 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
223
EPIGRAMS.
Spoken Extempore to a Lady, upon seeing her Shadow in the Water.
What Art can prevail o'er this wonderful Dame?In Water she Burns, and she Freezes in Flame!
Upon a Lame Man newly married.
George Limpus is lame, yet has gotten a Bride,Since he's lame, he can't Walk—why then he may Ride.
224
Written with a Penknife on a Tree.
Whilst thus my Knife inscribes to FameFair Rosalanda's Name;
Cupid with a keener Dat
Carves the Nymph upon my Heart.
Upon a Lady's having been at Naples.
Like Semele should Cælia try her Charms,Should Jove with equal Ardour fill her Arms;
Well might the Nymph revenge the blasted Dame,
And fire the Thund'rer with a fiercer Flame.
225
Wrote in a Lady's Pocket-Book.
As on these fading Leaves I wrote my Name,Belinda cry'd, her Heart could show the same.
The same alas! in ev'ry Point I fear;
Eras'd by the next Touch, as this is here.
On a Drunkard's writing his Mistress's Name on a Drinking-Glass.
While Shallow-Brains scribbles his Phillis's Name,In many a flourishing Letter;
'Tis only that he may Remember the Dame,
Lest he should grow drunk, and Forget her.
226
The Quack.
Querpo , surrounded by the rabble Rout,Scatter'd his Packets, and his Jokes about;
When a poor Fellow, sillier than the rest,
Came cringing up, and thus the Quack addrest:
Pray, Doctor, if I may but be so bold,
Amongst the many strange things you have told,
Pray can you tell One how to cure a Scold?
For I, my Neighbours know't, have such a Wife!
That in plain Terms I'm weary of my Life.
227
The Miser.
Old
Gripus went to buy a Suit of Clothes,
(And to the cheapest Place each Body knows)
But thinking that the Merchant was too hard,
He fell confounded foul upon the Yard.
Is this your Measure, Sir! is this three Foot!
As I'm an Alderman, by G--- look to't.
(And to the cheapest Place each Body knows)
But thinking that the Merchant was too hard,
He fell confounded foul upon the Yard.
Is this your Measure, Sir! is this three Foot!
As I'm an Alderman, by G--- look to't.
He said: and waggish Pickthank thus replies,
(For all your Tradesmen are most monstrous wise)
That it is Measure, Sir, the Cloth I'll lay,
And we'll go try it yonder, o'er the way:
But let me tell you this before you go,
That, were't a Measure for your Conscience, tho'
Before such lumping Pen'worths should go down,
You'd swear't as long, as all the Yards in Town.
(For all your Tradesmen are most monstrous wise)
That it is Measure, Sir, the Cloth I'll lay,
And we'll go try it yonder, o'er the way:
But let me tell you this before you go,
That, were't a Measure for your Conscience, tho'
Before such lumping Pen'worths should go down,
You'd swear't as long, as all the Yards in Town.
228
From Horace.
Turn'd and applied to Chloe.
Auream quisquis Mediocritatem
Diligit—
Diligit—
Let me not be too high, nor yet too low,
(Says Horace) that is, keep a just so, so.
Then think not that I'll humble to your Foot,
Or to your Head on strutting Tiptoe shoot:
But on your Middle all my Thoughts employ,
For there, I fancy, lies the solid Joy.
229
Upon a Lame, Latin Elegiac, Bard.
Tom Hobblestart in Elegiacs writes,But in no other Poetry delights;
For This, indeed, he seems cut out by Fate,
Witness his rueful Look, and shambling Gait.
His Face inspires him with Poetic-Woe,
And his unequal Legs the Measure show.
Speak Truth and Shame the Devil.
Old Olivia wears a Mask,If any one the Reason ask,
This, Answer plain, reveals it:
Her Face of late's so ugly grown,
She does not care to fright the Town,
And so forsooth conceals it.
230
Upon One who stiled himself a Great Master of the Easy Poetry.
Tom Jingle's Rivers murmur as they go,But cold and weak as native Fountains flow;
That they should murmur on, I think it fit;
For who could rest contented with their Wit?
Another.
Dactyl and Squib make Verses as they Go,I cannot wonder then they walk so Slow.
231
On Chloe.
Chloe's in every part Divine,Chloe's the Goddess of her Sex:
Who'd think that where such Beauties shine,
The Nymph could ever Swain perplex?
On the same.
Chloe the arrant'st Jilt alive,Intolerably vain,
Boasting would make us all believe,
What Men her Eyes have slain.
232
(Stale-Maidenhead replies,)
Ah could you but as well get over
The Wounds, they gave between your T---s.
Another.
Chloe the Wonder of the latter Age,Tho' antiquated does our Hearts engage;
With such an Art affects the Wits and Beaus!
How like good Wine? by Time she stronger grows.
233
On a Lady's Birth-Day.
This Day that gave Belinda Breath,Has giv'n a thousand Youths their Death;
Why then fond Youths, so wond'rous gay?
Is this a fit rejoicing Day!
As well might Priam's Subjects load
The Altar of their Guardian-God;
As well express untimely Joy,
On the great Birth-Day of that Boy,
Whom Fate design'd to fire their Troy.
TOAST.
To fair Belinda crown the sparkling Bowl,And let full Bumpers brighten up the Soul;
Yet these small Comforts to my Passion prove,
I'd drink an everlasting Draught of Love.
234
Another.
You ask me the Nymph that delights me the most,Why—Sir, here's my Service, Belinda's the Toast.
Upon the Lord Rochester's Poem on Nothing.
Whilst others toil to gain themselves a Name,Wilmot from Nothing gains a greater Fame,
Strange! can such Structures out of Nothing rise,
And with such wonderful Delight surprize!
Thus out of Nothing sprung this beauteous World,
By one commanding Word in Order hurl'd.
235
TO CÆLIA.
I
I'm sure, my Cælia, that you'd smile,Nay laugh to hear me say,
That when the Sun shines all the while,
I cannot see the Day.
II
But 'twou'd be more absurd indeed,If to discover your Disguise,
I should some borrow'd Lustre need
To light me to your Eyes.
236
III
Your dazling Eyes the Sun out-shine,Like his their Darts are hurl'd;
Like his their Office is divine,
To guide a brighter World.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |