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That rob in clans, like men o' th' Highland ; The little pleasure of the game
Of apes that storm or keep a town,

Is from afar to view the flight.
As well almost as Count Lauzun;
Of unicorns and alligators,

Our anxious pains we, all the day,
Elks, mermaids, mummies, witches, satyrs,

In search of what we like, employ: And twenty other stranger matters ;

Scorping at night the worthless prey,
Which, though they're things I've no concern in,

We find the labour gave the joy.
Make all our grooms admire my learning.
Critics I read on other men,

At distance through an artful glass
And hypers upon them again;

To the mind's eye things well appear : From whose remarks I give opinion

They lose their forms, and make a mass On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.

Confus'd and black if brought too near. Then all your wits that fleer and sham,

If we see right, we see our woes:
Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram;

Then what avails it to have eyes?
From whom I jests and puns purloin,
And slily put them off for mine :

From ignorance our comfort flows:

The only wretched are the wise.
Fond to be thought a country wit:
The rest—when fate and you think fit.

We wearied should lie down in death : Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her

This cheat of life would take no more ; To bottled ale, and neighbouring vicar;

If you thought fame but empty breath, Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,

I Phillis but a perjur'd whore. Squire Shephard's health-With all my heart.

Thus without much delight or grief, I fool away an idle life:

THE LADY’S LOOKING-GLASS. Till Shadwell from the town retires (Chok'd up with fame and sea-coal fires)

IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM. To bless the wood with peaceful lyric :

Celia and I the other day Then hey for praise and panegyric;

Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea : Justice restor’d, and nations freed,

The setting sun adorn’d the coast,
And wreaths round William's glorious head. His beams entire, his fierceness lost :

And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep.

The nymph did like the scene appear,
HON. CHARLES MONTAGUE, ESQ. Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:

Soft fell her words, as flew the air.

With secret joy I heard her say, Howe'er, 'tis well, that while mankind

That she would never miss one day Through fate's perverse meander errs,

A walk so fine, a sight so gay. He can imagin'd pleasures find,

But, oh the change! the winds grow high; To combat against real cares.

Impending tempests charge the sky:

The lightning flies, the thunder roars ; Fancies and notions he pursues,

And big waves lash the frighten'd shores. Which ne'er had being but in thought;

Struck with the horror of the sight, Each, like the Grecian artist, woos

She turns her head, and wings her flight: The image he himself has wrought.

And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again

, Against experience he believes;

Approach the shore, or view the main.

Once more at least look back, said I,
He argues against demonstration;
Pleas'd, when his reason he deceives ;

Thyself in that large glass descry:

When thou art in good-humour drest; And sets his judgment by his passion.

When gentle reason rules thy breast; The hoary fool, who many days

The sun upon the calmest sea Has struggled with continued sorrow,

Appears not half so bright as thee : Renews his hope, and blindly lays

'Tis then that with delight I rove The desperate bet upon tomorrow.

Upon thy boundless depth of love :

I bless my chain; I hand my oar; Tomorrow comes ; 'tis noon, 'tis night;

Nor think on all I left on shore. This day like all the former flies:

But when vain doubt and groundless fear Yet on he rans, to seek delight

Do that dear foolish bosom tear ; Tomorrow, till to-night he dies.

When the big lip and watery eye

Tell me, the rising storm is nigh ; Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim

Tis then, thou art yon angry main, At objects in an airy height:

Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain ;



And the poor sailor, that must try

THE DOVE. Its fury, labours less than I.

"-Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ ?"

VIRG. Shipwreck’d, in vain to land I make, While love and fate still drive me back :

In Virgil's sacred verse we find, Forc'd to dote on thee thy own way,

That passion can depress or raise I chide thee first, and then obey.

The heavenly, as the human mind: Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,

Who dare deny what Virgil says ? I with thee, or without thee, die.

But, if they should, what our great master

Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove:

Fair Venus wept the sad disaster

Of having lost her favourite dove.
Beneath a myrtle's verdant shade
As Cloe half asleep was laid,

In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breast,

His grief reliev'd his mother's pain; And in that heaven desir'd to rest :

He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd,
Over her paps his wings he spread :

But she should have her dove again.
Between he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Though none, said he, shall yet be nam’d,
Still lay the god: the nymph, surpris’d,

I know the felon well enough: Yet mistress of herself, devis'd

But be she not, mamma, condemn'd
How she the vagrant might enthral,

Without a fair and legal proof.
And captive him, who captives all.
Her bodice half-way she unlac'd;

With that, his longest dart he took,
About his arms she slily cast

As constable would take his staff: The silken bond, and held him fast,

That gods desire like men to look,
The god awak'd ; and thrice in vain

Would make ev'n Heraclitus laugh.
He strove to break the cruel chain ;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,

Love's subalterns, a duteous band,
Incumber'd in the silken string.

