omitted7 pages


By Mrs Sarah Dixon.

Canterbury: Printed by J. Abree.

obscured a1r

Names of the Subscribers
to this Work.

  • A.

    • RightHon.Honorable the Earl of Aylesford.
    • Ch. Selby Amhurst, Esq; of Bayhall in Kent.
    • Edward Andrews, Esq; of Bristol.
    • Rev.Mr. Alston, of Upper Hardres, Kent.
    • Miss Ayerst, Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Austen, St. Martin’s-Hill.――6 Books.
    • Mrs. Austen.
    • His Grace the Duke of Beaufort, ―― 2 Books.
    • Her Grace the Dutchess of Beaufort.
    • Right Hon. the Lord Viscount Blundel.
    • Nicholas Bonnefoy, Esq; ―― 4 Books.
    • Mr. Bonnefoy,――2 Books.
    • Mrs. Bonnefoy.
    • Miss Bonnefoy.
    • ―― Broderick, Esq;
    • Tho. Brampston, Esq; Member of Parliament for
      the County of
    • Mrs. Brampston.
    • Tho. Barret, Esq; of Lee, Kent. — 2 Books.
    • John Bridger, Esq; of Canterbury. — 2 Books.
    • Miss a2r iii
    • Miss. Bridger, ―― 2 Books.
    • Tho. Bowdler, Esq;
    • Norbern Berkley, Esq;
    • Charles Brownof the Inner Temple, Esq;
    • Walter Breamof St. Stephen’s, near Canterbury,
    • John Bridges; Esq; of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Edward Bridges.
    • William Busby, Esq;
    • William Bedford, M. D.
    • Mrs. Mary Bedford.
    • Rev. Dr. Bowtell, Rector of Bridge, Kent.
    • Rev. Tho. Brett, L.L.D. Spring Grove, Kent,
      ―― 3 Books.
    • Mrs. Sarah Brett.
    • Rev.Dr. Bowes, Rector of Eastling, Kent 4 Books.
    • Rev. Mr. Tho. Birch, F. R. S.3 Books.
    • Rev. Mr. Brown, Prebendary of Winchester.
    • Rev. Mr. John Bunce, Rector of Chingford,
    • Rev. Mr. John Bunce, Jun. Vicar of St. Stephen’s
      near Canterbury.
    • a2 Rev. a2v iv
    • Rev. Mr. Wm. Bunceof Brenset, Kent.
    • Rev. Mr. Buttonshaw, Rector of St. Peter’s in
    • Mrs. Bydeof Ware Park.
    • Mrs. Beauchampof Hertford, deceased.
    • Mrs. Batleyof Canterbury.
    • Tho. Back, M.B.of Tenterden, Kent.
    • Master Burdet.
    • Miss Burdet.
    • Mrs. Ann Boothof Cranbrook, Kent.
    • Miss Brookof Margate.
    • Capt. John Bernard of the Royal Welsh Fusileers.
    • Lieut. John Bell of Brig. Harrison’s Regiment.
    • Lieut. Robert Bell of the same.
    • Lieut. Berners of the Royal Welsh Fusileers.
    • Mrs. Ann Beal.
    • Mrs. Best.
    • Mrs. Belcher.
    • Mrs. Brandonof St. George’s, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Mary Brandon of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Barnhamof Burgate, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Boothof Cranbrook, Kent.
    • Miss a3r v
    • Miss Bolverof St. George’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Barnard.
    • Mr. Barnage.
    • Mr. Isaac Bargraveof Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Batchelorof Dodington, Kent.
    • Mr. John Beale, Surgeon, of Wye, Kent.
    • Mr. Daniel Brissendenof Canterbury.
  • C.

    • Right Hon. Lady Ann, Countess Dowager of Coventry.
    • Right Hon. Countess of Coningsby.
    • Right Hon. Lady Dowager Countess of Cardigan.
    • Right Hon. William Earl Cowper.
    • Hon. and Rev. Mr. Spencer Cowper.
    • Lady Conyers.
    • Miss Charlotte Conyers.
    • Miss Teresa Conyers.
    • Lady Codrington.
    • Sir Robert Cotton, Bart.
    • John Cotton, Esq; ―― 20 Books.
    • Miss Cotton.
    • Miss Betty Cotton.
    • Miss Fanny Cotton.
    • Miss a3v vi
    • Miss Polly Cotton.
    • George Courthop, Esq; of Whiligh, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Courthop.
    • George Courthop, Esq; Jun.
    • Mrs. Courthop.
    • Mrs. Albinia Courthop.
    • Mrs. Catherine Courthop.
    • Mrs. Barbara Courthop.
    • Mrs. Philadelphia Courthop.
    • Mrs. Ann Courthop.
    • Alex. Courthopof Spreversin Hormonden,
      Kent, Esq;
    • Mrs. Corbettof Bourn Place, Kent.—2 Books.
    • Henry Campion, Esq; of Danny, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Barbara Campionof Whiligh, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Cockman.――4 Books. Deceased.
    • John Cageof Thurnham, Kent, Esq;
    • ――Champnies, Esq; of Boxley Abby.
    • Denis Chirack, Esq;
    • Mrs. Eliza. Carterof Deal, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Clough, Vicar of Ashford, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. John Conentof Elmstead, Kent.
    • Rev. a4r vii
    • Rev.Mr. Thomas Crownfield.
    • Mr. Honorious Combauld.
    • Mr. Claphamof Boxley, Kent.
    • Mr. George Childrensof Ramhurst in Kent.
    • Mr. Richard Childrens, Jun. of Ramhurst.
    • Miss Ellen Cooke at Swifts, Cranbrooke, Kent.
    • Mrs. Courtof Waltham in Kent.
    • Miss Cuckowof Canterbury.
    • Mr. Castle, Alderman of Canterbury.
    • Thomas Cradock, M. B.
    • Miss Camelof Canterbury.
    • Mr. Edward Caveof Clerkenwell, London.
    • Mr. Benj. Chandler, Apothecary of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Edm. Crane, Distiller in Canterbury.
    • Mr. George Carter.
    • Mr. Clarmont.
    • Mr. John Chalie.
    • Mr. James Chalie.
    • Mr. Thomas Creedof St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
  • D. a4v viii
  • D.

    • Right Hon. Countess Dowager of Donnegal.
    • Hon. andRev. Henry Dawnay, D. D. Prebendary
    • Sir Edward Dering, Bart. Member of Parliament
      for the County of Kent.
    • Lady Dering.
    • Cholmondely Dering, Esq;
    • Sir Thomas Dyke, Bart. of Horeham, Sussex.
      ――4 Books.
    • Lady Dyke.――2 Books.
    • Lady Dymsdaleof Hertford.
    • William Duncomb, Esq; of Soho.
    • John Dechancour, Esq;
    • Mrs. Denewof St. Stephen’s near Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Mary Denew.
    • Mrs. Deedsof Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Deeds of Hythe, Kent.
    • Mrs. Margaret Deeds.
    • Mrs. Dashwood.
    • Mis Dashwood.
    • Mr. Dixon, Attorney at Law, of Sutton Vallence
      in Kent
    • Mrs. b1r ix
    • Mrs. De L’Angleof Littlebourn, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. De L’Angle, Rector of Tenterden.
      ――2 Books.
    • Lieut. Merick De L’Angle.
    • Mr. William De L’Angle.
    • Mrs. Eliza. De L’Angle, Jun.
    • Mr. Darellof Milgate in Bearsted, Kent.
    • Lieut. James Drisdale.
    • Rev.Mr. Drayton, of Crundal, in East Kent.
    • Mrs. Drayton.
    • Mrs. Jane Decanfour.
    • Mrs. Drewry.
    • Mrs. Mary Duke, of Maidstone.
    • Mr. Samuel Duke.
    • Mrs. Danchand.
    • Miss Ducharean.
    • Mr. Butler Dewe, of Lamberhurst.
    • Mr. Edw. Dering, of Dodington in Kent.
    • Mrs. Daniel, of Netherington in Wiltshire.
    • Miss Dawes, of South-street, Kent.
    • Mr. Tho. Davis, Alderman of Canterbury.
  • b E. b1v x
  • E.

