,
Pride of the Plains, and Sovereign of the Wood:
How I revere thy venerable Bones,
Fit to be set 'mongst Pearls and precious Stones.
Devouring Time Thy Giant Strength hath broke;
In Royal Pomp, six hundred Years you've stood,
Pride of the Plains, and Sovereign of the Wood:
How I revere thy venerable Bones,
Fit to be set 'mongst Pearls and precious Stones.
May foreign Pilgrims in Devotion come
Hither, to bear thy sacred Ashes home:
Hear ev'ry Thing Tradition speaks of Thee,
And write the Wonders of the Torwood Tree.
Hither, to bear thy sacred Ashes home:
Hear ev'ry Thing Tradition speaks of Thee,
And write the Wonders of the Torwood Tree.
Thou in the Center of Thy Army stood,
Till Years declar'd the Manhood of the Wood;
And when fell Engines had Thy Forces slain,
Alone, Thou did'st a Monarch's Pow'r maintain:
So did thy Chiftian Wallace stand alone,
In warlike Posture, when his Men were gone.
Till Years declar'd the Manhood of the Wood;
And when fell Engines had Thy Forces slain,
Alone, Thou did'st a Monarch's Pow'r maintain:
So did thy Chiftian Wallace stand alone,
In warlike Posture, when his Men were gone.
41
Henceforth the Oak shall o'er the Forrest reign,
And ev'ry Tree pay Homage to this King;
Since it is Loyal, far beyond its Fellows,
Prov'd to a Rebel Absolon a Gallows;
But shelter'd Royal Charles, and Scotlands Guardian Wallace.
And ev'ry Tree pay Homage to this King;
Since it is Loyal, far beyond its Fellows,
Prov'd to a Rebel Absolon a Gallows;
But shelter'd Royal Charles, and Scotlands Guardian Wallace.
Oft hath the Hero lodg'd within Thy Bark,
Safe as the Patriarch Noah in his Ark;
Thence saillied forth upon his Foes with Force,
So sprung the Grecians from the Trojan Horse:
Who's wooden Womb invented to decoy,
Frightn'd Æneas, who defended Troy.
Safe as the Patriarch Noah in his Ark;
Thence saillied forth upon his Foes with Force,
So sprung the Grecians from the Trojan Horse:
Who's wooden Womb invented to decoy,
Frightn'd Æneas, who defended Troy.
Hail old Patrician! famous thro' the Isle;
Uncut Thou falls for Scotia's Fun'ral Pile:
Green grew thy Boughs, till Scotia was betray'd,
With Her Thou flourish'd, and with Her decay'd.
Uncut Thou falls for Scotia's Fun'ral Pile:
Green grew thy Boughs, till Scotia was betray'd,
With Her Thou flourish'd, and with Her decay'd.
I saw Thee on the fatal first of May,
Fair Scotia's Wedding, no, her Burial-Day,
Drop all Thy Leaves, Thy Sorrow to express,
Nodding Thy aged Head down to the matted Grass.
Fair Scotia's Wedding, no, her Burial-Day,
Drop all Thy Leaves, Thy Sorrow to express,
Nodding Thy aged Head down to the matted Grass.
Ere then the feather'd Quires perch'd on Thy Boughs,
And sung their Mattins when the Morning rose;
With daw'ning Day the Musick was begun,
The Consort lasted till the setting Sun:
On Thee they built their Nest, there hatch'd their Young,
Paying the Tribute of a daily Song.
And sung their Mattins when the Morning rose;
With daw'ning Day the Musick was begun,
The Consort lasted till the setting Sun:
On Thee they built their Nest, there hatch'd their Young,
Paying the Tribute of a daily Song.
But, since they're gone, and Thou art Visit now,
By chat'ring Magpy's, and the dull Cukoo;
Low at Thy Feet, beneath Thy benign Shade,
Where loving Ivy and the Primrose spread,
Deadly Solanum droops his baneful Head:
There hissing Serpents spew their Vomit out,
And Poison with their forked Tongues Thy root.
By chat'ring Magpy's, and the dull Cukoo;
42
Where loving Ivy and the Primrose spread,
Deadly Solanum droops his baneful Head:
There hissing Serpents spew their Vomit out,
And Poison with their forked Tongues Thy root.
In frozen Winter, when rough Storms did blow,
Clothing Thy shaven Head with Webs of Snow,
Briareus Hands Thou streach'd above the Plain,
To shelter from bleek Winds, the Nymph and Swain.
Clothing Thy shaven Head with Webs of Snow,
Briareus Hands Thou streach'd above the Plain,
To shelter from bleek Winds, the Nymph and Swain.
In Summer, when the Day began to peep,
E'er Buxom Mopsa went to 'tend her Sheep,
To a South runing Stream she bends her Way,
Muttering Words the Flamines bid her say:
Then streight with Vigour to the Wood she ran,
And revell'd thrice about the Old-Good-Man.
E'er Buxom Mopsa went to 'tend her Sheep,
To a South runing Stream she bends her Way,
Muttering Words the Flamines bid her say:
Then streight with Vigour to the Wood she ran,
And revell'd thrice about the Old-Good-Man.
Pronounc'd the Charm
Would keep from Harm,
And save her thro' the Day;
Would keep from Harm,
And save her thro' the Day;
By Mary's Might
And Wallace Wight,
I Conjure Thee O Tree,
Preserve my Drove,
Cause Damon prove
True to his Love,
And wed with none save me.
And Wallace Wight,
I Conjure Thee O Tree,
Preserve my Drove,
Cause Damon prove
True to his Love,
And wed with none save me.
43
To gamble round Thy Trunk, or Dance upon the Green;
No more the Dairy Maid with Milking-Pail
Sits at Thy Roots, to hear her Strephon's Tale;
No more the Shepherd in the scroching Noon,
Drives to Thy cooling Shade, there to ly down;
No more on Trumps, plays sweetly to his Clara,
Nor with his native Notes, sings Leader Haughs and Yarow.
To the Nine Muses,
Members of the fair Intellectual-Club.
Splende lo scudo, a guisa di piropo,
E luce altra non, è tanto lucente;
Cader in terra alo splendor su d' vopo,
Con gli occhi abbacinati, e feza mente.
E luce altra non, è tanto lucente;
Cader in terra alo splendor su d' vopo,
Con gli occhi abbacinati, e feza mente.
In making You Heav'n took unusual Care,
And fram'd you by the best lov'd Angel there.
Otw. Orph.
And fram'd you by the best lov'd Angel there.
Otw. Orph.
Long did malignant Planets rule our Isle,
And Heav'n refus'd on Caledon to smile;
But now, Heav'n shines, and we in Arts advance,
And send enriching Projects unto France.
Thro' long revolving Years, the charming Fair,
Like caged Birds, have breath'd imprison'd Air;
As Tulips only valued for their Hue,
A while look'd gay, then wither'd where they grew.
O happy Change! the Hoop is learned grown,
Beyond the Purple and the Ermine Gown:
If I'm not Eloquent on such a Theme,
Cut be my Tongue, and blasted be my Fame.
And Heav'n refus'd on Caledon to smile;
But now, Heav'n shines, and we in Arts advance,
And send enriching Projects unto France.
44
Like caged Birds, have breath'd imprison'd Air;
As Tulips only valued for their Hue,
A while look'd gay, then wither'd where they grew.
O happy Change! the Hoop is learned grown,
Beyond the Purple and the Ermine Gown:
If I'm not Eloquent on such a Theme,
Cut be my Tongue, and blasted be my Fame.
Lo! I'm inspir'd by you, since I did read
The matchless Speeches in your Forum made;
Learning and Beauty doth my Muse employ,
I sink in Raptures with the melting Joy:
The soft, the sweet, the killing Fair inspires,
My frozen Breast with Maros ardent Fires.
The matchless Speeches in your Forum made;
Learning and Beauty doth my Muse employ,
I sink in Raptures with the melting Joy:
The soft, the sweet, the killing Fair inspires,
My frozen Breast with Maros ardent Fires.
Bright beauteous Legates of the Pow'rs above,
(As Serpents Wise, and Harmless as the Dove;)
Your Smell perfumes the Isle, your Odours fly;
All gaze upon you with a ravish'd Eye.
The Sister Arts to foreign Climates flown,
Restor'd shall flowrish in our Frigide Zone:
Scotia's cold Heaths become the Muses Seat,
We'll once again be Wise, and once again be Great.
(As Serpents Wise, and Harmless as the Dove;)
Your Smell perfumes the Isle, your Odours fly;
All gaze upon you with a ravish'd Eye.
The Sister Arts to foreign Climates flown,
Restor'd shall flowrish in our Frigide Zone:
Scotia's cold Heaths become the Muses Seat,
We'll once again be Wise, and once again be Great.
Awake Apelles, see the sacred Nine,
Have stoll'n thy Pencil, and thy Art divine;
Behold the Canvass by the charming Fair,
Is touch'd with Titian Strokes, with Guido's Air:
Vandyke would blush, if he the collouring saw,
The Picture finish'd with a Coup d' eclat.
Have stoll'n thy Pencil, and thy Art divine;
Behold the Canvass by the charming Fair,
Is touch'd with Titian Strokes, with Guido's Air:
45
The Picture finish'd with a Coup d' eclat.
Abel return unto Britannia's Isle,
(Thy Musick often did our Cares beguile;)
We don't invite thee hither for to Sing,
(Tho' thou can entertain the greatest King;)
'Tis for to learn from the tuneful Nine,
Who's Voices, like their Faces, is Divine.
(Thy Musick often did our Cares beguile;)
We don't invite thee hither for to Sing,
(Tho' thou can entertain the greatest King;)
'Tis for to learn from the tuneful Nine,
Who's Voices, like their Faces, is Divine.
May not the envying Angels snatch you hence,
Till we have Virtue learn'd and solid Sense;
Forbid it Heav'n, your Web of Thought be spent,
Till guilty Britain taught by you repent;
Upon th'important Embassy your sent.
Till we have Virtue learn'd and solid Sense;
Forbid it Heav'n, your Web of Thought be spent,
Till guilty Britain taught by you repent;
Upon th'important Embassy your sent.
Immensely Good, you sanctifie the Clime,
Tho' sunk in Guilt, and in the Dregs of Time;
Your Virtue doth attone for Britain's ev'ry Crime.
Your flaming Zeal, kindles the dying Spark,
Darts Beams of Light and Brightens what was Dark.
Tho' sunk in Guilt, and in the Dregs of Time;
Your Virtue doth attone for Britain's ev'ry Crime.
Your flaming Zeal, kindles the dying Spark,
Darts Beams of Light and Brightens what was Dark.
The fairest Patterns e'er Britannia saw,
Virtue decreed by you, makes th'Edict Law:
Your Sex reclaim'd shall all their Thoughts employ,
In grateful Songs, the Subject cannot Cloy;
Crown you with Garlands, and with Shouts of Joy.
Virtue decreed by you, makes th'Edict Law:
Your Sex reclaim'd shall all their Thoughts employ,
In grateful Songs, the Subject cannot Cloy;
Crown you with Garlands, and with Shouts of Joy.
Fair Nymphs, my Muse doth venture to presage,
You'll make a Conquest of the vicious Stage;
Bring back Astrea's Reign, restore the Golden Age.