Like watchmen, round their chief appear: Fluttering the god, and weeping, said,

Each had his lantern in his hand;
Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,

And Venus mask'd brought up the rear.
Who happen'd, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom lost his way ;

Accoutred thus, their eager step
Who stray'd, alas ! but knew too well,

To Cloe's lodging they directed : He never there must hope to dwell :

(At once I write, alas! and weep, Set an unhappy prisoner free,

That Cloe is of theft suspected).
Who ne'er intended harm to thee.
To me pertains not, she replies,

Late they set out, had far to go :
To know or care where Cupid flies;

St. Dunstan's as they pass’d struck one. What are his haunts, or which his way;

Cloe, for reasons good, you know,
Where he would dwell, or whither stray:

Lives at the sober end o' th' town.
Yet will I never set thee free;
For harm was meant, and harm to me.

With one great peal they rap the door,
Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!

Like footmen on a visiting day. I'll give thee up my bow and dart;

Folks at her house at such an hour !
Untangle but this cruel chain,

Lord! what will all the neighbours say?
And freely let me fly again.
Agreed : secure my virgin heart :

The door is open: up they run:
Instant give up thy bow and dart:

Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed: The chain I'll in return untie;

Thieves! thieves! cries Susan; we're undone ; And freely thou again shalt fly.

They'll kill my mistress in her bed.
Thus she the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.

In bed indeed the nymph had been
The god disarm’d, e'er since that day,

Three hours : for all historians say, Passes his life in harmless play;

She commonly went up at ten,
Flies round, or sits upon her breast,

Unless piquet was in the way.
A little, fluttering, idle guest.
E’er since that day, the beauteous maid

She wak’d, be sure, with strange surprise :
Governs the world in Cupid's stead;

O Cupid, is this right or law, Directs his årrow as she wills;

Thus to disturb the brightest eyes Gives grief, or pleasure ; spares, or kills.

That ever slept, or ever saw ?

your hand,

Have you observ'd a sitting hare,

But dove, depend on't, finds he none; Listening, and fearful of the storm

So to the bed returns again: Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,

And now the maiden, bolder grown, Afraid to keep, or leave her form?

Begins to treat him with disdain. Or have you mark'd a partridge quake,

I marvel much, she smiling said, Viewing the towering falcon nigh?

Your poultry cannot yet be found; She cuddles low behind the brake:

Lies he in yonder slipper, dead; Nor would she stay, nor dares she fly.

Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd? Then have you seen the beauteous maid;

No, traitor, angry Love replies, When gazing on her midnight foes,

He's hid somewhere about your breast; She turn'd each way her frighted head,

A place nor God nor man denies
Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes.

For Venus' dove the proper nest.
Venus this while was in the chamber
Incognito; for Susan said,

Search then, she said, put in

And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me: It smelt so strong of myrrh and amberAnd Susan is no lying maid.

As guilty I, or free may stand,

Do thou or punish or reward me.
But, since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode:

But ah! what maid to Love can trust; With Cupid let us e'en proceed;

He scorns, and breaks all legal power: And thus to Cloe spoke the god :

Into her breast his hand he thrust;

And in a moment forc'd it lower.
Hold up your head: hold up your hand:
Would it were not my lot to show ye

0, whither do those fingers rove, This cruel writ, wherein you stand

Cries Cloe, treacherous urchin, whither? Indicted by the name of Cloe !

O Venus ! I shall find the dove,

Says he; for sure I touch his feather. For that, by secret malice stirr'd,

Or by an emulous pride invited,
You have purloin'd the favourite bird,

In which my mother most delighted.