    • Right Hon. Earl of Essex.
    • Rev.Mr. Owen Evans, Rector of St. Martin’s,
    • Rev.Mr. Eve.
    • Rev.Mr. Enar.
    • Rev.Mr. James Evans, Canterbury.
    • Capt. David Ellis, of Hastingleigh, Sussex.
    • Mr. Samuel Eastchurch, Attorney at Law, of Maidstone,
    • Mrs. Evelyn.
  • F.

    • Hon. Miss Fairfax, of Leeds Castle, Kent,
    • Lady Filmer, of East Sutton, Kent.
    • Mrs. Dor. Filmer, of Sutton, Kent.
    • Brian Faussett, Esq; of Heppington, Kent.
    • Mrs. Fuzzardof Wye, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. John Frances, Fellow of Pembroke
      , Cambridge.
    • Rev.Mr. Fremoult, Vicar of Wotton, in Kent.
    • Mrs. b2r xi
    • Mrs. Fursman, of Exeter.
    • Mrs. Finch, of Tenterden, Kent.
    • Miss Fairfax.
    • Mrs. Frye, of Netherington, Wiltshire.
    • Mrs. Fox.
    • Mrs. Ferand.
    • Mr. Peter Flower.
    • Mr. Falconer, of East Grinstead, Sussex.
    • Mr. Samuel Fullagar, Attorney at Law, of Maidstone,
    • Mr. Walter Franklyn, of Maidstone, Kent.
    • Mrs. Fletcher, of London.
    • Mr. John Friend, Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Fuller, of St. George’s, Canterbury.
  • G.

    • Hon. Mrs. Greville.
    • Lady Grey, of Barham, Kent.
    • Rev. W. Geekie, D. D. Prebendary of Canterbury.
    • Fulk Greville, Esq;
    • John Grove, Esq; of Tunstall, Kent.
    • Paul Guiradot, Esq;
    • b2 Capt. b2v xii
    • Capt. Griffith, of the Royal Welsh Fusileers.
    • Mrs. Goulstone, of Suffolk.
    • Mrs. Gardon.
    • Mrs. Grainger.
    • Mrs. Le Grand, of St. Alphage, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Le Grand, of Bestis Lane, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Jo Grigg.
    • Mr. Peter Groombridge, Attorney at Law.
    • Mr. Wm. Gates, Attorney at Law, at Rochester.
    • Mr. Edward Georgeof Chartham, Kent.
    • Mr. Gambier.
    • Mrs. Gordoun.
    • Mr. Wm. Grey, of Burgate, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Catherine Grebble, of Rye, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Glanville.
    • Mrs. Gilman.
  • H.

    • Lady Hardress, of Hardress Court, Kent.
    • John Hardress, Jun.Esq; of Canterbury.
    • John Honeywood, Esq; of Kent.
    • Tho. Hawkins, Esq; of Preston, Kent.
    • William Hugesson, Esq; of Provender, Kent.
    • John b3r xiii
    • John Harvey, Esq; of Dane Court, East Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Head, Clerk of the Closet to his Majesty.
    • Mrs. Head.
    • Rev.Mr. Walter Harte, Fellow of St. Mary
      Hall, Oxon
    • Rev.Mr. Hind, Rectorof Milton, near Sittingbourn,
    • Rev.Mr. Holman.
    • Mrs. Holman, of Tenterden, Kent.
    • Mrs. Anne Holman.
    • Mrs. Frances Holman.
    • Mrs. Rebecca Holman.
    • Mrs. Horner.
    • Mrs. Hanmer.
    • Miss Hanmer.
    • Mrs. Howard.
    • Mrs. Howard.
    • Mrs. Heath, of Cranbrook, Kent.
    • Mrs. Hawkins, of Boughton Blean, Kent.
    • Mrs. Hendley, of Ottam, Kent.
    • Mrs. Heathof Hertford.
    • Miss Hayes.
    • Mrs. b3v xiv
    • Mrs. Hawkins.
    • Mrs. Finch Hooper, of Stockbury, Kent.
    • Mrs. Catherine Hooper.
    • Miss Hulse, of Canterbury.
    • Miss Hougham, of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Head, of Berkshire, deceased.
    • Mrs. Harriss, of Exeter.
    • Mrs. Hatton, of Pluckley, Kent.
    • Mrs. Hodgess, of Warehorn, Kent.
    • Mr. John Hawker, of University Coll. Oxford.
    • Mr. John Hooker, of Great Chart, Kent.
    • Mr. Stephen Hooker.
    • Mr. Richard Holford, Attorney at Law, of
      Hythe, Kent.
    • Mr. Edw. Hayward, Apothecary, of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Hammond.
    • Mr. Gibeon Hawker, of Dodington, Kent.
    • Mr. Hemett.
    • Mr. Tho. Hatch, Goldsmith, of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Hayward, of Sandwich, Kent.
    • Mr. James Hanson, Attorney at Law, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Hanson.
  • I. b4r xv
  • I.

    • Charles Jennens, Esq;
    • ―― Jones, Esq; of Chislet, Kent.
    • Mrs. Jones.
    • Rev.Mr. W. Jenken.
    • Rev.Mr. Isaac Johnson, Canterbury.—2 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Rich. Jacob, Fellow of All-Souls College,
    • Rev.Mr. Jefferiesof Winchester.
    • Rev.Mr. J――s.
    • Capt. Alex. Johnston of the Royal Regiment of
      Welch Fuzileers
    • Mr. Valentine Jekin, Alderman of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Edward Jacob, Alderman of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Phil. Jamesof East-Grinstead, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Jenkin, St. Martin’s Hill.
    • Mrs. Jenkins, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Jekinof Longport, Canterbury.
    • Samuel Johnson, M.B. of Canterbury.
    • Miss Sarah Jacob.
    • Mrs. Jumperof Stockbury, Kent.
    • Ma- b4v xvi
    • Major De Jean.
    • Mrs. Johnson of Rochester. ―― 6 Books.
    • Mrs. Mary Johnsonof Crundal, Kent.
  • K.

    • Sir Wyndham Knatchbull, Bart.
    • Thomas Knight, Esq; Member of Parliament for
      the City of
    • George Knappof the Inner Temple, Esq;
    • John Knowler, Esq; Recorder of Canterbury.
    • Rev.Mr. Kelwayof Hythe, Kent.
    • Capt. William Kingsleyof Maidstone, Kent.
    • Mrs. Knightof Oxfordshire.
    • Mrs. Kettilbyof Staple-Hall, Salop.
    • Mr. Knipeof Boxley, Kent.
    • Mr. Charles Knowler, Alderman of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Daniel Kerby.
    • Mr. Tho. Ketcherell of Burgate, Canterbury.
  • L.

    • Hon. Lady Emma Long.
    • George Littleton, Esq;
    • Rev. c1r xvii
    • Rev. John Lynch, D. D. Dean of Canterbury.
      ――2 Books.
    • Mrs. Lynch,――2 Books.
    • Miss Lynch.
    • Miss Anna Maria Lukyn, of Canterbury.
    • Rev.Mr. Lunn.
    • Rev.Mr. Thomas Leigh, Rector of Murston in
    • Mr. Lavaladeof St. George’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. William Loftie, of Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Lane, of Sittingbourne.
    • Mr. Leglife.
    • Mrs. Catherine Lawrence.
    • Mr. Adam Lawrence.
    • Mr. Robert Lacy.
    • Mrs. Leche.
    • Mr. J. Lake, of Mersham, Kent.
    • Mrs. Long, of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Loftie, of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Lipyeate, of Swale-clifte, Kent.
    • Mr. Thomas Litton.
  • c M. c1v xviii
  • M.

    • Richard Mead, M.D. ――4 Books.
    • ――MeynilEsq;
    • Peter Mazere, Esq;
    • Edw. Maplesden, Esq; of Cheveney, Kent.
    • Mrs. De Mollien.――2 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Monins, Master of the King’s School,
      Canterbury.――6 Books.
    • Mrs. May, of Tokes Court, London.
    • Rev.Mr. Moress, Rector of Tunstall, Kent,
    • Rev.Mr. Milles, Rector of Harbledown, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Martin, of Sandwich, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Rob. Mawson, B. A. Assistant of the
      King’s School, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Morley, of Droxford, Hampshire.
    • Mrs. Marsh, of Barham, Kent.
    • Mrs. Masters, of Brooke, Kent.
    • Mrs. Malet, of Hertford.
    • Mrs. Elizabeth Manley.
    • Mrs. c2r xix
    • Mrs. Millington.
    • Mr. Thomas Milles, of Horsmanden, Kent.
    • Mr. Francis Moyle, Attorney at Town-Malling.
    • Mr. Mascall.
    • Mrs. Murrell, London.
    • Mr. Marshall, Surgeon of Ashford.
    • Mrs. Ellen Maplesden, of Maidstone, Kent.
  • N.

    • His Grace the Duke of Norfolk. ――4 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Nairn, Rector of Berwick St. Leonard,
    • Rev.Mr. Norcross, Rector of Hothfield, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Tho. Nicholson, Rector of Lenham,
    • Miss Napleton, of Canterbury.
    • Miss Norman, of Newgate-street, London.
    • Mr. Nicholas, of Horseley in Surry.
    • Mr. Newman, of Westbeer, Kent.
    • Mrs. Catherine Norton.
    • Mr. Noguier.
    • Mr. Newoffe.
    • c2 Mr. c2v xx
    • Mr. Stephen Nash, of Bristol.
    • Mr. Henry Nichol, of Barham Downs, Kent.
  • P.

    • Her Grace the Dutchess of Portland.
    • Hon.Mrs. Price.
    • Alexander Pope, Esq;
    • Robert Pulleyn, Esq;――4 Books.
    • Thomas Panuwell, Esq; of Caverleys.
    • Mrs. Pierce.
    • Charles Pain, of Otterden in Kent, Esq;――
      2 Books.
    • Humph. Pudner, Esq; of Canterbury. — 4 Books.
    • Lewis Peters, of St. Paul’s Canterbury, Esq;
    • Bryan Pybus, Esq; of Dover.
    • Christopher Packe, M. D. of Canterbury.――
      2 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Samuel Pegge, Vicar of Godmersham,
    • Rev.Mr. Peirson, of Chislet, Kent.
    • Rev. Mr. Wm. Pysing, Student of Christ-Church,
    • Mrs. Price, Essex.
    • Capt. c3r xxi
    • Capt. Parkinson, of General Gore’s Regiment of
    • Mrs. Payne, Sussex.
    • Mrs. Petman, St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Parker, of St. Dunstan’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Pilcher.
    • Mrs. Petit.
    • Mrs. Petit, Jun.
    • Mrs. Crommelin Pique.
  • R.

    • Right Hon. Earl of Rockingham. ―― 4 Books.
    • Right Hon. the Countess of Rockingham.――
      2 Books.
    • Lady Roberts, of Glastenbury, Kent.
    • Miss Randolph, of Canterbury.
    • Miss Dorothy Randolph, of Canterbury.
    • Rev. Th. Randolph, D. D. Rector of Petham,
    • Rev.Mr. R――.
    • Richard Rawlinson, L. L. D.
    • ―― De Rolle, Esq;
    • James Rucks, Esq;
    • William c3v xxii
    • William Rucks, Esq;
    • Mr. Cyprien Rondeau.
    • Mr. Charles Randolph.
    • Mr. D’Roussel, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Ring.
    • Mr. Roods, of Feversham, Kent.
    • Mrs. Rebow, Parson’s Green, Middlesex.
    • Mr. Rutton, of Ashford, Kent.
    • Mr. John Roberts, Surgeon in Canterbury.
    • Mr. William Rigden, of St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Reynolds, of Canterbury.
    • Mr. Wm. Rigden, of Canterbury.
  • S.

    • Right Hon. Lord Charles Noel Somerset.
    • Hon. John Stanhope, Esq;
    • George Smith, Esq;
    • ―― Swayne, Esq;
    • Miss Sawbridgeof Ollintigh, Kent.
    • Miss Kitty Sawbridge.
    • Mrs. Sparks, of Rochester.
    • Rev. c4r xxiii
    • Rev.Dr. Stephens, Arch-Deacon of Exeter.
    • Mrs. Stephens.
    • Rev.Mr. Symonds, Rector of Otterden, Kent.
      2 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Rich. Smith, Newington near Hythe,
    • Lieu. Sediere, of Brig. Harrison’s Regiment.
    • Miss Spencer, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Sawkins, of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Sawkins, of St. George’s, Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Sole, of Bobbing, Kent.
    • Mrs. Stample, Jun.
    • Mrs. Sydenham, of Fordwich, Kent.
    • Mr. Smith, of Chart-Sutton, Kent.
    • Mrs. St. John, of Seven Oakes, Kent.—2 Books.
    • Miss Sarah Spencer, of St. Dunstan’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. John Skeere, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Simens, Merchant.
    • Mr. S――.
    • Mr. Stone, of Great Chart, Kent.
  • T. c4v xxiv
  • T.

    • Right Hon. Thomas Earl of Thanet.
    • Right Hon. Henry Lord Teynham.—2 Books.
    • Right Hon. Lady Teynham.――2 Books.
    • John Toke, Esq; of Godinton, Kent.—2 Books.
    • Nicholas Toke, Esq; of Essex-Street.—4 Books.
    • William Tonge, Esq; of Bristol.
    • Tho. Tompson, Esq; of Petham, Kent.
    • Tho. Teddeman, Esq; of Harbledown.
    • Henry Tonge, M. D. of Bristol.
    • Rev.Mr. Herbert Taylor, of Bifrons, in Kent.
    • Mrs. Taylor.
    • Rev.Mr. Thomson, Rector of Fonthil Gifford,
    • Rev.Mr. David Turner, of Feversham, Kent.
    • Rev.Mr. Peter Torriano, A. B. of Jesus College,
      Cambridge.――2 Books.
    • Rev.Mr. Tysoe, Vicar of Bredgar, Kent.――
      4 Books.
    • Mr. Henry Terry, Canterbury.
    • Miss Tigh, of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Tilbe, of St. Dunstan’s Canterbury.
    • Mrs. d1r xxv
    • Mrs. Taddy, of St. Paul’s, Canterbury.
    • Mr. Mark Thomas, Attorney at Law, of Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Toker, of Stubington, near Canterbury.
    • Mr. Matt. Testas.
    • Mr. Wm. Twort, Jun.of Horsmanden, Kent.
    • Mr. John Taylorof Biddenden, Kent.
    • Mr. John Tolputt, Canterbury.
  • V.

    • Right Hon. Lady Grace Vane.
    • Rev.Mr. Valavine, Minor Canon of C. C. Canterbury.
  • W.

