The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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 | 2. | THE SECOND VOLUME OF THE WOKRS OF Mr. THO. BROWN.
Containing LETTERS FROM THE Dead to the Living,
And from the Living to the Dead. Both Serious and Comical.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
2. THE SECOND VOLUME OF THE WOKRS OF Mr. THO. BROWN. Containing LETTERS FROM THE Dead to the Living, And from the Living to the Dead. Both Serious and Comical.
In Three Parts. Now Collected together in one Volume, with large Additions.
TO THE Right Honourable THE Lord MANSEL.
1
LETTERS From the Dead to the Living.
I. PART I.
86
Boileau's Answer to Juvenal.
87
[Let Codrus, that nauseous pretender to Wit]
Let Codrus, that nauseous pretender to Wit,Condemn all my Works before Courtier and Cit;
I bear all with Patience, whatever he says,
And value as little his Scandal as Praise.
Vain-glory no longer my Genius does fire,
'Tis Interest alone tunes the Strings of my Lyre.
Integrity's nought but a plausible Sham,
For Money I Praise, and for Money I Damn.
Old politic Bards, for Fame have no itching,
The Apollo I court, is the Steam of a Kitchin.
88
Diana of Poictiers to Madam Maintenon.
89
[I dare not, (were't to save my Ransom)]
I dare not, (were't to save my Ransom)
Affirm your Ladyship is Handsome;
Nor without telling monstrous Lies,
Defend the Lightning of your Eyes;
For, Madam, to declare the Truth,
You've neither Face, nor Shape, nor Youth.
Affirm your Ladyship is Handsome;
Nor without telling monstrous Lies,
Defend the Lightning of your Eyes;
For, Madam, to declare the Truth,
You've neither Face, nor Shape, nor Youth.
Howe'er, all Flattery apart,
You've plaid your Cards with wondrous Art.
When young, no Lover saw your Charms,
Or prest you in his eager Arms:
But Triumphs your old Age attend,
And you begin where others end.
You've plaid your Cards with wondrous Art.
When young, no Lover saw your Charms,
Or prest you in his eager Arms:
But Triumphs your old Age attend,
And you begin where others end.
98
Julia to the Princess of Conti
[A mighty Monarch you begot]
I
A mighty Monarch you begot,Who's pious as the Devil;
Your Mother too, by all is thought,
To be extreamly civil.
II
Descended from so bright a Pair,You both their Gifts inherit;
All your great Father's Virtue share,
And all your Mother's merit.
III
When I was young and gay like you,I lov'd my Recreation;
Mamma's dear Steps I did pursue,
And bilk'd no Inclination.
IV
And, Madam, when your Charms are gone,Your Lovers will forsake you;
They'l cry your sporting Days done,
And bid old Pluto take you.
V
Thus I have given all Trading o'er,And wisely leave off sporting;
Resolv'd to practise it no more,
After my reign of courting.
100
The Duchess of Fontagne to the Cumean Sybil.
[Your tender Girls, when first their Hands]
I
Your tender Girls, when first their Hands,Are joyn'd in Hymen's magick Bands.
Fondly believe they shall maintain
A long, uninterrupted Reign:
But to their Cost, too soon they prove,
That Marriage is the bane of Love.
The Phantom, Duty, damps its Fire.
And clips the Wings of fierce Desire.
101
II
But Lovers in a diff'rent StrainExpress, as well as ease their Pain:
Ever smiling, ever fair,
To please us is their only Care,
And as their Flame finds no decay,
They only covet we should pay
In the same Coin, and that you know,
Is always in our pow'r to do.
106
Christiana Queen of SWEDEN to the Ladies.
107
[Fate justly reach'd the pratling Fool]
I
Fate justly reach'd the pratling Fool,For telling Stories out of School.
Was't not enough I stoop'd so low,
On him m' Affection to bestow?
108
And feast him with Love's choicest Charms;
But must the babling Fool proclaim,
His Queen's Infirmity and Shame?
II
Of all the Sins on this side Hell,The blackest sure's to Kiss and tell.
'Tis Silence best becomes Delight.
And hides the Revels of the Night,
If then my Spark has met his Due,
For bringing sacred Mysteries to View,
E'en let him take it for his Pains,
And curse his want of Gratitude and Brains.