Bless Britain, which for Ages hath been curs'd,
('Twas Love and Beauty made the World at first.)
You'll make a Conquest of the vicious Stage;
Bring back Astrea's Reign, restore the Golden Age.
46
('Twas Love and Beauty made the World at first.)
Majestick Nuns, the World reform'd by you,
(Beauty perform'd, what Prophets could not do;)
With grateful Anthems at thy Feet they'll bow.
When you fair Guides, let loose the Reins of Power,
You'll break the Cords of Sin, make the polluted pure,
By female Virtue shall the Chains be broke,
And Beauties smiles, melt down the flinty Rock;
The glad'ning News shall spread to foreign Lands,
That Britain rank in Sin, was sav'd by Virgins Hands.
(Beauty perform'd, what Prophets could not do;)
With grateful Anthems at thy Feet they'll bow.
When you fair Guides, let loose the Reins of Power,
You'll break the Cords of Sin, make the polluted pure,
By female Virtue shall the Chains be broke,
And Beauties smiles, melt down the flinty Rock;
The glad'ning News shall spread to foreign Lands,
That Britain rank in Sin, was sav'd by Virgins Hands.
To Sir Richard Steele,
One of the Commissioners of Enquiry for North-Britain.
In Transports rise, dead Muse, sublimes thy Theme;
With solemn Stanzas, lift his awful Name:
Soft be your Notes, and melting as his Song,
Which charms our Orb, if not th'Angelick throng.
Lively Ideas in your Numbers shine,
A beauteous Image spangle ev'ry Line;
Don't stumble, and resume the dull Defence,
Exhausted is the Magazine of Sense.
His Lucubration's swell'd with divine Thought,
Makes ev'ry Muse turn mute, great Steele has wrote,
And made a grand Monopoly of Wit.
Blunt Topick he bestow'd, the bounteous Store,
(He's made the Nation Rich, who found them Poor,)
To be a lasting Fund, so Heav'n hoards Rain!
To be dispens'd in gentle Show'rs again.
With solemn Stanzas, lift his awful Name:
Soft be your Notes, and melting as his Song,
Which charms our Orb, if not th'Angelick throng.
Lively Ideas in your Numbers shine,
A beauteous Image spangle ev'ry Line;
Don't stumble, and resume the dull Defence,
Exhausted is the Magazine of Sense.
47
Makes ev'ry Muse turn mute, great Steele has wrote,
And made a grand Monopoly of Wit.
Blunt Topick he bestow'd, the bounteous Store,
(He's made the Nation Rich, who found them Poor,)
To be a lasting Fund, so Heav'n hoards Rain!
To be dispens'd in gentle Show'rs again.
Immortal Bard, your useful Works presage,
You'll stifle Vice, or hurry't off the Stage;
Reform the Morals of a vicious Age.
With heav'nly Plumage, towrs your lofty Muse,
Inspires with Zeal, revives extinguish'd Vows:
Paints Virtue in her conquering Charms, your Quill
Limns Vices haggar'd Face with utmost Skill;
We're forc'd to hate her, ev'n against our Will:
You shoot keen Arrows, with gigantick Pith,
Vice hides her guilty Head and thinks on Death;
Your Pencil 'twas the Christian Hero drew,
The wond'ring World, the Minature did View,
And said the Painter was the Picture too.
You'll stifle Vice, or hurry't off the Stage;
Reform the Morals of a vicious Age.
With heav'nly Plumage, towrs your lofty Muse,
Inspires with Zeal, revives extinguish'd Vows:
Paints Virtue in her conquering Charms, your Quill
Limns Vices haggar'd Face with utmost Skill;
We're forc'd to hate her, ev'n against our Will:
You shoot keen Arrows, with gigantick Pith,
Vice hides her guilty Head and thinks on Death;
Your Pencil 'twas the Christian Hero drew,
The wond'ring World, the Minature did View,
And said the Painter was the Picture too.
Your labour'd Plays have Fancy's utmost Touch,
Good Humour which could warm the heavy Dutch
Awakes the flaging Soul with glowing Heat;
The Characters are Just, the Language sweet.
A thousand Beauties throng the pompous Page,
All Otway's Softness, mixt with Oldham's Rage;
Like Shakspear's Works, they'll flourish in old Age.
Could Ben rise from his Dust, he'd blush to see,
How far out-done by Addison and Thee.
With Rev'rence, distant Nations speak of you;
Unto thy Spectatorial Wisdom bow.
Good Humour which could warm the heavy Dutch
Awakes the flaging Soul with glowing Heat;
The Characters are Just, the Language sweet.
A thousand Beauties throng the pompous Page,
All Otway's Softness, mixt with Oldham's Rage;
Like Shakspear's Works, they'll flourish in old Age.
Could Ben rise from his Dust, he'd blush to see,
How far out-done by Addison and Thee.
48
Unto thy Spectatorial Wisdom bow.
Our watchful Guardian, whose unweary'd Care,
Helpt often to support the Regal Chair,
Thy learned Pleadings for the Royal Line,
Will make your Name in Britain's Annals shine;
What noble Ardors fir'd the Patriots Breast,
When Senate was with factious Foes oppress'd;
You like great Cæsar spoke, like him you wrote;
And when excluded by the Torry Vote,
Your loyal Pen in Royal George's Cause,
Convinc'd the World by Reason and by Laws;
Cut thro' the Film, obscur'd the Eyes of Men,
The noblest Cause manag'd by the noblest Pen:
Such dint of Argument is us'd by thee,
You fright moe from their Crimes, than Tyburn Tree.
Helpt often to support the Regal Chair,
Thy learned Pleadings for the Royal Line,
Will make your Name in Britain's Annals shine;
What noble Ardors fir'd the Patriots Breast,
When Senate was with factious Foes oppress'd;
You like great Cæsar spoke, like him you wrote;
And when excluded by the Torry Vote,
Your loyal Pen in Royal George's Cause,
Convinc'd the World by Reason and by Laws;
Cut thro' the Film, obscur'd the Eyes of Men,
The noblest Cause manag'd by the noblest Pen:
Such dint of Argument is us'd by thee,
You fright moe from their Crimes, than Tyburn Tree.
Great Sir,
Scotia who once, proud Neighbours did disdain,
Scorn'd hostile Foes, and mock'd a foreign Chain;
Baffled a Roman Power, and made them yield,
Seldom appear'd, save Victor in the Field,
Glory'd in her Name, The independent Scot ,
Ere Englands Arms was quarter'd in her Coat,
With hungry Looks, holds up her ghostly Face,
Her palsey Hands, point to the lonely Place,
Where Laws were fram'd, where sat th'illustrious
Grief, more than Age, hath furrowed her Brow;
She sobs her Sorrows, yet she smiles on you;
Tears from their chrystal Limbicks do distil,
With throbing Breast, she dreads th'approaching ill;
Yet still She loves you, tho' you come to kill.
In midst of Fears and Wounds, which she doth feel,
Kisses the hurting Hand, smiles on the wounding
Scorn'd hostile Foes, and mock'd a foreign Chain;
Baffled a Roman Power, and made them yield,
Seldom appear'd, save Victor in the Field,
Glory'd in her Name, The independent Scot ,
Ere Englands Arms was quarter'd in her Coat,
With hungry Looks, holds up her ghostly Face,
Her palsey Hands, point to the lonely Place,
Where Laws were fram'd, where sat th'illustrious
49
She sobs her Sorrows, yet she smiles on you;
Tears from their chrystal Limbicks do distil,
With throbing Breast, she dreads th'approaching ill;
Yet still She loves you, tho' you come to kill.
In midst of Fears and Wounds, which she doth feel,
Kisses the hurting Hand, smiles on the wounding
Steele.
An amorous Epistle from the Abbot Bothwell,
To Eleonora a Lady Nun.
Daughter,
Beauty is justly term'd a divine Ray,
By which our Maker doth his Pow'r display;
The Fathers of the Church do still conclude,
The Fair are always exquisitely Good:
That lovely Face of thine's a Glass, where we
Behold the Rays of pure Divinity.
By which our Maker doth his Pow'r display;
The Fathers of the Church do still conclude,
The Fair are always exquisitely Good:
That lovely Face of thine's a Glass, where we
Behold the Rays of pure Divinity.
Th'Almighty shews his Love unto the Fair,
Allowing them two Attributes to share;
These Attributes most proper to his Nature,
And you enjoy them both, my charming Creature.
'Twere rank Ingratitude t'indulgent Heav'n,
Not to employ the Talents God hath given?
Was't for no other End; Heav'n Beauty made,
But tantalize our Eyes, and useless fade:
He was too Kind, bestow'd the charming Pow'r,
To make it Crime, to touch the pleasant Flow'r.
Allowing them two Attributes to share;
These Attributes most proper to his Nature,
And you enjoy them both, my charming Creature.
50
Not to employ the Talents God hath given?
Was't for no other End; Heav'n Beauty made,
But tantalize our Eyes, and useless fade:
He was too Kind, bestow'd the charming Pow'r,
To make it Crime, to touch the pleasant Flow'r.
Lifes not more nat'ral to Mankind, than Love;
(Need I a Thing so very easy prove?)
There's a Desire implanted in each Creature,
T'unite with what's most proper to its Nature;
This animats the whole Terrestrial Ball,
Instinct we call it, in the Animal:
That natural Cast, which to the Center brings;
The Term we give it, in inan'mate Things,
In Man, the noblest Creature on the Earth,
The Sign of Wisdom, and Cœlestial Birth.
These Functions of our Life, to sleep, or move,
Are not more nat'ral, than for us to Love:
Nothings so deep below, so high above,
But feels the mighty Influence of Love.
The rugged Earth, th'unexorable Sea,
The Winds and Stars, all own its Sov'reignty:
Nothing's too good, too great, but what it sways,
All Things are at its Will, and ev'ry Thing obeys.
(Need I a Thing so very easy prove?)
There's a Desire implanted in each Creature,
T'unite with what's most proper to its Nature;
This animats the whole Terrestrial Ball,
Instinct we call it, in the Animal:
That natural Cast, which to the Center brings;
The Term we give it, in inan'mate Things,
In Man, the noblest Creature on the Earth,
The Sign of Wisdom, and Cœlestial Birth.
These Functions of our Life, to sleep, or move,
Are not more nat'ral, than for us to Love:
Nothings so deep below, so high above,
But feels the mighty Influence of Love.
The rugged Earth, th'unexorable Sea,
The Winds and Stars, all own its Sov'reignty:
Nothing's too good, too great, but what it sways,
All Things are at its Will, and ev'ry Thing obeys.
If Love be sweet to these immers'd in Strife,
Burthen'd with all the servile Cares of Life,
'Tis much more so, to pious Souls that dwell
Recluse, and cloyster'd in a lonely Cell:
Calm and serene, we feel no weight of Sorrow,
What we're to Day, we'll be the same to Morrow.
No guilded Baits of Honour do invite,
To Toiles all Day, and sleepless Hours all Night,
Tho' Luxury, our Convent be deny'd,
With fresh Subsistance daily we're supply'd;
We hear no noise of War, or foreign News,
Then let soft Love employ the Religious:
We mock at Riches, which the World adore all,
Our Disposition's physical and moral;
Long Time with Saints, hath stock'd the Courts above,
Who's Hearts receiv'd th'impress of divine Love;
Saints Love so vigrous grows, that at the length,
They love with all their Soul, and all their Strength:
But as the Brutes (so the Supreme design'd)
Have by their Master diff'rent Tasks assign'd,
According as their Strength and Kind allow,
Some are for Pleasure, others for the Plow:
So we who must th'Almighty's Laws fulfil,
Perform the mighty Dictats of his Will.