    • Right Hon. Lady Catherine Wheler.
    • Hon. Lady Frances Williams.
    • Hon. Thomas Watson, Esq;――2 Books.
    • ―― Webb, Esq;
    • ―― West, Esq;
    • Francis Wiat, Esq; of the Isle of Thanet, deceased.
    • John Whitefield, Esq; of St. Margaret’s, Canterbury.
    • Robert Whitefield, Esq; of Chartham, Kent.
    • d Rev. d1v xxvi
    • Rev. Wm. Warren, L. L. D. Fellow of Trinity
      , Cambridge.
    • Rev.Mr. P. Wright, V. of Ugley in Essex.
    • Rev.Mr. Woodof East Sutton, Kent.
    • Mrs. Wrightson.
    • Mrs. Wharwoodof Barham Down.
    • Mrs. Hester Whitefieldof London.
    • Mrs. Watterhouseof Langley, Kent.
    • Mrs. Wolletof Great Russel-Street, London.
    • Mr. Edward Warmoll, Surgeon, at Bury St. Edmond’s,
    • Mrs. Withersof Winchester.
    • Mrs. Williamsof Droxford, Hampshire.
    • Miss Wicksteed.
    • Mrs. Wogan.
    • Mr. Tho. Wright.
    • Mr. Edward Wardof Canterbury.
    • Mrs. Webbof Canterbury.
  • Names of Subscribers before omitted.

    • Mr. Nicholas Brett.
    • Mrs. Martha Bendishof Chingford in Essex.
    • Mrs. Moyerof Low Layton in Essex.
The d2r
Illustration of a rural town. A small figure is seated in the foreground.


Not Vanity, nor any ridiculous
Conceit of their
Worth, engaged the Author
of the following Pages
to submit her Writings to a general
Inspection and publick Censure. Sensible
she is how severely just that Censure
would be, and what an additional d2 Weight d2v
Weight of Uneasiness that general
Examination would bring upon her, had
she not Reason to be confident of the
Favour and kind Allowances of the
Wise and Learned: for she has the
Pleasure, in the List of her Subscribers,
to see many illustrious Names of
Persons too wise to be entertained with
such Trifles, did not their superiour
Goodness encline them to bear with
innocent Folly. To these Honourable
and generous Personages she humbly
dedicates the ensuing Sheets. Their
Protection and Encouragement alone she
requests, by whose kind Assistance they
are now published.

One, d3r

One, indeed, there is amongst
them, whom her Gratitude would gladly
single out as the pleasing Subject of
her more particular Acknowledgments.
But she is forbid to mention that
Name, which to the latest Day of her
Life she must always contemplate with
Overflowings of unfeigned Gratitude
and deserved Esteem. Thus much,
however, she will say, that to Him it
is owing that she has no Occasion to
assign those Reasons now for the Publication
of these Sheets, which would
have been abundantly satisfactory, but
His unexampled Generosity has rendered
impertinent.――Unwillingly she
desists from enlarging upon this delightful

As d3v

As to the following Pieces the Reader
is to know they were the Employment
(an innocent, and, she thinks, no
improper Employment) of a Youth of
much Leisure. Some little Taste of
Poetry, improved by some Reading,
tempted our Author to try her Talents,
for her own Amusement, and the Diversion
of her Friends, in a Country
Solitude. As Occasion offered, their
Number encreased. Had their Merit
encreased with them! But never had
she a Thought of sending them to the
Press, till Reasons, before hinted at,
overcame that Modesty which she enjoys
in common with the better Part of
her charming Sex.―― Whatever Faults the d4r
the Reader meets with in the Impression,
they are not to be imputed to her.

N.B. The Book had been much
sooner deliver’d to the Subscribers, had
not the hard Weather at first, and
unexpected Business afterwards, hinder’d
the Printer from finishing the
impression at the Time he hop’d to have
done it.

A basket filled with flowers and butterflies.
A Col- d4v A Soliloquy to
The Supreme Being,
from a manuscript of Mrs S. D.
O Thou, who dost in weakness strength ex
Instruct me how to pray, & praise thee right WnWhen my inclining soul attempts to rise Above dull sense & transitory joys, Lost in yethe Chaos deep of speechless thought She flags her wing, & back to earth is
There sits and moans at whtwhat retards her flight And dreads yethe coming of eternal Night. Thou grtgreat first Cause who didst this Being
By whom I was, by whom I yet survive: With thy all-powrful Grace my soul adorn Pardon my crimes, & let my pence return Then wthwith yethe early Lark each day I’ll rise Outwing her speed, & soar beyond yethe Skies To this vain world, some Tears of pity give And only to my great Creator Live. Amen.
An outdoor scene with several figures, framed by a tree on the left and a building on the right. In the foreground, a figure in armor places a helmet on a seated figure, while three female figures stand watching.

Miscellany Poems.

On the New-Year.

Who in the Annals of preceeding Days

The different Æras of the World surveys,

Will find, the chequer’d Series is no more

Than a short History of Fortune’s Power;

Will find th’ Events, that mark each varying Date,

Are only as she frown’d, or smil’d in State.

’Tis thus with Man—We count our rolling Span

By the Arthimetick of Joy and Pain;

Those strong Impressions Rules of Art supply,

Numb’ring the noted Minutes, as they fly:

B “On B1v 2

On such a Day I bought, or sold a Seat,

Planted this Avenue, or rooted That;

In such a Term my Law Suit had an End,

And the succeeding Autumn stole my Friend;

My Woes with Wedlock such a Spring began,

And but last Winter I was freed again:

And thus the Chain of Life continued on

Consists, of what we’ve suffer’d, or have done;

The rest, a Slumber with no Vision wrought,

Steals unperceived away, and is forgot.

Hence, or too short, or tedious it appears,

As lost in Gaiety, or dragg’d out in Cares:

And who so fair a Catalogue can boast,

As not to find his Sum of Woes the most?

Yet all a Face of Gladness seem to wear,

And hail with Pleasure the renewing Year;

Strange! that we learn not by the Draught we taste,

Our future Cup will be but as the past:

Why should the Blest expect more Joys in store,

Or why the Wretched they shall smart no more?

False flatt’ring Hope! still ready with thy Song,

To tempt the weary Traveller along;

Thou know’st the rugged Paths of Life to smooth;

And present Pain with future Prospects sooth;

Yet even thou, deceitful friendly Guest!

Ne’re deign’d till now to harbour in my Breast;

So B2r 3

So deep immers’d in every Scene of Grief,

Fancy itself ne’re pictur’d me Relief;

And now, I fear, thou charm’st but to betray,

To fix my Ruin a more certain Way:

How shou’d my Lines all artless, uninform’d,

Nor weigh’d with Judgment, nor with Fancy warm’d,

Expect the Wise the Learn’d to entertain,

Or ’scape the Censures of the Critick’s Pen?

Or how my modest, friendless Muse prevent

The galling Taunts of idle Merriment?

Thou say’st, my Verse with Pity shall be read,

In my Necessity my Faults be hid;

That candid-judging Charity shall look,

More on the Author’s Misery, than Book!

Ah! could’st thou others blind as well as me,

Thy Tale might carry Probability,

And this New-Year a truly New one be:

My Life’s decline one kind Event might bless,

And I one Æra mark with Happiness.

On passing thro’ the Place where I was Born, after many Years absence.

Such awful Reverence as of Old was paid

To mystick Fane, and consecrated Shade,

B2 Such B2v 4

Such I by secret Impulse pay to Thee,

Thou well-lov’d Place of my Nativity!

The conscious Soul I with Gratitude renews

Her first Acquaintance, and with Joy pursues

The pleasing Theme—Hail ever honour’d Earth,

Nurse of my Youth, and Author of my Birth!

Here first my Soul this Robe of Flesh receiv’d,

Here first in outward Semblance breath’d and liv’d;

Here first my trembling half-extended Sight,

With wat’ry Welcome met the Rays of Light;

Foreboding Tears! too truly that presage

What wailful Pleasures fill this Earthly Stage!