109
The ANSWER of a young Vestal to the Queen.
110
[Madam, I much rejoice to hear]
Madam, I much rejoice to hear,You'll take a Stone up in your Ear;
For I'm a frail Transgressor too,
And love the Sport as well as you.
But then I chuse to do the Work,
Within the Pale of holy Kirk:
For Absolution cures the Scars,
Contracted in venereal Wars,
And saves our Sex a world of Prayers.
Had you this ghostly Counsel taken,
You might till now have sav'd your Baron.
'Tis safe intriguing with a Flamin,
Who sanctifies their Work with Amen,
Then who would trust ungodly Lay-Men?
Do, Madam, as you please, but I,
None but with Priesthood will employ,
With them I'll live, with them I'll die.
Who like the Pelian Spear are sure,
With the same Ease they Wound to cure.
118
Francis Rabelais, to the PHYSICIANS of PARIS
[Oh! wou'd it not provoke a Maid]
I
Oh! wou'd it not provoke a Maid,By softest Vows and Oaths betray'd,
Her Virgin Treasures to resign,
And give up Honour's dearest Shrine?
Then when her Charms have been enjoy'd;
To be next moment laid aside.
119
II
But why do I lament in vain,And of my Destiny complain?
Had I been wise as those before me,
I should have made the World adore me;
Not to one Lover's Arms confin'd,
But search'd and try'd all Human kind.
124
The Mitred Hog: A dialogue between Abbot Furtiere and Scarron
[Thou nauseous everlasting Sow]
Thou nauseous everlasting Sow,With Phiz of Bear, and Shape of Cow,
With Eyes that in their Sockets twinkle,
And Forehead plow'd with many a Wrinkle,
With Nose that runs like Common-shore,
And Breath that murders at Twelvescore:
What! thou'rt resolv'd to give me VVar,
And trounce me at the noisy Bar,
Tho' it reduces thee to eat,
Thy Smock for want of cleanlier Meat:
Agreed, old Beldam! keep thy VVord,
'Twill soon reduce thee to eat a T---d.
226
II. [Part II.]
From Bully Dawson to Bully W---
[The Gods on a day when their Worships were idle]
The Gods on a day when their Worships were idle,Met all at the Sign of the Half-Moon and Fiddle;
Old Bacchus and Venus did lovingly joyn,
And swore there was nothing like Women and Wine:
They drank till they all were as merry as Grigs,
And wallowed about like a litter of Pigs;
Till their Heads and their Tails were so little apart,
That the breath of a Belch, mix'd with that of a Fart;
But as it fell out, poor unfortunate Mars,
Just nodded his Nose into Venus's Arse;
Why how now, says Mars, ye old Jade d'y' suppose,
Your Arse was design'd as a Case for my Nose?
Then pulling his Head from her Bumb, fell a swearing,
Her Honour smelt worse than a stinking Red-Herring.
240
A SATYR against Fly-Blows.
By Mr. W---
Ye
worst of Vermin that our Isle affords,
Spawn of curs'd Flies, engender'd first in T*rds,
Ye nitty Off-spring of a winged Plague,
That swarms in Mutton from the Rump to th'Crag:
Tormentors of our Cooks, all England's Foes,
From rural Gluttons, to our London Beaus.
In ev'ry cloven Joint thy Mother's blow,
Where if not crush'd, you will to Maggots grow,
Raise your black Heads, and crawl about our Food,
And poison what was eatable and good;
Pollute that Flesh which should our Lives maintain,
To Dogs condemn what was design'd for Man.
Ye Eggs of Mischief that in Clusters dwell,
Hateful to the Eyes, and nauseous to the Smell,
Ill Omens of a worse succeeding Harm,
That makes good Housewives blush, the Husbands storm.
241
More Salt, you Slattern, crys the angry Dame,
And then the Falchion-Ladle goes to work:
I'll teach you, Jade, to salt the Beef and Pork.
May Showers of Brine each Powdering-Tub o'erflow,
Pepper and Salt in every Orchard grow;
Then may each Hand to seas'ning be employ'd,
That thy curs'd Race may be at once destroy'd.
Your Humble Servant, W---
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