These preordained by the Pow'rs above,
Give up their Hearts wholly to divine Love;
For this Seraphick Love the Church still Pants,
'Tis this makes Martyres, Confessors and Saints.
But the Devout, to whom the Gifts not giv'n
Of violent Inclinations for Heav'n,
Rise up with Grace, implanted in their Nature,
By lower Contemplations of the Creature:
We love our Maker, as the others do,
Love him dilated in his Works below;
We admire his Goodness, when we gaze on you.
When I behold your Charms, your ev'ry Grace,
Your matchless Shape, the Wonders of your Face,
I adore th'Omnipotent, I must confess
I see his Image in the lovely Glass:
Thus I mount up, on Love's triumphant Wings,
To the eternal Principal of Things.
I by its natural Emanations know,
Pleasures of Heav'n above, and Earth below;
So without Guilt of Sacrilege, I share
My Heart 'twixt divine Love, and you my charming Fair.
Burthen'd with all the servile Cares of Life,
'Tis much more so, to pious Souls that dwell
Recluse, and cloyster'd in a lonely Cell:
Calm and serene, we feel no weight of Sorrow,
What we're to Day, we'll be the same to Morrow.
51
To Toiles all Day, and sleepless Hours all Night,
Tho' Luxury, our Convent be deny'd,
With fresh Subsistance daily we're supply'd;
We hear no noise of War, or foreign News,
Then let soft Love employ the Religious:
We mock at Riches, which the World adore all,
Our Disposition's physical and moral;
Long Time with Saints, hath stock'd the Courts above,
Who's Hearts receiv'd th'impress of divine Love;
Saints Love so vigrous grows, that at the length,
They love with all their Soul, and all their Strength:
But as the Brutes (so the Supreme design'd)
Have by their Master diff'rent Tasks assign'd,
According as their Strength and Kind allow,
Some are for Pleasure, others for the Plow:
So we who must th'Almighty's Laws fulfil,
Perform the mighty Dictats of his Will.
These preordained by the Pow'rs above,
Give up their Hearts wholly to divine Love;
For this Seraphick Love the Church still Pants,
'Tis this makes Martyres, Confessors and Saints.
But the Devout, to whom the Gifts not giv'n
Of violent Inclinations for Heav'n,
Rise up with Grace, implanted in their Nature,
By lower Contemplations of the Creature:
We love our Maker, as the others do,
Love him dilated in his Works below;
We admire his Goodness, when we gaze on you.
52
Your matchless Shape, the Wonders of your Face,
I adore th'Omnipotent, I must confess
I see his Image in the lovely Glass:
Thus I mount up, on Love's triumphant Wings,
To the eternal Principal of Things.
I by its natural Emanations know,
Pleasures of Heav'n above, and Earth below;
So without Guilt of Sacrilege, I share
My Heart 'twixt divine Love, and you my charming Fair.
To make us Happy, Heav'n did design
That we should in our Maker's Image shine;
This we establish as a Rule of Faith,
The Thing which makes us happy, makes us safe;
And that is Love.
That we should in our Maker's Image shine;
This we establish as a Rule of Faith,
The Thing which makes us happy, makes us safe;
And that is Love.
The Ardors of my Love, makes me impart
To you the great Arcanas of my Heart;
My ghostly Counsel take, be no more Coy,
Prepare to meet me, and the coming Joy.
To you the great Arcanas of my Heart;
My ghostly Counsel take, be no more Coy,
Prepare to meet me, and the coming Joy.
53
The Spider and the Gout.
A FABLE.
We read in prophane and sacred Records,
Of Beasts that have utter'd articulate Words;
And Statues without either Wind-Pipe or Lungs,
Have spoken as plainly as Men do with Tongues:
At Delphes, and Rome, Stocks and Stones, now and then Sirs,
Have to Questions return'd articulate Answers.
State Poems,
Of Beasts that have utter'd articulate Words;
And Statues without either Wind-Pipe or Lungs,
Have spoken as plainly as Men do with Tongues:
At Delphes, and Rome, Stocks and Stones, now and then Sirs,
Have to Questions return'd articulate Answers.
State Poems,
Last Morning half sleeping, there came in my Thought,
A pleasant Dialogue which Æsop forgot:
The
Spider, a Master of the Webster Trade,
(He was a Burgess born, a Burgess bred,)
Declining with Age, lov'd a Countrey Life;
And therefore transported himself to Fife:
Travelling he met on the Road with the Gout,
(Both of the Pilgrims were walking on Foot)
Good-Day, says the Gout, pray where are you going,
In stormy Weather when the Wind is blowing;
The City Weavers have plenty of Wealth,
And all Folk that's Rich, take Care of their Health.
The Spider replies, you're quite mistaken,
I'm a Beggar for all the Pains I've taken;
When e'er I offer to set up my Loom
On a Cabinet Head, or the Roof of a Room,
An ill natur'd Jad, with Besom of Hairs,
Sweeps me and my Plenishing down the Stairs:
If you knew my Case, you'd be mov'd with Pity,
I'll ne'er return in my Life to the City.
(He was a Burgess born, a Burgess bred,)
Declining with Age, lov'd a Countrey Life;
And therefore transported himself to Fife:
Travelling he met on the Road with the Gout,
(Both of the Pilgrims were walking on Foot)
Good-Day, says the Gout, pray where are you going,
In stormy Weather when the Wind is blowing;
54
And all Folk that's Rich, take Care of their Health.
The Spider replies, you're quite mistaken,
I'm a Beggar for all the Pains I've taken;
When e'er I offer to set up my Loom
On a Cabinet Head, or the Roof of a Room,
An ill natur'd Jad, with Besom of Hairs,
Sweeps me and my Plenishing down the Stairs:
If you knew my Case, you'd be mov'd with Pity,
I'll ne'er return in my Life to the City.
If this be the Treatment you get, says the Gout,
Truly I cannot but commend your Wit;
Go you and lodge in a Country Sted,
You may fix your Loom in a Farmer's Bed;
There all your Days live Safe and Content,
He'll no cause you flit, tho' you pay no Rent.
Truly I cannot but commend your Wit;
Go you and lodge in a Country Sted,
You may fix your Loom in a Farmer's Bed;
There all your Days live Safe and Content,
He'll no cause you flit, tho' you pay no Rent.
But for me, I cannot get Bread tho' I beg,
I dare not come near a Country-man's Leg;
He'll no keep me an Hour in a Year at the Fire,
Trails me all the Day thro' Dub, and thro' Mire;
The Lairds and the Trades-men, have as little Pity,
So I'll try my Fate and visit the City.
I dare not come near a Country-man's Leg;
He'll no keep me an Hour in a Year at the Fire,
Trails me all the Day thro' Dub, and thro' Mire;
The Lairds and the Trades-men, have as little Pity,
So I'll try my Fate and visit the City.
Indeed, says the Spider, I approve of the Thing,
In Edinburgh Town you'll live like a King;
But be sure to go to an honest Sinner,
Who begins in the Morning and drinks till Dinner;
Takes a lusty Mail, a Dram, and a Sleep,
Rises and Coughs like a rotten Sheep;
Then away to a Cellar, as dark as Hell,
There he Smoaks and Drinks, till the ten Hour Bell:
Take my Advice, for the Burgess hath Gear,
Keep him close in the House, four Months o' the Year
Remember the more Mischief that ye do,
He'll be the kinder and kinder to you;
He'll roll you in Blankets, and Pillows of Down,
(Well lives the Gout in a graceless Town:)
In Sack he'll drink your Health, tho' it slay him;
Till his Breath be out, never gae frae him.
Farewell, says the Gout, I return you Thanks;
In Edinburgh Town you'll live like a King;
But be sure to go to an honest Sinner,
Who begins in the Morning and drinks till Dinner;
Takes a lusty Mail, a Dram, and a Sleep,
Rises and Coughs like a rotten Sheep;
55
There he Smoaks and Drinks, till the ten Hour Bell:
Take my Advice, for the Burgess hath Gear,
Keep him close in the House, four Months o' the Year
Remember the more Mischief that ye do,
He'll be the kinder and kinder to you;
He'll roll you in Blankets, and Pillows of Down,
(Well lives the Gout in a graceless Town:)
In Sack he'll drink your Health, tho' it slay him;
Till his Breath be out, never gae frae him.
I shall not be long from a Burgesses Shanks.
MORAL.
The Flame of Life's sustain'd with little Food;We're very healthful when we're very Good:
But such is the Corruption of our Natures,
We will be very wicked, goutish Creatures.
56
A DIALOGUE BETWIXT A Sea-Man and a Taylor.
On a very clear NightThe Moon shining bright,
A Sea-man and Taylor were walking;
And I drawing near,
Gave attentive Ear,
And heard ev'ry Thing they were talking.
TAYLOR.
Quoth the cowardly Taylor
To the courageous Sailor,
What was your Dade's Occupation?
SEA-MAN.
He liv'd by the Sea,
'Twas there he did die,
As did all my Generation.
57
Indeed ye're o'er crouse,
Said poor prick the Louse,
To put your self in such Danger,
As to venture at Sea
Where they all did die;
Take Advice from me a Stranger,
Rather stay at Hame,
And work for the Wame,
For this is the Land of Goshen;
Than to go to the Waves
That's prov'd your Fathers Graves,
And die like them, on the Ocean.
SEA-MAN.
Your Trade is free of Harm,
And you sit clean and warm;
But where did your Parents die?
TAYLOR.
In the very same Bed
Where last Night we were laid,
And so I hope will I.
SEA-MAN.
How can ye be glad
To sleep in that Bed,
Since it's dang'rous to ly in't:
No I'll to the Main,
Cry, Widdy hold thy awn,
And ne'er sleep there least I die in't.
58
Duke of Buckinghan's Jest on Dr. Barrow,
With the Doctor's Answer.
The Doctor being invited to DinnerOn a Christmass Day, by a City Sinner,
Kindly comply'd and came to his House,
The first Dish serv'd up, was a Turky and Goose:
The Duke coming in, and spying the Priest,
(No Man in England, lov'd better a Jest,)
Says, tell me Doctor, why it always falls so,
I ne'er see a Church-Man, but I see a Goose also?
The grave Good-Man, with a primitive Look
And a rever'nd low Bow, saluted the Duke,
I'm pleas'd, says he, with Mirth from your Grace,
Your ay making Merry with Aaron's Race;
'Tis a very good Jest you've past in this Place,
I'll ne'er see a Goose, but I'll mind your Grace.
59
Mr. HERRON'S Memorable Saying when Dying.
The pious old Man, who's Riches was Grace,Leaving the Earth for a better Place,
Hearing his dear affectionate Wife
Who always had been the Solace of his Life,
Lamenting her Loss, crying, When you are Dead,
Who will gain my poor Babes their Bread?
With the Air of a Saint, Mr. HERRON reply'd,
Trust in the Lord he will provide;
God who doth the young Ravens preserve,
Will not suffer the young HERRON to starve.