Scarce some few Years in harmless Follies past,

And ah! how quick the vacant Periods hast!

When Reason dawn’d: such Reason as by Heaven

To weaker Woman in its Wrath was given;

Spoil’d was the Spoiler; and the audacious Thirst

Of too much Wisdom with too little curst;

Eve’s Theft but serv’d to dignify Man’s Soul,

Her Sex deny’d the Knowledge which she stole,

Weak as it was, it yet inform’d my Mind

With new Ideas, Notions more refin’d;

Now low, contemptible, beneath Regard

The fond Amusements of my Youth appear’d;

Foolish! I learnt not that all future Joys

Would prove like these, when past, but empty Toys:

En- B3r 5

Enlarg’d my Thought, to worthier Objects soar’d

My Hopes, as high as youthful Fancy towr’d;

A distant Prospect glitter’d to my View,

Gay was the Surface, and the Figure new,

It seem’d a perfect Circle of Delight,

No Hills, no Mountains to obstruct the Sight:

Deceitful Distance, thou hadst smooth’d the Scene,

Levell’d the rough, and made th’ uneven plain,

Onward I roam’d—but still each Object chang’d

As I approach’d; no more in Order rang’d:

Confusion follow’d; all the shining Round

Was now irregular, and hideous found:

Now plain appear’d Care, Envy, Rapin, Strife,

The rugged Inequalities of Life!

How oft reluctant on the Minutes past,

A wishful unavailing Thought I cast!

How oft, dear Place, begirt with Misery,

Have sigh’d for Youth, for Innocence and Thee!

Oh had my Life been ended where began,

Content and Ease had crown’d my bitter Span,

Of all my infant Wish could frame possest,

And Hope and Care been Strangers to my Breast.

So the tall Vessel sitting for the Sea,

In Safety lies imperfect on the Key,

But rigg’d and ballast, launches out from Land,

Hoists all her Sail, and splits upon the Sand.

Collin B3v 6

Collinand Silvio. A Pastoral.


Hey Silvio! whither do’st thou drive thy Sheep

In Heat of Day, and down the Rocks so steep?

Thou careless Shepherd! whither do’st thou roam?


No Matter where, if far enough from Home.


And why from Home? this is no festal Day,

Nor has thy Master given thee Leave to play;

Or if he had, an honest Lad wou’d ner’e

Let the Flock suffer, trusted to his Care.


Do thou take Care then, lead them to the Mead

Where thine and Philemon’s in Safety feed;

For I, no more can tend them with Delight;

Now they may shift (for Silvio) Day and Night.


What other Way of Living can’st thou learn?


Alas! to live, Silvio has no Concern.

Once I had Hopes fair Lalia would be kind,

And what a deal of Pleasure fill’d my Mind:

Me-thought the World had quite another Look,

The Care was well bestow’d which then I took:

Up B4r 7

Up with the Lark I trudg’d from Fold to Fold,

Scorch’d by the Sun, and chill’d with Winter’s Cold:

My Wages paid, I laid it by in Store

For Lalia’s Use, then sweat again for more.

Three thriving Ewes already are my own,

Are her’s (I mean) they are for her alone.

Pan witness for me! witness Pan, for thou

The Love I have for that fair Maid do’st know.


And art thou one too, of those luckles Swains,

Who of fair Lalia’s Cruelty complains?

Pity she ever trod upon these Plains.

For her, poor Pollidor once lost his Way

In Sight of Home; and let his Lamb-kins stray.

Young Cuddy walk’d with folded Arms one while

Because, forsooth, coy Lalia would not smile.

Fine Lads, to let your Master’s Business lye,

To watch the twinkling of a Woman’s Eye!


Some evil Star o’re rul’d when I was born,

Blasting the Fruit, and blighting all the Corn.

No kindly Yeaning had the tender Ewes,

Nor did the Kid on wonted Ivy brouse.

The gentle Kine kick’d down the well-fill’d Pail,

And lowing Herds ran frighted through the Vale.

On B4v 8

On yond fear Oak the boading Raven sat,

By Cynthia’s Beams croak’d my sinister Fate.

Since then all sorts of Cares pursu’d me close,

And now, alas! I must my Lalia lose.


Indeed, fond Youth, thou may’st have Care enough,

If against Female Arts thou art not proof.

Hie to thy Master, e’re the sun go to,

And mind his Business as thou use to do:

Or Lalia still will like thee worse and worse.

Go, prithee get more Money in thy Purse.

Let croaking Ravens, evil Stars, alone;

They’l vex thee more too, when thy Money’s gone.

Yet shun, my Lad, old Linco’s sinful Gain,

Injoying nothing that he gets with Pain.

Sordid Distrust imbitters every Hour:

Gold upon Gold, yet scraping still for more:

Who fourscore Years penuriously has spent,

And heap’d up Riches for his Punishment.

An honest Industry, young Swain, pursue;

Love and a Muse, my Friend, will never do,

By purling Streams with Verse and Oaten Reed,

Perhaps in Sing-Song thou may’st all exceed:

But those Companions when old Age comes on,

Won’t bear thy Charges at next Market Town.

A C1r 9

A Song.


They vainly pretended,

Who Paris defended,

For giving to Venus the Prize:

Our Moderns all hold,

One Piece of old Gold,

Is worth forty fine sparkling Eyes.


Elante may dress,

And receive the Caress,

Of each idle Fop of the Town:

Salinda contrive,

Her Charms to revive,

And Cloe coquet it around.


Let Belinda look sour,

At Name of Amour,

And Mopsa affect to be shie:

She ought to give over,

All Thoughts of a Lover,

Who wants ready Money to buy.

C The C1v 10

The Strong Box

Plutus! Thou Misers Deity! explain,

The secret Joys which the strong Box contain;

That Lasco in his Face shows so much Glee,

When all about him, looks like Penury:

Inclos’d in Iron, un-refin’d from Ore,

What makes the Difference in the glitt’ring Store?

For whom dost thou the envy’d Hoard secure?

For Fools in Folio, Wits in Miniature;

Extreams of Avarice, Extreams of Waste,

Not Men of Merit;—but for Men of Taste.

Then let it rust, till a new Race arise;

At present those are common Nusancies:

See! Fools in Shoals, like wild Geese, flutter round,

The Gay insipid every where are found:

Pert empty Beings move they know not why;

Of less Importance than the Summer’s Fly:

By Sex distinguished; and ’tis hard to know,

Which the most worthless Insect of the two.

If such as these, the Treasure must divide,

Clap adamantine Locks on every Side:

Dig to the Center, place the Casket there;

And doubly curst be he, who gives it Air:

Worse than Pandora’s Plagues he will disperse,

And to Perdition bring the Universe.

To C2r 11

To Silvio. On a Country Life.

What can allure the Man, who once has known

This soft Retreat, to visit yonder Town!

Those shining Towers, which rear their lofty Heads,

As to insult our poor and humble Meads,

With all their vast Inclosures, which supply

Such various Objects to th’ insatiate Eye,

Are but the Instances of human Pride;

Which thither such prodigious Wealth convey’d,

By some incroaching Tyrant first amass’d,

And by the strongest Arm e’er since possess’d.

There Treasons brood, and Massacres are forg’d,

And lesser Crimes by greater Villians judg’d.

There thriving Avarice and Fraud are nurst,

With dire Revenge and Soul-destroying Lust:

Restless Ambition, and pale Envy reign,

And nautious Sycophants in Courts obtain.

The Wise by timely Flight Contagion shun,

Where bare-fac’d Guilt outdares the mid-day Sun;

Let blushing Virtue into Deserts run.