The pride of every grove I chose, Her blushing face the lovely maid

The violet sweet and lily fair, Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet ;

The dappled pink, and blushing rose, A rose-tree in a lily bed

To deck my charming Cloe's hair. Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Are you not he whom virgins fear,

Upon her brow the various wreath ; And widows court? Is not your name

The flowers less blooming than her face, Cupid? If so, pray come not near

The scent less fragrant than her breath. Fair maiden, I'm the very same. Then what have I, good Sir, to say,

The flowers she wore along the day: Or do with her you

And every nymph and shepherd said, call your

mother ; If I should meet her in my way,

That in her hair they look'd more gay

Than glowing in their native bed.
We hardly court'sy to each other.
Diana chaste, and Hebe sweet,

Undrest at evening, when she found
Witness that what I speak is true:

Their odours lost, their colours past; I would not give my paroquet

She chang'd her look, and on the ground For all the doves that ever flew.

Her garland and her eye she cast. Yet, to compose this midnight noise,

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, Go freely search where'er you please

As any Muse's tongue could speak, (The rage that rais'd, adorn'd her voice)

When from its lid a pearly tear Upon yon toilet lie my keys.

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks:

Dissembling what I knew too well, Through wardrobe, and through closet bounces ; My love, my life, said I, explain Peeps into every chest and box;

This change of humour: pr’ythee tell: Turns all her furbelows and flounces.

That falling tear-what does it mean?


She sigh’d; she smil'd: and to the flowers

Easy with him, ill us'd by thee, Pointing, the lovely moralist said;

Allow this logic to be good ? See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,

Sir, will your questions never end? See yonder, what a change is made.

I trust to neither spy nor friend.

In short, I keep her from the sight Ah me! the blooming pride of May,

Of every human face.-She'll write. And that of Beauty, are but one :



she's debarr'd.At morn both flourish bright and gay;

Has she a bodkin and a card ? Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

She'll prick her mind. She will, you say :

But how shall she that mind convey? At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung ;

I keep her in one room: I lock it: The amorous youth around her bow'd:

The key (look here) is in this pocket. At night her fatal knell was rung ;

The key-hole, is that left? Most certain. I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.

She'll thrust her letter through.—Sir Martin. Such as she is, who died today;

Dear angry friend, what must be done? Such I, alas ! may be tomorrow:

Is there no way ?- There is but one. Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display

Send her abroad : and let her see,
The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

That all this mingled mass, which she,
Being forbidden, longs to know,
Is a dull farce, an empty show,

Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau ;

A staple of romance and lies,
Miss Danaë, when fair and young,

False tears and real perjuries : (As Horace has divinely sung)

Where sighs and looks are bought and sold, Could not be kept from Jove's embrace

And love is made but to be told; By doors of steel, and walls of brass.

Where the fat bawd and lavish heir The reason of the thing is clear,

The spoils of ruin'd beauty share; Would Jove the naked truth aver.

And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame, Cupid was with him of the party;

Must give up age to want and shame. And show'd himself sincere and hearty;

Let her behold the frantic scene, For, give that whipster but his errand,

The women wretched, false the men : He takes my lord chief justice' warrant;

And when, these certain ills to shun, Dauntless as death away he walks:

She would to thy embraces run; Breaks the doors open, snaps the locks;

Receive her with extended arms, Searches the parlour, chamber, study;

Seem more delighted with her charms; Nor stops till he has culprit's body.

Wait on her to the park and play, Since this has been authentic truth,

Put on good-humour; make her gay; deliver'd down to youth ;

Be to her virtues very kind; Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,

Be to her faults a little blind; Why so mysterious, why so jealous ?

Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
Does the restraint, the bolt, the bar,

And clap your padlock-on her mind.
Make us less curious, her less fair?
The spy, which does this treasure keep,
Does she ne'er say her prayers, nor sleep?
Does she to no excess incline?

Does she fly music, mirth, and wine?

Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Or have not gold and flattery power

Married a lass of London mould: To purchase one unguarded hour ?

Handsome ? enough ; extremely gay: Your care does further yet extend :

Lov'd music, company, and play: That spy is guarded by your friend.

High flights she had, and wit at will; But has this friend nor eye nor heart?

And so her tongue lay seldom still: May he not feel the cruel dart,

For in all visits who but she, Which, soon or late, all mortals feel ?

To argue or to repartee? May he not, with too tender zeal,

She made it plain, that human passion Give the fair prisoner cause to see

Was order'd by predestination ; How much he wishes she were free?

That, if weak women went astray, May he not craftily infer

Their stars were more in fault than they : The rules of friendship too severe,

Whole tragedies she had by heart; Which chain him to a hated trust;

Enter'd into Roxana's part: Which make him wretched, to be just?