60
Chancellor Hyde's Jest, ON Dr. Bull the famous Jester:
Applying to him for Promotion in the Church; and Dr. Bull's snug Reply.
CHANCELLOUR.I hate to see a smooth headed Bull.
Where's the Horns should adorn your Skull?
Dr. BULL.
Your Lordship must know, in my Country Side,
The Horns are always join'd to the Hide.
61
TO My honour'd Friend Dr. P---k,
Author of the Description of Tweddale, and Miscellany Poems.
Proud
England boasts to be the Muses seat,
Glorys in Spencer's Flights, and Cowley's Heat,
Ben. Johnston's toiling Head, and Shakespear's Plays,
Dryden's bright Wit, and Waller's melting Lays,
Milton's inspired Thoughts, and Denham's Strains,
Who sung the sweetest of the English Swains.
Glorys in Spencer's Flights, and Cowley's Heat,
Ben. Johnston's toiling Head, and Shakespear's Plays,
Dryden's bright Wit, and Waller's melting Lays,
Milton's inspired Thoughts, and Denham's Strains,
Who sung the sweetest of the English Swains.
These are the Muses darling Sons I own,
Yet equaliz'd by Bards born in our frigid Zone:
Fam'd Scotia's snowy Hills hath giv'n Birth,
To Wits and Warriours, famous thro' the Earth.
On barren Heaths, which never felt the Plow,
Ripen'd with cold, the richest Learning grew.
Toss'd in cold Cliffs of Caledonia's Coasts,
With Borea's Blasts, and Hyperborean Frosts:
Th'admired Drummond dropt cœlestial Lines,
Learning in which, and boundless Fancy shines.
Seraphick Notes flow'd from Buchanan's Quill,
Too great for Man; almost for Angels Skill.
Immortal Douglass in his hermit Cell,
Drunk with the Streams of Heliconian Well,
Reelling with Raptures in a rapid Strain,
Virgil Translates and brightens up his Fame:
Stirling and Maitland have eternal Names,
All know the Muses welcome to King JAMES;
Where Constellations of bright Wits appear,
With Knowledge fill the Soul, and charm the Ear:
Crawford of late, the British Ovid grew,
And you'r Great Sir, the British Ovid now.
Could Wishes but prevail, I'd wish my Name,
Like yours, might fly upon the Wings of Fame;
I wish my Worth did equalize my Will,
That I in Nature's Secrets had thy Skill,
And could express them with thy matchless Quill:
Happy the People whom you live among;
Sure 'tis their daily Prayer that you live long;
Their Healths preserv'd by you, their Pleasure by thy Song.
Yet equaliz'd by Bards born in our frigid Zone:
Fam'd Scotia's snowy Hills hath giv'n Birth,
To Wits and Warriours, famous thro' the Earth.
On barren Heaths, which never felt the Plow,
Ripen'd with cold, the richest Learning grew.
Toss'd in cold Cliffs of Caledonia's Coasts,
With Borea's Blasts, and Hyperborean Frosts:
Th'admired Drummond dropt cœlestial Lines,
Learning in which, and boundless Fancy shines.
62
Too great for Man; almost for Angels Skill.
Immortal Douglass in his hermit Cell,
Drunk with the Streams of Heliconian Well,
Reelling with Raptures in a rapid Strain,
Virgil Translates and brightens up his Fame:
Stirling and Maitland have eternal Names,
All know the Muses welcome to King JAMES;
Where Constellations of bright Wits appear,
With Knowledge fill the Soul, and charm the Ear:
Crawford of late, the British Ovid grew,
And you'r Great Sir, the British Ovid now.
Could Wishes but prevail, I'd wish my Name,
Like yours, might fly upon the Wings of Fame;
I wish my Worth did equalize my Will,
That I in Nature's Secrets had thy Skill,
And could express them with thy matchless Quill:
Happy the People whom you live among;
Sure 'tis their daily Prayer that you live long;
Their Healths preserv'd by you, their Pleasure by thy Song.
63
A Farewell to CELIA going to the North.
Farewell fair Saint, the killing Wound I feel,When I pronounce the bloody word, Farewell.
My Case is worse, than that unhappy Race,
Who view fair Phœbus, but a little Space;
Whilst they're adoring him, he leaves their Hemisphere,
And they're poor Wretches sunk in deep Despair.
So I, unhappy I, did scarcely know,
The greatest Beauty ever dwelt below.
But she, ah! Cruel Fair, retires; and lo,
Leaves her poor Lover, plung'd in Gulphs of Woe.
Farewell, dear charming Celia, O prove kind,
And mind the bleeding Heart you've left behind:
Fly, fly ye lazy Minutes, wing away,
Haste on ye weary Nights, post on each tedious Day
Till she return, and then for ever stay.
64
A MARRIAGE BETWIXT
Scrape, Monarch of the Maunders, and Bobberlips Queen of the Gypsies.
Travelling of late in Fogs and thick Mist,
Without any Guide save Will with the Wisp,
I wander'd, for the bright decoying Rogue,
Hop'd to wild Heaths, and many a mossy Bog;
Trembling I stumbl'd thro' deep Pits and Ditches,
Thinking to meet the Devil and his Witches,
I'm sure they keep their nightly Meetings here,
(Where never Priest, or humane Foot draws near,)
Upon this Spot they dance and ravel all the Year:
At last a joyful Musick reach'd my Ear,
I did the Din of distant Waters hear,
Ignis went off, the Day began to clear.
I leapt for Joy, bending my Course with speed,
To reach the Water; and I found it Tweed:
Glad was my Heart, when I its Banks did view;
There I beheld a very jovial Crew.
Below fair Peebles, on the River's Side,
The merry Beggars were busking a Bride,
A gang of Strollers, acting their Freiks,
Gabling and dancing as merry as Greeks.
In a thicket of Trees my self I hid,
Where I heard and saw what the Beggars did.
Without any Guide save Will with the Wisp,
I wander'd, for the bright decoying Rogue,
Hop'd to wild Heaths, and many a mossy Bog;
Trembling I stumbl'd thro' deep Pits and Ditches,
Thinking to meet the Devil and his Witches,
I'm sure they keep their nightly Meetings here,
(Where never Priest, or humane Foot draws near,)
Upon this Spot they dance and ravel all the Year:
At last a joyful Musick reach'd my Ear,
I did the Din of distant Waters hear,
Ignis went off, the Day began to clear.
I leapt for Joy, bending my Course with speed,
To reach the Water; and I found it Tweed:
65
There I beheld a very jovial Crew.
Below fair Peebles, on the River's Side,
The merry Beggars were busking a Bride,
A gang of Strollers, acting their Freiks,
Gabling and dancing as merry as Greeks.
In a thicket of Trees my self I hid,
Where I heard and saw what the Beggars did.
No Shellicoat Goblin, or Elf on the Green,
E'er triped more nimbly than the Beggar's Queen;
Blobberlips the Bride did Dance and Play,
(For this, it seems, was her Wedding-Day.)
She was match'd to old Scrape, the Maunders King,
(This made all the Rag-Regiment sing,)
Who gave her a Curch, as wide as a Hood;
A silver Brotch, and a silken Snood,
A pearled Cross-Cloth, a woven Belt,
A large leathren Swag, to hold the Gelt;
A pair of Scizars, to clip the Plaisters;
To keep open the Wounds which shew their Disasters;
Needles to sew the Pass-ports when torn;
An Elchin to coble the Shoes when worn;
A string of Beads, a Bitch, and a Kent,
To help her thro' the Bogs and the Bent,)
A Blanket, a pair of new soal'd Hose,
A Mill with Snitian, to pepper her Nose.
You're Queen of the Covee, (says he) tho' in Rags,
My fair Fuss you shall carry the Bags;
All Night you shall ly on Pillows of Flags.
I've truf'd you a Ladies Shirt from the Hedge;
(Auld louzy Duds gars ay Folk fidge.)
On Pad of Bulrushes, your Buttocks I'll lay,
There sleep and sing, till the Cock crow Day.
Then beg on the Way, and rob all we meet,
Steal from the Hedge, both the Shirt and the Sheet.
I'll pour on thy Pale, a Pot of good Ale,
Laughing like us, at ev'ry Mail;
On stoln Eggs and Butter we'll Dine,
My bona noba, in a cloven Pine;
With Ducklings i'th' Season, Bacon and Pease,
Capons, Turkeys, and fat dabs of Cheese;
I'll learn you to filch a Duck or a Hen,
Fill the Swag with Lour, for a bousing Ken.
E'er triped more nimbly than the Beggar's Queen;
Blobberlips the Bride did Dance and Play,
(For this, it seems, was her Wedding-Day.)
She was match'd to old Scrape, the Maunders King,
(This made all the Rag-Regiment sing,)
Who gave her a Curch, as wide as a Hood;
A silver Brotch, and a silken Snood,
A pearled Cross-Cloth, a woven Belt,
A large leathren Swag, to hold the Gelt;
A pair of Scizars, to clip the Plaisters;
To keep open the Wounds which shew their Disasters;
Needles to sew the Pass-ports when torn;
An Elchin to coble the Shoes when worn;
A string of Beads, a Bitch, and a Kent,
To help her thro' the Bogs and the Bent,)
A Blanket, a pair of new soal'd Hose,
A Mill with Snitian, to pepper her Nose.
You're Queen of the Covee, (says he) tho' in Rags,
My fair Fuss you shall carry the Bags;
All Night you shall ly on Pillows of Flags.
66
(Auld louzy Duds gars ay Folk fidge.)
On Pad of Bulrushes, your Buttocks I'll lay,
There sleep and sing, till the Cock crow Day.
Then beg on the Way, and rob all we meet,
Steal from the Hedge, both the Shirt and the Sheet.
I'll pour on thy Pale, a Pot of good Ale,
Laughing like us, at ev'ry Mail;
On stoln Eggs and Butter we'll Dine,
My bona noba, in a cloven Pine;
With Ducklings i'th' Season, Bacon and Pease,
Capons, Turkeys, and fat dabs of Cheese;
I'll learn you to filch a Duck or a Hen,
Fill the Swag with Lour, for a bousing Ken.
And a Begging we will go,
And a Begging we will go;
With a Pock for our Oat Meal,
Another for our Rye;
A little Bottle by our Side,
To Drink when we are Dry.
And a Begging we will go, &c.
And a Begging we will go;
With a Pock for our Oat Meal,
Another for our Rye;
A little Bottle by our Side,
To Drink when we are Dry.
And a Begging we will go, &c.
Blabberlips kiss'd him, ten times and mair;
Cry's, Blessings lies lurking in his Tufts of Hair;
Lang grows his Beard, thick, forked, and fair:
I'll kemb his Beard, his Whiskers I'll plet;
With Feathers of Ravens, brush his bald Pate:
He'll ly on the Pad with his Dell till she twang:
Let the Constable, Justice, and the D---l, go hang
When we roost in Barns, old Chuck will teach us,
To cut bien Whids, and be perfect in Crutches,
To clap our Fambles, thro' up our Nab-cheats,
To silch from the Hedge, both the Shirts and the Sheets:
The Cowlies on the Straw, with the Morties will be glad,
But ilk an must maund on his awn Pad:
The Doxies turn up their Keels and spelder,
Wapping till a Kinch twang in the Kelder.