See o’re the Mountain’s Top the harmless Deer

Strains all her Strength, and roughs the Thorns for

Yet the fierce Tyger still maintains the Chace

And we with Pleasure can behold the Race:

C2 Till C2v 12

Till the pursued, o’re-match’d, becomes at length

A Prey to the rapacious Victor’s Strength.

Then Pity claims a Share, and we deplore

Th’ unhappy Wretch, who made us Sport before.

But oh! what Horrors shall thy Mind assail,

To see Mankind over Mankind prevail!

The standing Laws of Nature all reverst,

And Conscience made a Slave to Interest:

Whose rapid Streams the Banks of Honour flow,

And bear down all the sacred Tyes below.

Nurtur’d in these calm Regions, why shouldst thou

A Hurrican of Life in Town pursue:

Time wears sedately here, and every Hour

Thou hast thy self, and Peace within thy Bower;

Blessings which mighty Monarchs cou’d not find,

Till they for Cottages their Crowns resign’d.

The Linnet.


Snatch’d from her warm, her native Nest,

And to a Cage confin’d,

The Callow Linnet thus exprest

The Chagrin of her Mind:

2. Ah C3r 13


Ah, Sylvia! since it is my Fate

Your Captive to be made,

Use me like Prisoners of State,

To generous Hands betray’d.


Had Nature form’d my little Throat

Like Philomel’s to sing,

Bestow’d on me each varying Note

With which the Woods do ring;


I’d soothe your anxious Hours by Day,

And charm you to your Rest,

In those bright Eyes I’d bask and play,

Then perch upon your Breast.


Nor once the blooming Spray regret,

The Groves or pearly Dew;

Or wish for any other Mate,

But live and dye with you.


Sylvia the pretty Fool carest,

And eas’d its throbbing Heart;

Not Lesbia’s Sparrow half so blest,

Nor half so much deser’t.

7. Had C3v 14


Had she the same Compassion shown

To Damon’s tender Flame,

She’d kept the Shepherd still her own,

And still preserv’d her Fame.


But now the Hills, the Groves, the Plains,

And tatt’ling Echo too,

Of Sylvia’s Cruelty complains,

And faithful Damon’s Woe.

Absence. Sylvia to Strephon.

No boisterous Seas which pointed Rocks conceal,

No Deserts wide, nor steepid Alpine Hill,

Oppose their Dangers ’gainst the charming Swain,

And yet (alas) of Absence I complain.

Ye Sylvan Powers, who rule this conscious Shade,

Where he so often sacred Vows has made;

Say, since my Heart is now so much his own,

Why is my Shepherd such a Stranger grown.

Thrice has the Chariot of the Sun been drove

Around the World, since I beheld my Love;

Thrice has the joyous God in Splendor rose

From Thetis Bed, since I these Lids could close;

And C4r 15

And thrice three thousand Sighs have torn this

Prophetick all, and have forbid my Rest,

Till with my Shepherd I again am blest.

Can he be false? That Thought be far away;

He will not Sylvia’s Innocence betray.

’Tis Honours call, he to the Field is fled;

For me, perhaps, he wields the glittering Blade:

For me he wrestles with Dame Fortune’s Spight,

To purchase for us both more calm Delight.

My anxious Heart, un-us’d to these Delays;

How various the Ideas which you raise!

Love without Jealousie is seldom known,

(Avert the Omen, and my Wishes crown!)

Should some fond Maid presume to rival me,

I’d trace her through the World t’avenge the Injury.

But ah! return, should I mistaken prove,

There’s yet a greater Curse than Jealousie in Love.

The Looking-Glass.


Evadne once a flaming Toast,

Perceiv’d her Power decay;

Never consider’d Time rides Post,

Nor will be brib’d to stay.

2. Poor C4v 16


Poor Jenny oft’ was in Disgrace

When Things succeeded ill;

No Fault there cou’d be in her Face,

’Twas Jenny’s want of Skill.


Madam, says Jenny, all in Tears,

You can’t be better drest;

Your Ladyship to me appears

A Venus, I protest.


New place the Glass, Evadne cries,

What can the Matter be?

Aminta now has all those Eyes,

Which once were fixt on me!


The Toy was mov’d from Side to Side,

Yet gave us no Content;

At length to break it both agreed,

By way of Punishment.


The Guardian Silph who lay conceal’d

Within the Mirror’s Frame,

Soon as their Mischief was reveal’d

Accosted thus the Dame:

7. E- D1r 17


Evadne! darling of my Care,

Your Anger is in vain;

The innocent Reflector spare,

Of what do’st thou complain?


Was not an early Homage paid

Those Charms you now deplore?

Remember, thou ungrateful Maid,

Thy past despotick Power.


Art thou, Evadne, yet to learn

There is no second Spring,

For that which gives thee this Concern,

And all this Trifling.


Partial to thee, my darling Care!

Beyond frail Nature’s Date;

I have preserv’d thee still so fair,

But now ’tis not in Fate.


No Flower so sweet, so fresh, so gay,

Can stand the Winter’s Blast;

Their Bloom goes off; they soon decay,

And wither thus at last.

D 12. Jane, D1v 18


Jane,—bring my Night-Dress, put it on,

And set the Glass aside;

When once a Woman’s Beauty’s gone,

How needless is her Pride?

Verses left on a Lady’s Toilet.

When Celia frowns, I vow and swear

She makes both Friends and Foes despair:

I hate to think that Things so vain

As heedless Maids and dirty Men,

A Dish ill-cook’d, a Glass un-wash’d,

A Petticoat wrong cut and slash’d,

Shou’d make good Humour, Wit, and Sense,

Give Way to their Impertinence.

Rather let me with Sops in Ale,

In nut-brown Bowl my self regale;

In Scotish Plod, or Irish Frize,

Let me be dress’d, if Toys like these,

So foriegn to substantial Joy,

Can Celia’s Peace of Mind destroy.

Adras- D2r 19

Adrasto. APastoral.

On Fair Idulia’s fertil Plain,

Once worthy of a royal Swain,

Beneath a Shade there lay a Youth,

Superiour both in Love and Truth;

Ah, Prince! the sighing Shepherd said,

Cou’dst thou forgo that constant Maid;

Could Ilium’s Crown more Joys impart,

Than Love and fair O Enone’s Heart?

Me Heir to old Palemon’s Land,

Extended o’re th’ Æsepian Strand;

Well stock’d with many a thriving Sheep,

All trusted to my Hand to keep;

Would cruel Laura deign to love,

What Kingdom should my Faith remove?

No treacherous Wife, tho’ fair as she,

Who broke her Vows, and perjur’d thee,

Shou’d make me leave my Laura’s Arms,

Nor quench the Flame my Bosom warms:

D2 Once D2v 20

Once more be Witness, Xanthus Streams,

Ye gentle Soothers of my Dreams;

Ye Hills, ye Dales, ye Rocks and Floods,

Ye sweetest Warblers of the Woods;

Tho’ Laura does despise my Cares,

My sloe-black Eyes, and yellow Hairs,

My beachen Bowl with carved Brim,

My ebon Crook, and Garland trim,

My Lampee beats, and shows her Spight,

To every Thing that’s my Delight,

Tho’s squeamish she at my Approach,

And flies me like the Serpent’s Touch,

Yet she alone my Love shall have;

For Laura all the World I’ll leave.

The D3r 21

The World.

Could the young Asian Monarch be so vain,

To sigh and weep more Worlds like this to gain?

What in his mighty Dangers, mighty Toils,

His dear bought Pleasures, or his envy’d Spoils,

Could so attach his Soul! we, Fools! mistake,

And of his Grief a wrong Construction make:

’Twas not a wild Ambition to possess,

But generous Pity of its Emptiness;

Propense to solid Good, his nobler Mind,

Aim’d at a Happiness he cou’d not find

In this low Orb; Pomp, Power, Pleasure, Praise,

All he had found debas’d with such Allays,

That tho’ sole Lord of the prodigious Whole,

It cou’d not satiate his capacious Soul;

But still his native Greatness truly kept,

And not for other Worlds, but for a better wept.