To triumph in her rival's blood, And may not she, this darling she,

The action certainly was good. Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,

How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!

By age

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Oh that dear conqueror of the world!

The devil says ; I bring relief. She pitied Betterton in age,

Relief! says Hans: pray, let me crave That ridicul'd the god-like rage.

Your name, Sir?--Satan—Sir, your slave; She, first of all the town, was told,

I did not look upon your feet : Where newest India things were sold:

You'll pardon me:-Ay, now I see't: So in a morning, without bodice,

And pray, Sir, when came you from hell? Slipt sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's;

Our friends there, did you leave them well ? To cheapen tea, to buy a screen :

All well; but pr’ythee, honest Hans, What else could so much virtue mean?

(Says Satan) leave your complaisance : For, to prevent the least reproach,

The truth is this; I cannot stay Betty went with her in the coach.

Flaring in sunshine all the day : But, when no very great affair

For, entre nous, we hellish sprites Excited her peculiar care,

Love more the fresco of the nights; She without fail was wak'd at ten;

And oftener our receipts convey Drank chocolate, then slept again :

In dreams, than any other way. At twelve she rose; with much ado

I tell you therefore as a friend, Her clothes were huddled on by two;

Ere morning dawns, your fears shall end : Then, does my lady dine at home?

Go then this evening, master Carvel, Yes, sure !-But is the colonel come?

Lay down your fowls, and broach your barrel; Next, how to spend the afternoon,

Let friends and wine dissolve your care; And not come home again too soon ;

Whilst I the great receipt prepare : The Change, the city, or the play,

To-night I'll bring it, by my faith ! As each was proper for the day:

Believe for once what Satan saith. A turn in summer to Hyde-park,

Away went Hans; glad? not a little; When it grew tolerably dark.

Obey'd the devil to a tittle; Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain :

Invited friends some half a dozen, Strange fancies come in Haus's brain :

The colonel and my lady's cousin. He thought of what he did not name;

The meat was serv'd; the bowls were crown'd; And would reform, but durst not blame.

Catches were sung: and healths went round; At first he therefore preach'd his wife

Barbadoes waters for the close; The comforts of a pious life :

Till Hans had fairly got his dose : Told her, how transient beauty was ;

The colonel toasted “ to the best :" That all must die, and flesh was grass :

The dame mov'd off, to be undrest: He bought her sermons, psalms, and graces ;

The chimes went twelve: the guests withdrew: And doubled down the useful places.

But, when, or how, Hans hardly knew. But still the weight of worldly care

Some modern anecdotes aver, Allow'd her little time for prayer:

He nodded in his elbow chair; And Cleopatra was read o'er;

From thence was carried off to bed, While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more,

John held his heels, and Nan his head. That teach one to deny one's self,

My lady was disturb'd: new sorrow! Stood unmolested on the shelf.

Which Hans must answer for tomorrow. An untouch'd Bible grac'd her toilet;

In bed then view this happy pair; No fear that thumb of her's should spoil it.

And think how Hymen triumph'd there. In short, the trade was still the same:

Hans fast asleep as soon as laid; The dame went out: the colonel came.

The duty of the night unpaid : What's to be done ? poor Carvel cry’d:

The waking dame, with thoughts opprest, Another battery must be try'd:

That made her hate both him and rest : What if to spells I had recourse?

By such a husband, such a wife! 'Tis but to hinder something worse.

'Twas Acme's and Septimius' life: The end must justify the means;

The lady sigh’d: the lover snor'd: He only sins who ill intends :

The punctual devil kept his word: Since therefore 'tis to combat evil;

Appear'd to honest Hans again ; 'Tis lawful to employ the devil.

But not at all by madam seen : Forthwith the devil did appear

And giving him a magic ring, (For name him and he's always near):

Fit for the finger of a king; Not in the shape in which he plies

Dear Hans, said he, this jewel take, At miss's elbow when she lies;

And wear it long for Satan's sake: Or stands before the nursery doors,

'Twill do your business to a hair : To take the naughty boy that roars:

For, long as you this ring shall wear, But, without saucer-eye or claw,

As sure as I look over Lincoln, Like a grave barrister at law.

That ne'er shall happen which you think on. Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief,

Hans took the ring with joy extreme

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