Cry's, Blessings lies lurking in his Tufts of Hair;
Lang grows his Beard, thick, forked, and fair:
I'll kemb his Beard, his Whiskers I'll plet;
With Feathers of Ravens, brush his bald Pate:
He'll ly on the Pad with his Dell till she twang:
Let the Constable, Justice, and the D---l, go hang
When we roost in Barns, old Chuck will teach us,
To cut bien Whids, and be perfect in Crutches,
67
To silch from the Hedge, both the Shirts and the Sheets:
The Cowlies on the Straw, with the Morties will be glad,
But ilk an must maund on his awn Pad:
The Doxies turn up their Keels and spelder,
Wapping till a Kinch twang in the Kelder.
The Covee coming by,
Will Bumbumbis cry,
Hedge-Hog, Toad, Beetle,
Dick the Jewels,
There they ly.
Will Bumbumbis cry,
Hedge-Hog, Toad, Beetle,
Dick the Jewels,
There they ly.
Then a flecker'd blew ey'd Hag began to sing,
To the Tune of Old Sir Simon the King,
To the Tune of Old Sir Simon the King,
Beggars SONG out of Beaumont and Fletchers Plays.
“Cast our Caps and Care away,“This is Beggars Holy-Day;
“At the Wedding of our King,
“Thus we ever dance and sing.
“In the World look out, and see;
“Where's so happy a Prince as he,
“Where's the Nation lives so free,
“And so Merry as do we?
68
“Here at Liberty we are,
“And enjoy our Ease and Rest:
“To the Fields we are not prest,
“Nor are call'd unto the Town,
“To be troubled with the Gown.
“Hang the Government, we cry,
“Their Officers we do defy;
“Let Magistrates on Gibbets dy.
“When the Subsidy's encreast,
“We are not a Penny Cest:
“Nor will any go to Law,
“With a Beggar for a Straw.
“All which Happiness he brags,
“He doth owe unto his Rags.
“Then a Begging we will go,
“And a Begging we will go, &c.
In the midst of their Mirth, Dunnawassels drew nigh
King Scrape rose up with the Hue, and the Cry:
King Scrape rose up with the Hue, and the Cry:
Purveyors to your Crutches; wooden Legs, wry Faces,
To your Postures; learn your halting Paces.
Red-botch rid you, make false Bellies, ye Whores,
Slover Chops to your Stilts, lay open your Sores;
Beeds-Men tye your Tackling, haste, the Lour bring
To Litter the Cubs, and Bouse the King.
To your Postures; learn your halting Paces.
Red-botch rid you, make false Bellies, ye Whores,
Slover Chops to your Stilts, lay open your Sores;
Beeds-Men tye your Tackling, haste, the Lour bring
To Litter the Cubs, and Bouse the King.
The tatter'd Regiment took the Alarm,
Some wanted a Leg, others an Arm:
The Queen was Cripple, with a broken Leg;
And thus she shew'd them, the Art to beg.
Some wanted a Leg, others an Arm:
69
And thus she shew'd them, the Art to beg.
The Begging CANT.
Bless your Worships, throw us a Penny;Pitty the Wretches, poor and many;
Mind the Blind who cannot see;
Giv's but a Doyt, or Irish Babie:
Spare something to the Dumb and Lame,
All starving with a hungry Wame;
And he who sent you't guide you hame.
She canted till she got
The matter of a Groat,
Which she to Scrape did bring,
For he was own'd for King;
And merrily did sing.
The SONG.
Here in Peace and Love we dwell,Who'd be Nobles, prithee tell:
When the Beggars live so well.
Then Blyth, very Blyth, very Blyth, let us be,
King George needs a Million, so do not we:
Well Dance, and we'll Sing under the Hawthorn-Tree.
Just now it's been our Lot,
For to pick up a Groat,
We'll put it in the Pot,
And Merry, Merry, Merry, very Merry, let us be.
King George needs a Million, so do not we:
Well Dance, and we'll Sing under the Hawthorn-Tree.
Just now it's been our Lot,
For to pick up a Groat,
We'll put it in the Pot,
And Merry, Merry, Merry, very Merry, let us be.
70
ON CORINNA
Rising from her Bed, and dressing to go to Mass, upon Ash-Wedensday Morning.
After the Model of Anacreon.
I. PART I.
Cum Theba cum Troja foret cum Cæsaris acta
Ingenium movit sola Corinna meum,
Ovid. Eleg.
Ingenium movit sola Corinna meum,
Ovid. Eleg.
Fair
Corinna she doth rise,
Blushing like the Morning Skies;
Her Hair is as the streaming Gold:
(Half her Charms can ne'er be told)
All the Stars that's in the Skies,
Shine not like her peirceing Eyes.
In her Breasts the Lillie grows,
In her Cheeks the Summer's Rose;
How her Bosom gently moves,
Shining with the gloz of Doves:
Softer than the Down of Swans,
Is her Arms and her Hands;
Her Cloths doth greater Beauties shrow'd,
Than these which makes the Peacock proud.
Oh, Corinna's charming Fair!
Matchless in her Shape and Air;
'Twas such Beauty that did move,
Ovid in his Art of Love.
Looks like her's made Adam fall,
Beauty triumphs over all;
With her Brightness I'm undone,
Like Men gazing on the Sun:
Cruel Beauty haste away,
Or you'll kill me if you stay.
Blushing like the Morning Skies;
Her Hair is as the streaming Gold:
(Half her Charms can ne'er be told)
All the Stars that's in the Skies,
Shine not like her peirceing Eyes.
In her Breasts the Lillie grows,
In her Cheeks the Summer's Rose;
How her Bosom gently moves,
Shining with the gloz of Doves:
71
Is her Arms and her Hands;
Her Cloths doth greater Beauties shrow'd,
Than these which makes the Peacock proud.
Oh, Corinna's charming Fair!
Matchless in her Shape and Air;
'Twas such Beauty that did move,
Ovid in his Art of Love.
Looks like her's made Adam fall,
Beauty triumphs over all;
With her Brightness I'm undone,
Like Men gazing on the Sun:
Cruel Beauty haste away,
Or you'll kill me if you stay.
Now she looks unto the Glass,
Which doth all her Airs express;
I am ravish'd when I View,
Corinna multiply'd to Two.
O Corinna! hear my Pray'r,
You are Good as well as Fair;
Take no Patches, they'll do Harm,
Ev'ry Patch conceals a Charm:
Minor Beauties Patch and Paint,
'Tis because their Colour's faint;
Let them counterfeit the Rose,
To beguile a gleik of Beaux.
Pouder, curle and dy their Hair,
And affect a courtly Air;
Nature when she finish'd you,
Left Art nothing for to do.
Which doth all her Airs express;
I am ravish'd when I View,
Corinna multiply'd to Two.
O Corinna! hear my Pray'r,
You are Good as well as Fair;
Take no Patches, they'll do Harm,
Ev'ry Patch conceals a Charm:
Minor Beauties Patch and Paint,
'Tis because their Colour's faint;
Let them counterfeit the Rose,
To beguile a gleik of Beaux.
Pouder, curle and dy their Hair,
And affect a courtly Air;
Nature when she finish'd you,
Left Art nothing for to do.
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Don't employ the cruel Fan,
Less than that hath kill'd a Man;
It's an Implement of Death,
When it cools you with it's Breath.
As Western Breezes makes the Rose,
All its Sweetness to disclose;
So the Fan spreads all the Flow'rs,
In that lovely Face of yours.
The Fan created first my Pain,
I was Dead, but liv'd again;
You can with the smallest Toy,
Which your Fingers doth employ,
Melt the Soul with rapt'rous Joy.
Less than that hath kill'd a Man;
It's an Implement of Death,
When it cools you with it's Breath.
As Western Breezes makes the Rose,
All its Sweetness to disclose;
So the Fan spreads all the Flow'rs,
In that lovely Face of yours.
The Fan created first my Pain,
I was Dead, but liv'd again;
You can with the smallest Toy,
Which your Fingers doth employ,
Melt the Soul with rapt'rous Joy.
I'll another Favour ask,
Be not cover'd with a Mask;
Bless the World with your Face,
And expose your ev'ry Grace,
Wound and kill each Swain you see;
But reserve your Heart for me.
Be not cover'd with a Mask;
Bless the World with your Face,
And expose your ev'ry Grace,
Wound and kill each Swain you see;
But reserve your Heart for me.
II. PART II.
If you go to the Temple, Nymph divine,
They'll ev'ry Image burn, and ev'ry Shrine;
Each Vot'ry there will only worship thine.
Fair Devotess, in heat of boiling Love,
Thinking you are descended from above,
Low at thy Feet they'll kneel, devoutly bow,
And with imploring Hymns they'll worship you:
Ave Marias they'll forget to sing,
Ave Corinna, thro' the Dome will ring;
They'll Feast upon your Beauty, glorious Saint;
The Crime may Damn them, for its breach of Lent.
They'll ev'ry Image burn, and ev'ry Shrine;
Each Vot'ry there will only worship thine.
Fair Devotess, in heat of boiling Love,
Thinking you are descended from above,
Low at thy Feet they'll kneel, devoutly bow,
And with imploring Hymns they'll worship you:
73
Ave Corinna, thro' the Dome will ring;
They'll Feast upon your Beauty, glorious Saint;
The Crime may Damn them, for its breach of Lent.
O! had Pope Jean, like you, been killing Fair,
Your Sex had always fill'd the Papal Chair;
Then strictest Hugonets had gladly come
To kneel, and kiss thy lovely Toe at Rome.
Sweet Cherubim, you prove beyond the Priest,
They lye who plead, that Miracles are ceas'd.
Go then, fair Vot'ry, to the Dome and Pray,
You'll wash the Guilt of Heresy away,
And sanctify this Superstitious Day.
Your Sex had always fill'd the Papal Chair;
Then strictest Hugonets had gladly come
To kneel, and kiss thy lovely Toe at Rome.
Sweet Cherubim, you prove beyond the Priest,
They lye who plead, that Miracles are ceas'd.
Go then, fair Vot'ry, to the Dome and Pray,
You'll wash the Guilt of Heresy away,
And sanctify this Superstitious Day.
74
MERRY TALES FOR THE Lang Nights of Winter,
In DIALOGUES betwixt the Tinklarian Doctor and his Grandam, &c.
The Taylor cry'd, and fell unto a Cough,
And the whole Quire, did hold their Hips and laugh;
And waxen in their Mirth, and sneez and swear,
A merryer Hour was never wasted here.
Shakspear.
And the whole Quire, did hold their Hips and laugh;
And waxen in their Mirth, and sneez and swear,
A merryer Hour was never wasted here.
Shakspear.
The Winter Nights in Merryment and Play,
They pass, to drive the tedious Hours away.
TINKLARIAN DOCTOR.
On a Winters Night, my Gran'am spinning,
To make a Web of good Scots Linen;
Her Stool being plac'd next to the Chimney,
For she was auld and saw right dimly:
My Lucky Dade, an honest Whig,
Was telling Tales of Bothwell-Brig;
He could not miss to mind th'Attempt,
For he was sitting peeling Hemp.
My Aunt, whom nane dare say has no Grace,
Was reading on the Pilgrim's Progress;
The meikle Tasker, Davie Dallas,
Was telling Blads of William Wallace:
My Mither bad her second Son say,
What he'd by Heart of Davie Lindsay.