A Pas- D3v 22

A Pastoral. Claius and Old Philemon.


Well met, young Claius, thou perhaps may’st

The Cause which alters poor Alexis so;

E’er bright Aurora left fond Titan’s Bed,

He us’d to rise, and skipping o’er the Mead,

Call up his fellow Swains, who slept too long,

And jeer the Sluggards with some merry Song;

His thriving Herd fresh Pasture wou’d provide,

Then sit contented piping by their Side.

When rural Sports began, then who but he,

For Singing, Dancing, Mirth and Jollity:

Oh, how he’d laugh! and make the Lasses bound,

Whirl ’em like Tops, they scarcely touch’d the

Now late he rises, then but just awake,

And to some distant Shade his Steps will take;

With Arms across, and leaning on his Crook,

’Tis like you find him by some murmuring Brook.

His D4r 23

His Sheep neglected, wander here and there,

No more his Pleasure, nor no more his Care:

Slovenly dress’d, he comes not to the Green,

Where he so oft the sprucest Lad was seen:

His Reed (I’m told) he broke the other Day,

And in a peevish Humour threw away;

His favourite Lightfoot, frisks and plays no more,

But lies (poor Cur) half starving at his Door.

For Jokes and merry Songs he sighs and groans,

And through the Grove resounds Alexis Moans;

Do’st thou not think the Alteration strange?

Say, Claius, if thou can’st, whence comes the Change?


Alexis caught a little Bird last Spring,

Which with indulgent Care he taught to sing;

The Linnet and the Thrush it did excel,

Nay, most agreed it rival’d Philomel.

Forgetful of her native Freedom she

Delighted all that heard her Harmony:

Fair Lydia of the Prisoner did accept,

And for Alexis Sake ’twas to be kept.

But D4v 24

But—it is hardly yet a Month agone

That she bestow’d it on young Corridon:

Since which unhappy Hour Alexis pines,

His wonted Peace, nor his Diversion finds.


Ah, silly, silly Youth, if this be all!


Alas! and can you think the Reason small?

Me once my lov’d Brunetta serv’d as ill;

And, oh! methinks I tremble at it still.

I went e’re Morning Dews forsook the Rose,

And made a Garland for the fair One’s Brows;

Each fragrant Flower I stript, with Mirtle green,

With blooming Pinks and Jessamine between,

The Wreath compos’d; she smil’d, and put it on,

And in my Eyes a second Venus shone:

Thanks, Claius, said the Nymph, and tript away;

But on the Evening of the self same Day,

I saw her give it old Melander’s Son,

A Lad who till that Time was quite unknown.

Wild as the Winds I rav’d, and o’re the Plain

Pursu’d the Youth, and snatch’d my Wreath again.

She E1r 25

She frown’d,—and I was like Alexis seen,

Long time the wretched’st Shepherd on the Green.


And were you pity’d? ――


――Wond’rously by all.


Ha, ha, no more; I hear the Shepherds call.

Lotharioand Calista.

The Time was come, the unrelenting Sheers

Sever’d the Thread of gay Lothario’s Years:

Ambition, Wealth, and Faction now no more,

His guilty Soul was wafted to the Shore,

Where Death, grim Death, presides, and Stygian
Billows roar.

New Scenes, new Notions in his Mind create;

Intense Reflection, now, alas! too late,

Inform’d him Justice, tho’ corrupted here,

Keeps a more strict impartial Ballance there;

E Con- E1v 26

Condemn’d to wander in that dreadful Plain,

With those whom Rapine, Murthers, Perjuries stain,

’Midst Tortures all; ineffably severe,

The Stings of Conscience whetted by Despair,

And still to aggravate the Pangs of these

Within the View of Paradise and Peace;

There, on that happier Side, the Mourner view’d

Calista’s Shade, whom once he falsly woo’d.

He woo’d and won, then left the wretched Maid

To Shame, to Weeping and to Death betray’d,

Now pale with Grief, as was her wat’ry Tomb,

Who shone like Venus in her early Bloom;

With Ariadne and the Tyrian Queen,

She walk’d the Groves, and trod the flow’ry Green.

A Train attended, Partners of her Grief,

The easie Victims of too fond Belief.

Part wept the Source from whence their Woes began,

And talk’d of perjur’d Vows, and faithless Man;

Part sung how those no solid Joys can prove,

Who revel in the Guilt of unpermitted Love.

Conscious Lothario ’midst a Thousand Fears,

His Eyes now streaming with no artful Tears,

Ad- E2r 27

Address’d the well known Shade. If Love e’re dwelt

Within that Breast, if e’re Calista felt

One tender Passion, let her Thoughts reflect

On that, on all, all but my stern Neglect;

Recall th’ Endearments that our Youth employ’d,

Recall the Raptures which we once enjoy’d,

And reach in Pity thy once plighted Hand,

To guide Lothario to that peaceful Land.

Ah! cruel Maid! why turn’st away thy Head?

Is then Lothario’s Image wholly fled?

Am I forgot, or do I still appear

As hateful now as when I left my Fair?

And is there none among that Troop will tell,

Will not Calista own, I once lov’d well?

Away, Deceiver, cry’d the injur’d Maid,

’Twas once indeed thy Talent to perswade;

Delusive Charmer of my unguarded Youth,

Thou Foe to me, to Honour and to Truth:

In vain, too late for Pity you implore,

Thy Crimes have fix’d thee on that dreary Shore,

Too pond’rous for the wafting Bark to bear;

Thou must for ever on those Banks despair:

E2 Asso- E2v 28

Associate with thine Equals! if there be

’Mongst the Ungrateful any Wretch like thee;

These peaceful Regions are for Souls sincere,

None but repenting Spirits enter here.

She sigh’d, then smil’d, and glided on her Way

Thro’ the blest Realms of everlasting Day.

The trembling Lover cast a wishful Look,

And the Forsaking wept, himself forsook:

His Flame new-kindled with the Sight return’d

With Rage, with Love, with Jealousie he burn’d:

Wild Rage, vain Love, perpetual gnaw’d his Heart,

And all Calista’s Woe prov’d now Lothario’s Smart.

Amin- E3r 29

Aminta’s Dream

Tir’d with the Disappointments of the Day,

As on her Bed the Fair Aminta lay,

The wild Ideas which her Mind imprest

Still kept their Rounds, and wou’d not let her rest;

Till the sweet Lark, who dedicates the Prime

To the Disposer of her future Time,

Had prun’d her Wings, and tow’ring thro’ the Air

Call’d drowsie Mortals to their Morning Prayer.

With Cloyster’d Virgins had she Vigils kept,

Aminta now perhaps had sweetly slept;

A Stranger been to Love, and all its Cares,

Fallacious Hopes, inseparable Fears.

Just as the Sun lick’d off the pearly Dews,

Her long extended Lids began to close;

Gay Fancy then assum’d to play its Part

In every Avenue of Head and Heart;

In various Trim presented every Wish,

And the Unhappy dream’d of Happiness:

Group of inconsistent Figures first

Address’d her Senses, by her Passions nurst:

The E3v 30

The stubborn Goddess Fortune led the Van,

Smiles in her Face and Trophies in her Hand:

Attractive Riches, dying Lovers Tears,

Obliging Friendships, many happy Years;

Park, Balls, and Opera’s, and Brussel’s Lace,

A gilded Chariot and a lasting Face:

Fictitious Joys! how fleet your Motions haste,

Like flying Shadows just observ’d e’re past;

The hasty Bubbles of a christal Brook,

Rais’d in a Moment, in a Moment broke.