Our Herd, whom all Folk hates that knows him,
Was busy hunting in his Bosom,
Till being tir'd with twa Hours scratching;
He fell at length to quick dispatching;
Nere Roman slew sae mony Græcians,
As he did of his blood Relations,
Nor did he think it was a Sin,
To be the Dead of all his Kin.
The Bairns and Oyes were all within Doors,
The youngest of us chawing Cyndars,
And all the auld anes telling Wonders:
I'll tell you mine, ye nere hear'd droller,
(It's meikle worth to be a Scholar.)
To make a Web of good Scots Linen;
Her Stool being plac'd next to the Chimney,
For she was auld and saw right dimly:
75
Was telling Tales of Bothwell-Brig;
He could not miss to mind th'Attempt,
For he was sitting peeling Hemp.
My Aunt, whom nane dare say has no Grace,
Was reading on the Pilgrim's Progress;
The meikle Tasker, Davie Dallas,
Was telling Blads of William Wallace:
My Mither bad her second Son say,
What he'd by Heart of Davie Lindsay.
Our Herd, whom all Folk hates that knows him,
Was busy hunting in his Bosom,
Till being tir'd with twa Hours scratching;
He fell at length to quick dispatching;
Nere Roman slew sae mony Græcians,
As he did of his blood Relations,
Nor did he think it was a Sin,
To be the Dead of all his Kin.
The Bairns and Oyes were all within Doors,
The youngest of us chawing Cyndars,
And all the auld anes telling Wonders:
I'll tell you mine, ye nere hear'd droller,
(It's meikle worth to be a Scholar.)
I've seen you where you never was,
And where you nere will be;
But yet within that very Place,
You shall be seen by me.
And where you nere will be;
But yet within that very Place,
You shall be seen by me.
76
Na, that dings all; but it's a Fiction,
A plain and perfect Contradiction;
You'll see me where I nere will be,
I never hear'd a greater Lie.
Tink. Doctor.
Gran'am look up unto the Glass,
And there ye'll see your wrinkled Face.
Grandam.
I vow I'd rather giv'n ten Dollars,
Before I had nae bred you Scholars,
I love to hear your sweet debating,
With ane Word Scots the other Latine;
There's nane of all the Bairn-time stupid,
Their Beards may all wag in the Pulpit,
Ev'n Sandy if to next Year spar'd,
May be a Chaplain to a Laird.
But, hear me Willie, ye're the eldest,
I ken ye can a Story tell best,
With all your Clergy tell the Wonder,
I cannot tho' I'm near an hunder,
Why my Teeth younger than my Tongue,
Hard as a Stain, or well dry'd Rung,
Should moulder like an rotten Liver,
Yet my soft Tongue continue clever?
Or, why Shoe-Soals so soon decay,
In less than six Months quite away,
77
Tho daily worn this ninty Year?
Or, tell me if you ken the Matter,
How Ale being thicker far than Water,
When I drink Ale, it gets an easie downfall,
But Water choaks we tho 'twere a spoonfull?
Tinkl. Doctor.
Grandam I'll answer all your Wonders,
Beginning at the first, your Grinders;
Must not that wear which nere lies still,
Ay grinding like the Canno-Mill:
Your just a Mill your Mouths the Happer,
Your Teeth the Mill-Stains, Tongue the Clapper;
Ye ken the Clapper is but thin,
And like your Tongue ay making din,
Yet it will wear out twenty Mill-Stains,
Tho they are kend not to be ill Stains.
As to the second, you'd consider,
That Beasts have diff'rent kind of Leather;
Shoe-Soals from dead Beasts they do flae,
But ye are living, lang be't sae.
As to the last, 'bout Ale and Water,
Ale gangs down cause you love it better.
Grandam.
The last's the truest of the three,
The shame a Word of that's a Lie.
Tinkl. Doctor.
Gran'am I've answer'd all your Questions,
Giv's a Tale, ane of your best ones.
78
I'll tell you a Tale, in the Days of Cromwell,
When Charles the First from the Throne did tumble;
I was then about fourten Years and an half old,
When the Rogues took his Head aff upon a Scaffold:
We were very ill fash'd with the English Land-Loupers
And the haill Country was o'er-run with Mos-Troopers;
I went out upon a Night with my Sister Jean,
I mind very well it was on a Valentin's Ev'n,
We'd been drawing our Valentines, I drew John Strang,
He had a base Property 'twas scyre Wrang;
Red Hair'd, Dish Browd,
Bladder Lipped, meikle Mow'd.
We met with my auld Joe Geordie Brown,
Bladder Lipped, meikle Mow'd.
He liv'd when he was living, in th'Overtown,
His Face was big and fair like a fow Moon;
He had on a Suit with Princess Mettal Button,
His twa Hands was like twa hind Legs of Mutton;
I'm sure it was nae with eating, he was nae Glutton.
His Legs mens'd all the Parish at Kirk and Market,
He said to me, its bawdy, I had best hark it,
Lend me your Lug, Giles, and I'll round it in,
Now for your Life Limmer, offer to tell't again:
But we were cry'd back upon, by my Sister Mary,
So Geordie and we, fell to play at blind Hary.
Geordie gigled and leugh ay, whan I was ta'n,
And the place he gript me be, was ay the Wame:
79
We left the drunken Carles to their awn Cracks,
We went to the Barn-Yard and play'd bogle about the Stacks.
When I was wearied with hiding, and he with pursuing,
We sat down at a Hay-Stack, and fell closs to the wooing;
He slaver'd all my Lips, and turn'd very uncivil,
He thrust up his Hand the length of my Navel,
I gar'd all the Folk hear me, I cry'd out like a D---l.
The D---l take me, quoth I, blessing my self, if I be your Lown,
Sae tell me, are ye in mows or earnest Geordie Brown?
I'm in earnest, quo Geordie, it's better nor cracking,
Make nae Noise Bessie, it's ay good to be taking;
But out came my Mither with a Rock in her Bosom,
She gave him his Paicks and soundly did toss him,
He took to his Heels, and scowr'd thro' the Green,
So I'll ne'er forget that Valantin's Ev'n.
Tinkl. Doctor.
Gran'am, I'm ay fear'd you've been an auld Sinner,
You love a bawdy Tale, as I do my Dinner;
I'll tell you a Tale should not be forgotten,
The Wife I'm speaking of is both dead and rotten,
She was an honest Cammeronian near the Bow-Head,
She was sae very afflicted when her Husband was Dead,
Ev'ning and Morning she went to the Gray-Friars:
If this be not true, mony anes Liers)
It happ'n'd anes as she went there to mourn,
But first she behov'd for to make her Burn;
80
A Thistle on the Grave jagged her A---e,
She thought her B---ks was touch'd by old Cuff,
Thrusting his Hand up thro' the Turff;
She ran away crying five times or six,
Dead or alive ye mind your auld Tricks.
Mauss.
Out fy, Brother, ye stain your Profession,
If you speak that way, I'll tell the Session;
A Story that's bawdy, is not worth a Plack Man,
I'll tell a Tale of Jamie the Pack-Man.
Ye could not but ken glied Jamie Cunninghame,
As he was travelling, within a Mile of Tuninghame,
He sat down at a Fald-Dyke for to ease his Back;
'Twad bursten our Mare to've carried his Pack,
As he was rising to gang some Miles farther,
He hitch'd his Pack o'er the left Shoulder,
The swing of the Pack brought him to the Ground,
And choak'd him Dead; the Laird of the Ground
On the very Spot where his Servants fand him,
Put up a Stain with this Memorandum.
What e'er come of the Pack,
Spend ay the other Plack,
And let ne'er your Gear o'ergang you;
Keep ay your Back light,
And your Pack tight,
And then it will not hang you.
Spend ay the other Plack,
And let ne'er your Gear o'ergang you;
Keep ay your Back light,
And your Pack tight,
And then it will not hang you.
81
Gran'am give me a pair of new Breicks,
And I'll tell you somethings will gar you rive your Cheeks:
Grandam.
Blessings upon the wi ane, hear how he speaks,
My Dear, ye'll not want it, if I should buy them with Straicks.
Little Jamie.
'Twas auld lang syne, in an hamely Converse,
A Scots-Man bade the King and Court kiss his A---e
Grandam.
Mislear'd Fallow, the meikle D---l speed him,
I'm sure the King wad gar hang him, or head him.
Little Jamie.
Indeed he did neither, but thought him a fit Tool,
To be carry'd to Court, and made the King's Fool.
Grandam.
They turn all Fools gaes there, Jamie, that's nae Lie,
Our Laird spends his Silver there, ilk a Babie:
He had ance a bra Fortune; it's all gane to Wrack,
For London's a Place that herrys the Pack)
I believe this Day he's not worth five and a Plack:
The Lords and Lairds that gae up sae fast thither,
Are just like the Bairns that forget their auld Mither;
And like the Northland Folk, that come from beyond the Tay,
To return back again they seldom find the Way:
They say ay our Laird's ta'n up about State-Affairs,
Shame fa that Wark makes such poor Heirs.
Our Laird spends his Silver there, ilk a Babie:
He had ance a bra Fortune; it's all gane to Wrack,
For London's a Place that herrys the Pack)
I believe this Day he's not worth five and a Plack:
82
Are just like the Bairns that forget their auld Mither;
And like the Northland Folk, that come from beyond the Tay,
To return back again they seldom find the Way:
They say ay our Laird's ta'n up about State-Affairs,
Shame fa that Wark makes such poor Heirs.
Little Jamie.
Let us who stay at hame, study to be Thrivers,
And well turn Lairds, when the Lairds turn Dyvers:
But, Gran'am, let me tell out my bra Sport,
How the Man spake to the King and his Court;
'Twas King James the Sixth, when he rang twenty Years
King of England, he came down with his Peers
To visit Scotland, where he got his Being,
The Kings sinsyne thinks we're not worth the seeing
King George wad nae come, if it wou'd save us fra dying;
For these English Cuckolds, who wou'd cut our Throats,
Gars the honest Man turn his Back on the Scots,
I love ay that Minister, he was an honest Gentleman
Who said ance in a preaching, the D---l was an Englishman
And by the Reason he gave, it's very true indeed,
When Scholars raise the D---ll he has Horns on his Head.
But to return to my Tale, the King and his Dunns wassels,
Came to see the Scots Gentry, and all his Vassals;
As he lodg'd on the Road, where they sauld Brandy and Ale,
And the King was turn'd kanty with the other Gill,
He asked the Landlord, how lang he'd liv'd there,
The Man answer'd, five hundred Years and mair
I and my Predecessors, tho' you may think it a base Lie
It's als true as ony thing in the black Book of Paisly.
Do you ken, said the King, wha was your Chief,
He was hang'd, quo the Man, on the kind Gallows of Crieff,
Waes me, quo the King, it seems he's been a Thief.
Indeed I'm sure he was nae that, quo the other,
But King David gar'd hang baith him and his Brother,
What was the Crimes they died for, said King James,
May be they were Rebells, what was their Names?
Indeed answer'd the Man, I believe they were not baptiz'd,
But just took to themselves what Names they pleas'd;
For the sign of the Cross, us'd then by popish Fellows,
Look'd as if the Bairns were to die on the Gallows:
But for the good of Scotland, they gate aft sare Banes,
The Name of the eldest was, praise God, Bare Banes;
The second Brother's Name, who was a Laird in the Merse,
Was, an't please your Majesty, kiss my A---e,
Bare Banes came to be Treasurer by which he wan Siller,
And for two Years together, kiss my A---e Chancellor;
But thereafter Bare Banes was Ch---r, for he was a cunning Spark,
And kiss my A---e twice L--- J---ce C---k:
Yet falling someway thereafter under the King's Anger,
They kend they wad be hang'd, if they staid ony langer,
Sae they travell'd in Disguise that they might not be kend,
And turn'd baith of them Trencher-Makers to their Lifes end:
They travell'd with Tinkers and Gypsies, thro' mony Mans Ground,
Bare Banes made his four nook'd, kiss my A---e all round.
And well turn Lairds, when the Lairds turn Dyvers:
But, Gran'am, let me tell out my bra Sport,
How the Man spake to the King and his Court;
'Twas King James the Sixth, when he rang twenty Years
King of England, he came down with his Peers
To visit Scotland, where he got his Being,
The Kings sinsyne thinks we're not worth the seeing
King George wad nae come, if it wou'd save us fra dying;
For these English Cuckolds, who wou'd cut our Throats,
Gars the honest Man turn his Back on the Scots,
I love ay that Minister, he was an honest Gentleman
Who said ance in a preaching, the D---l was an Englishman
And by the Reason he gave, it's very true indeed,
When Scholars raise the D---ll he has Horns on his Head.
But to return to my Tale, the King and his Dunns wassels,
Came to see the Scots Gentry, and all his Vassals;
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And the King was turn'd kanty with the other Gill,
He asked the Landlord, how lang he'd liv'd there,
The Man answer'd, five hundred Years and mair
I and my Predecessors, tho' you may think it a base Lie
It's als true as ony thing in the black Book of Paisly.
Do you ken, said the King, wha was your Chief,
He was hang'd, quo the Man, on the kind Gallows of Crieff,
Waes me, quo the King, it seems he's been a Thief.
Indeed I'm sure he was nae that, quo the other,
But King David gar'd hang baith him and his Brother,
What was the Crimes they died for, said King James,
May be they were Rebells, what was their Names?
Indeed answer'd the Man, I believe they were not baptiz'd,
But just took to themselves what Names they pleas'd;
For the sign of the Cross, us'd then by popish Fellows,
Look'd as if the Bairns were to die on the Gallows:
But for the good of Scotland, they gate aft sare Banes,
The Name of the eldest was, praise God, Bare Banes;
The second Brother's Name, who was a Laird in the Merse,
Was, an't please your Majesty, kiss my A---e,
Bare Banes came to be Treasurer by which he wan Siller,
And for two Years together, kiss my A---e Chancellor;
But thereafter Bare Banes was Ch---r, for he was a cunning Spark,
And kiss my A---e twice L--- J---ce C---k:
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They kend they wad be hang'd, if they staid ony langer,
Sae they travell'd in Disguise that they might not be kend,
And turn'd baith of them Trencher-Makers to their Lifes end:
They travell'd with Tinkers and Gypsies, thro' mony Mans Ground,
Bare Banes made his four nook'd, kiss my A---e all round.
Grandam.
Sirs, heard you e'er a Bairn speak sae in his Age,
He'll be the Tinklarian all o'er, I see by his Vissage,
Who is well ken'd to be the prettiest Man in this Age.
He'll be the Tinklarian all o'er, I see by his Vissage,
Who is well ken'd to be the prettiest Man in this Age.
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Jotham's Parable:
OR, THE Parliament of Trees.
ARGUMENT.
The
Trees went forth on a Time to anoint a King over
them, and they said unto the Olive-tree, reign thou
over us. But the Olive-tree said unto them, Should I leave
my Fatness, wherewith by me they honour God and Man, and go
to be promoted over the Trees? and the Trees said to the Fig-tree,
Come thou and reign over us. But the Fig-tree said unto
them, Should I forsake my Sweetness and my good Fruit, and
to to be promoted over the Trees? Then said the Trees unto the
Vine, Come thou and reign over us. And the Vine said unto
them, Should I leave my Wine, which cheareth God and Man,
And go to be promoted over the Trees? Then said all the Trees
unto the Bramble, Come thou, and reign over us. And the
Bramble said unto the Trees, If in Truth ye anoint me over
you, then come, and put your Trust in my Shadow: And if not,
let Fire come out of the Bramble, and devour the Cedars of
Lebanon.
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Washing with Amber Streams the shaggy Sides
Of seven proud Mountains, whose aspiring Heads,
Frown with Disdain upon the lowly Meads.
In Days of Yore, as ancient Bards do sing,
Trees met in Parliament to chuse a King,
Hereditary Right they quite forgot,
It seems, of Lethes Streams they drunk a Pot:
'Tis true, the Torry Trees gave no Consent,
But damn'd them for a Whiggish Parliament.
The Peerage of the Wood do first conveen,
The Oak, the Poplar, and the lofty Pine;
The Ash, the Elm, the Beech, and Fir, are sent,
To represent the Shires in Parliament.
The Hazel, Willow, and the Bramble Brood,
Compear as honest Burghers of the Wood;
Some lusty Cedars came from Sol'mon's Porch,
In pious Zeal to represent the Church,
But were return'd unto the Lord of Hosts,
(The Clergy most not grasp at civil Posts.)
Th'States conveen'd, did with one Voice declare,
That Prelates should attend their past'ral Care,
And fit young Levites for the House of Prayer.
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Else we'll turn deaf with Aaron's jangling Bells:
They ought to mind the Flock, and not the Fleece,
Live like the Chaplains of the PRINCE of PEACE.
Spending their Days in Penitence and Prayer,
Still in their Eye the penitential Tear.
A Palm which long grew on Parnassus Hill,
(Made by Apollo Master of the Quill)
Was chosen Speaker for his matchless Skill.
They authoriz'd a Laurel to be Scribe,
Who was descended from a learned Tribe:
A lowly Cyprus, known to be a Saint,
Was th'Elect Chaplain to the Parliament.
Prayers said, Rolls call'd, a venerable Beech,
In Judgment strong, and eloquent in Speech,
Mov'd that four Members might not have a Vote,
The first was Knave, the second was a Sot;
The third a Rebell, and the fourth was worse,
An Atheist, who had never got Remorse:
The Facts were proven, they with Shame sent Home,
Four honest Trees elected in their Room.
To keep, said he, from a Tyranick Throne,
Let's first declare ours an elective Crown,
Let us be in a magna Charta fix'd,
No Safety where the Governments not mix'd:
The King's Prerogative must not devour
The Subjects Properties, but these secure;
Nor must we streach our Arms to grasp the Regal Power.
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Slavery and Chains becomes the Subjects Fate.
You know we had a Monarch while he stood,
Wrote all our Laws in Characters of Blood:
Then chuse a Tree well vers'd in Forrest Laws,
Hath Strength and Courage to support our Cause;
Who knows the Institutions of the Wood,
Better indeed he be of Royal Blood:
Who'll keep the Coronation Oath he takes,
Boldly defend us from th'invading Ax.
The Legislative Power in Senate met,
After long Sitting, and a cool Debate,
Preferr'd an Olive-tree to rule the State,
Who flourish'd in the fertile Plains of Goshon;
An Ew is sent to tell him his Promotion,
Who went with Swiftness to the Olive-tree,
With courtly Air, thus told the grand Decree.
“Most noble Olive of illustrious Race,
“The Marks of sov'reign Power shine in thy Face,
“The high Convention of Estates this Day,
“Make you an Offer of imperial Sway:
“Know great State Pilot, I the Tidings bring,
“The Parliament hath chosen you their King.
“Our ancient Records being search'd, 'twas found,
“Their was a Time when all the World was drown'd,
“The Trees were all destroyed by a Flood,
“Only a single Ship of Gophar Wood
“Danc'd on the Waves, and plow'd the liquid Deep,
“Who's Bosom did some living Creatures keep;
“Heav'n's Fountains gushing down, did swell the Seas,
“'Bove the Top Branches of the tallest Trees.
“Invelopt in a dreary Gloom the Sun,
“With Eyes agast, his daily Circuit run;
“Cynthia seem'd from her pale Dominion torn,
“No more the Woods beheld her crescent Horn.
“Bow'd down with Torrents, Trees fell in the Ditch,
“Destruction run swift as a Lapland Witch;
“Loud as the Winds, the weary Sailers rore,
“Hopeless to find an hospitable Shore:
“For th'Earth was sunk with the excessive Potion,
“And all the Trees lay bury'd in the Ocean.
“The poor belated founder'd Skiffs sent Post,
“The Dove to see, if all the Earth was lost,
“If they should always sail, and never find a Coast.
“A tedious Centry, and an Half of Days,
“The Flood prevail'd, so our great Prophet says,
“When Heav'n caus'd it to aswage again,
“And with his Finger, bottled up the Rain:
“Clos'd all th'o'erflowing Cellars of the Deep,
“Order'd the Sea her former Bounds to keep.
“Again, the toiling Seamen send a Spy,
“The faithful Dove, who to the Woods did fly;
“Return'd with Tidings that the Earth was dry.
“That Trees lift up their Heads with vernal Green,
“Lo, in his Mouth an Olive Branch was seen.
“Their was a Time when all the World was drown'd,
“The Trees were all destroyed by a Flood,
“Only a single Ship of Gophar Wood
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“Who's Bosom did some living Creatures keep;
“Heav'n's Fountains gushing down, did swell the Seas,
“'Bove the Top Branches of the tallest Trees.
“Invelopt in a dreary Gloom the Sun,
“With Eyes agast, his daily Circuit run;
“Cynthia seem'd from her pale Dominion torn,
“No more the Woods beheld her crescent Horn.
“Bow'd down with Torrents, Trees fell in the Ditch,
“Destruction run swift as a Lapland Witch;
“Loud as the Winds, the weary Sailers rore,
“Hopeless to find an hospitable Shore:
“For th'Earth was sunk with the excessive Potion,
“And all the Trees lay bury'd in the Ocean.
“The poor belated founder'd Skiffs sent Post,
“The Dove to see, if all the Earth was lost,
“If they should always sail, and never find a Coast.
“A tedious Centry, and an Half of Days,
“The Flood prevail'd, so our great Prophet says,
“When Heav'n caus'd it to aswage again,
“And with his Finger, bottled up the Rain:
“Clos'd all th'o'erflowing Cellars of the Deep,
“Order'd the Sea her former Bounds to keep.
“Again, the toiling Seamen send a Spy,
“The faithful Dove, who to the Woods did fly;
“Return'd with Tidings that the Earth was dry.
“That Trees lift up their Heads with vernal Green,
“Lo, in his Mouth an Olive Branch was seen.
“An aged Oak, who reads the Book of Fate,
“Did the strange Story to the States relate,
“From which they did infer you should be King,
“And we should yet enjoy an Olive Reign.
“O then, sweet Olive, quit thy rural Mound,
“Did the strange Story to the States relate,
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“And we should yet enjoy an Olive Reign.
“Ascend with princely Steps a higher Ground,
“And be the Monarch o'er the Forrest crown'd!
To him, with frowning Looks, the Olive spoke,
“Go, Myrmidon, to some aspiring Oak,
“Bred in the Knacks of King-Craft from his Youth,
“Who's Sinewy Arms protects the under Growth:
“Strong Bon'd, and fit for toilsom War is he,
“But, what am I, a simple puny Tree.
“In my paternal Acres safe I dwell,
“I laugh at Courts, I hate them worse than Hell,
“I never saw a Court, nor never shall.
“Here I am pamper'd in my native Soil,
“And trade to foreign Climates with my Oil;
“I've all that Heart can wish I flourish without Toil
“The middle State is surely best,
“This Truth, the Trees who're wise, do all attest.
“Tempestuous Winds the lofty Cedars crush,
“Ev'ry rude Foot treads down the Bramble Bush:
“But I'm above Contempt, below Envy;
“In this sweet State I've liv'd, in this I'll dy.
“Then tempt me not to leave this happy Land,
“For Crowns and Scepters, and a wide Command,
“My Father told me, who was wise and good,
“'Tis dang'rous to be born of Royal Blood,
“Moe Thorns are in the Crown, than in the Wood.
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“A Parasite, a young pregmatick Knave;
“Tell them their Choice is wrong, they're crasy grown,
“I wou'd not give a Shilling for their Crown.
“God's pity him ordain'd to reign by Fate,
“He rules a giddy and a factious State;
“Poor, tho' he's Rich; and Wretched, tho' he's Great.
Th'Ambassador reply'd, “O Country Clown,
“Do you despise the Glories of a Crown,
“Unthinking Wretch, you're a wild Olive sure;
“Base born, of Bastard Kind, unfit for Power:
“May Lightnings blast thee, on thy barren Ground,
“Henceforth may never Fruit on thee be found.
“May Canker-Worms suck and corrupt thy Blood,
“And thou unfed thy self, be Vermin's Food:
“May Fairies hold their Synods round thy Trunk,
“And Night Hags ride upon thee when they're drunk.
“O may the Heav'n's Plague you till ye dy,
“With raging North Winds, and a lowring Sky;
“Witches with grisley Cheeks, and rueful old,
“Within thy hollow Trunk, their dark Cabals shall hold.
He to the Senate went, and told the News,
The Olive did the Government refuse.
Th'Estates demurr'd a while, at last they chose
A Fig, which with perpetual Flagrance grows
In Ramah's Vale, and fair as Sharon's Rose.
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To bear the Tidings from the Parliament;
The Apricock obeys the high Command,
And takes his Journey to a foreign Land:
There he arriv'd, and did the Fig approach,
And thus harrangu'd him on his grassie Couch.
“Illustrious Fig, who's verdant Boughs did hide
“The new made Adam, and his charming Bride,
“Declining from their Pomp, and in their Ebb of Pride.
“They with thy salutif'rous Leaves were dress'd,
“Fair Robe, and next to Innocence the best;
“On thy sweet Fruit still roll'd their feasted Eyes,
“They call'd the best of unprohibit Trees:
“On thy green Boughs there's a perpetual Spring,
“There, sings the warbling Quires of ev'ry Wing,
“Who, with their joyful Notes, proclaim thee King.
“Woods, Rocks, and Mountains, with thy Praises ring,
“And Trees in Senate met have chos'n you King:
“Know, I one of the loyal British Trees,
“Am hither sent to spread the glad'ning News.
“Of Solitude are you not weary grown,
“O taste the Pleasures of a Court and Throne:
“I'll wait upon your Levee o'er the Seas,
“See you anointed King, to rule the Trees.
“Let grovling Shrubs stick in their native Mire,
“Rot on the moary Dale, and ne'er look higher;
“A nobler Spirit doth your Breast inspire.
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“And this high Honour you can call your own.
The Fig repli'd, “I know not State Affairs;
“(Sound sleeps the Tree that's void of humane Cares,)
“Shall I forsake my happy tranquil Life,
“To be a Father to the Sons of Strife?
“Venture upon the boist'rous faithless Seas,
“To be anointed King, and rule the Trees?
“No, no, I'll keep within my native Bounds,
“I would not give a Fig for forty Crowns.
“Go to the sacred Nursery, Apricock;
“There get a Twig, sprung from an ancient Stock,
“Transplant the Royal Plant beyond the Seas,
“You may ingraft upon it what you please,
“But lest he languish with the change of Air,
“(For I have hear'd of some bad Gard'ners there,)
“Don't prune too soon, nor pluck the ripening Fruit;
“Or if you lop the Branches, spare the Root.
“So, farewell Sir, I give your Senate Thanks,
“Perpetual flagrance dwell upon their Banks;
“Wise be their Choice, assist them mighty Jove,
“To choose a Tree may bless the Woods and Grove.
“My Hopes, the Envoy said, were swelling big,
“Was e'er such Honour offer'd to a Fig?
“He star'd and storm'd, and spoke with boiling Passion,
“Where will we find a Monarch to our Nation?
“I almost think that Kings are out of fashion.
He to the Senate went, and told the Story:
The Fig won't have your Diadem and Glory.
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“He's nobly born, said he, of Blood divine;
“'Twill well become him on the Throne to shine.
This Overture did all the Senate please,
By Law a Vine's declar'd King o're the Trees.
A Pear is sent to tell him he'll be crown'd,
And to invite him from his lower Ground:
Proud of his Post, the Pear address'd the Vine,
(His Arguments were strong, his language Fine:)
“From the sweet Tree cœlestial Liquor flows,
“The pond'rous Grapes bend low thy laughing Boughs;
“Each Pore of you pours out a purple Flood
“Of dear Refreshments, and immortal Food,
“Which spreads new Life through every dying Heart,
“Vigour and Joy, thy precious Juice impart.
“Thou art a healing Tree, of sovereign Power,
“All Nations, all Religions thee adore:
“Thy Blood's a sovereign Balsom when we're Sick,
“Gives Life new Strings, and makes the Weels run quick;
“Makes dying Pulses beat with lambent Flame,
“It wanders thro' the Veins to bless the vital Stream.
“Embrace imperial Robes, ascend a Throne,
“The Parliament on you have fix'd the Crown,
“Reign o'er the Trees, and scatter Blessings down.
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“When Bacchus, noble Bacchus, steers the Helm;
“Triumphant Joy will reign through all the Plains,
“And chearful Blood will circ'late thro' our Veins;
“Poets will write thy Life in Dythriambick Strains:
“'Twill be a joyful Reign as e'er was seen,
“Trees will be ever glad, and ever green.
“Come then blyth Bacchus, be anointed King,
“Rule o'er the Trees, and happy be thy Reign.
“The Vine made answer, with an awful Frown,
“Know, I despise your poor precarious Crown;
“Shall I forsake my Luxury and Ease,
“My Trade by Land, my Traffick on the Seas,
“And go and be promoted o'er the Trees?
“When I'm grown Rich, and Indolent, and Old,
“Barter my luscious Ease for Crown of Gold;
“Wou'd not my Happiness be very cheaply sold?
“Lay all your rich Regalia at my Root,
“Pale will they look beside my smiling Fruit:
“Shall I my sweet Estate exchange for woe?
“I'm King of Comrads let me still be so.
“O State Tree! leave me to my native Ease,
“Present my humble Service to the Trees:
“Tell them I'm Loyal to the Common-wealth,
“In generous Wine I daily drink their Health.
“Let them elect a Prince that's Great and Good,
“(O may he be a Blessing to the Wood;)
“I'll love him while I live, and serve him with my Blood.
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“I'll cause arraign you for a horrid Crime,
“You've made a thousand Rebells in your Time:
“'Twas you, and only you, Curse on you for't,
“Who kill'd our King, and banisht all his Court.
“Your cursed Grapes destroy'd the Nations Health,
“And introduc'd a hellish Common-wealth;
“O drunken Rebell! thy seditious Pate,
“Plots all the Factions, which imbroil the State.
He to the Senate went, and told the Thing:
“The saucy Vine refuses to be King.
Surpriz'd was ev'ry Member of the States;
After some warm and passionate Debates,
An Indian Citron, Glory of the Grove,
Spoke Words which shew'd he was inspir'd by Jove.
“Hear me, ye worthy Patriots of the Trees,
“Our Country may be happy if we please:
“We look too high to find a Royal Line,
“I have a Claim by Birth-Right, says the Vine,
“You can't elect me I'm of Race divine.
“The Fig and Olive are so Potent grown,
“They think by Conquest to ascend the Throne:
“Let's chuse a Bramble, in plain Dealing bred,
“He'll be a Foe to Pride; a Friend to Trade.
“The Heralds of the Wood do all declare;
“The Shrub's as ancient as the Cedars are,
“No Matter if a King be short or long,
“It's Law that makes him terrible and strong.
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The Bramble, the brave Bramble shall be King.
To this new King a Pom'granate is sent,
To tell the Statute of the Parliament:
He went, and as he went was heard to say,
“I hate the Office, yet I must obey:
“But if the Bramble should refuse to Reign,
“I don't know how the D---l will be King.
He kneel'd before the Beamble when he spoke,
(He bore his high Commission in his Look.)
“The Ashes of our King are now interr'd.
“And you, to the high Office are preferr'd:
“For to be bury'd, Curse (the Bramble says)
“On such damn'd Laws, to cut a Subjects Days.
“No, no, replies the honest Pom'granate,
“You're call'd to wear the Crown, to rule the State,
“The Little Bramble shall be very great.
“That's Right, quoth the Bramble, I'm to hold the Reins,
“The Giants with long Arms did fright the Plains;
They'll all be safe when the Dwarff Bramble's King,
“Bless'd be the Tree that doth the Tidings bring.
“I need an Assessor, know Pom'granate,
“That you shall be my Secretar of State;
“O 'twill be humbling to the Cedar Tree,
“It will disjoint his Back to bow to me.
“O what a Weight is on my Shoulders laid,
“What Honours to the Bramble will be paid,
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“Both Poles shall hear the Bramble rules the Trees
“The Royal Oak my Edicts will fulfill,
“I'll order all the Wood by my own sov'reign Will;
“Exalted on the Throne I'll proudly sit,
“Trampling upon the Cedars with my Feet.
“I know the Rebells of the Woods will hope,
“The Government will sink with such a Prop;
“No, my devouring Sword shall make them bleed,
“My Fury stamp them down, my Wrath shall strike them dead.
“Go Pom'granate, swift as the Lightning move;
“Acquaint each Hill and Plain, and Wood and Grove,
“That I'm the kingly Regent on the Throne,
“And these who do th'Authority disown,
“My Arms shall shake, until they totter down.
“My Wrath inflam'd, shall plague the scoffing Crew,
“The disobedient Trees shall either burn or bow.
Thro' thorny Roads with Spirits tir'd and faint,
The Pom'granate back to the Senate went;
Who told the august Court what he had done,
“My Lords, the Bramble doth embrace the Throne,
“His Government already is begun.
“Nay, I'm convinc'd, before the setting Sun,
“(For Magazines of Plagues are in his Blood,)
“His raging Fire will burn half the Wood.
“Wild and unwholsome as the Root, will all high Branches be,
“How can we hope for living Fruit from such deadly Tree.
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They order'd that his Power should be controul'd,
Wise Limitations crush'd his proud Intent,
(For all our Safety's in a Parliament,)
An Oak brought in an Overture for Cess,
Which pass'd, and they prorogu'd to—Nevermass.
The End of the first Part.
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