Loud Acclamations snapt the pleasing Chain,

And all the Gew-gaws vanish’d from her Brain:

Her Maid in Tears the fatal Tiding brought,

Silvio had all his Vows and Her’s forgot;

That Morning married to her favourite Friend,

And here, poor Girl, her Expectations end.

Stre- E4r 31

Strephonto the River.

Run, little River, run and tell my Dear

The truest of her Lovers waits her here:

Tell her my Sighs contribute to your Speed;

Drive on your Waves till they their Banks exceed,

And my salt Tears combine t’ o’rflow the Mead.

Ah! happy You, which may with Freedom run

Close by that Door which I am bid to shun.

Beneath her Window as you murm’ring go,

Sooth all her Dreams; and let the Fair One know,

As constant as your Motion to the Sea,

Shall the fond Strephon’s Love to Sylvia be.

A Pro- E4v 32

A Prophecy in Julius Cæsar’s Time.

Not all thy Conquests o’re th’ unbounded East

Can satisfy th’ Ambition of thy Breast;

Tho’ North and South their humble Tribute bring,

And all confess, tho’ none dare call thee King;

Yet till th’ expanded Ocean Homage pay,

sar! thy Glories must admit Allay.

Trim all thy Gallies, let thy Streamers fly,

And on yond Western Island fix thine Eye;

See! her white Bosom shining from afar;

Bend all thy Force, compleat thy Triumphs there.

Serene the Climatoe, fertile is the Soil,

Worthy of sar and his utmost Toil;

Honest and brave, the Natives yet may boast,

Pity! the Time will come, when both are lost!

When Pagan Morals prove a Christian’s Shame,

And British Honour’s but an empty Name;

Yet such a Time—long Ages hence will come,

As sure as Pompey’s Statue stands in Rome;

As sure as Brutus does a Poniard wear,

And thou, O Julius! art Dictator here.

Hymn F1r 33

Hymn for the Morning.


Awake my Soul! in Concert joyn,

Soul of my Soul! the Praise inspire.

Shall every Creature’s Song but thine,

Be heard in Nature’s grateful Choir?


E’re one bright Beam the Sun displays,

The chearful Lark has rous’d his Mate;

They spread their Wings and tune their Lays,

Attempt the Clouds, and sing in State.


Who gave the Rose that lovely Bloom?

Who gives the tender Bud to blow?

Whither ascends their sweet Perfume,

The Incense of the early Dew?

F 4. Who F1v 34


Who bounds the Ocean’s restless Wave?

From whom do christal Fountains flow,

From whom the Blessings which we crave?

And whither do we wish to go?


To Him, my Soul, great Lord of all!

To Him, thy ardent Thanks return,

Low at his Footstool humbly fall,

Who gives us yet another Morn.


Another Morn to raise the Soul

Beyond the daring Lark’s access,

Where nothing can our Hopes controul,

Where Joy admits of no increase.


But, O beware! ten thousand Snares

Lurk in the Shade of this Day’s Sun:

What ever Shape the Tempter wears,

The Tempted certain Dangers run.

8. Whe- F2r 35


Whether soft Pleasures strew the Way,

Or thorny Cares our Steps pursue,

An equal Malice they betray;

In both Extremes we meet a Foe.


Then hear me! Great Eternal, hear!

Through the dark Night my sole Defence!

Be Thou in every waking Hour

The Guardian of mine Innocence.


From all Below, from all Above,

To the Eternal three be Praise;

Being of Beings! Source of Love!

Accept my Song, conduct my Ways.

F2 To F2v 36

To Psyche.


Why, my superior Part, art thou dismay’d?

Of what, my Soul, art thou afraid?

That thus opprest

Thou know’st no Rest,

What has thy present Peace betray’d?

Can Grief, can Poverty, or Pain,

With all their Terrors, direful Train,

Affect what cannot dye,

What must exist to all Eternity?


When Kings are Dust, and Empire is no more,

And Gold has lost its efficacious Power;

When the bright Sun and Stars shall mourn,

And Earth and Seas unquenchable shall burn,

All our Amusements, all our Care,

All our Hope, and all our Fear,

Less than our present Shadows shall appear:

Yet F3r 37

Yet thou, my Soul! must be,

Tho’ now a Part of this uncomfortable Me,

A Ray of Immortality.


Joint Candidate for Bliss or Woe,

What has thy Partner brought thee to?

In Search of Gems or golden Ore

When Merchants quit their native Shore,

If One supine

The Task decline,

Both must their glorious Hopes resign:

Judicious Monitor! how oft do’st thou

Adjure me set the Compass right?

That when the Storm of Passions blow,

The Vessel may be kept upright.


The Tide of Life runs swiftly on;

Nor needs the Influence of the Moon,

Press’d onwards by our Cares;

No mortal Force

Can stop the rapid Course,

Nor bid come back the long neglected Years.

Yet F3v 38

Yet Peace, my Soul; the God of Peace still lives;

Essential Mercy and essential Power

Can every conscious Penitent restore,

We sorrow, he forgives.


The now declining Lamp renew,

Tho’ dim the glimmering Light;

Bid Sin and anxious Cares adieu,

And every vain Delight;

United to ourselves alone,

Our Interest can be but one:

With utmost Toil

Wash off contracted Soil;

That every Sigh and every Tear,

Caus’d by thy slothful Partner here,

May to the Throne of Grace ascend,

And Heaven itself become our Friend.


Open, ye everlasting Gates!

Kind Guardian Angel! lend thine Aid;

An humble Sinner prostrate waits,

Whose Ransom has long since been paid:

In F4r 39

In that last tremendous Day,

Remember, O my God! I am but worthless Clay;

The Dregs of Life and Dust, if thou refine,

Psyche and I, beyond the Stars shall shine:

With pardon’d Saints thy Attributes adore,

And the Accuser shall upbraid no more.


Peace,gentle Peace! oh, in what mortal Breast,

Say, doest thou build thy downy Halcion Nest?

Thou early Forfeit! paid at the Expence

Of our more early Loss of Innocence;

Through various Mazes we thy Track pursue,

Mistake our Guide, and lose th’ uncertain Clue;

Thy soft Asylum when we seek t’attain,

Life wants Extent, and our Pursuits are vain.

From Fields victorious does the Hero come

With thee t’ enjoy his little World at Home?

When F4v 40

When the dark Statesman’s puzling Schemes succeed

Art thou a Partner in his Golden Bed?

Do thy soft Pinions round his Temples wait

Who all Day long sat brooding o’re a State?

Can Affluence purchase? dear bought Honours claim

The utmost Point at which the Stoicks aim?

If so, my Stars (injurious) I upbraid,

Whose niggard Influence have my Hopes betray’d;

Fix’d me in humble Shades, and warm’d my Heart

With Inclinations of another Sort;

Bad me beware Ambition’s restless Toils,

The Bait of Power, and Pleasure’s gilded Smiles:

To shun those Maxims Virtue never taught,

Virtue! the Basis of each peaceful Thought:

Solid Foundation! which no Storms can move,

No Flatt’ry soften, — Impudence reprove;

Like hidden Treasure, very rarely found,

Where thou resid’st is consecrated Ground.

To thee the Anchorite in his chosen Cell

Owes the Content does in his Bosom dwell;

Possess’d of thee, accomplishes with Ease

Th’ unenvy’d Life of sharp Austerities.

Nor G1r 41

Nor inconsistent with exalted State,

If not repuls’d,—enters the Palace Gate.

By all Degrees th’ intrinsick Worth is known;

The brightest Gem adorns a Monarch’s Crown:

’Tis Wealth, ’tis Empire, ’tis immortal Fame,

And will subsist, when this stupendous Frame

Of Nature sinks; and Vice abhors its Name:

Let that black Monster all his Arts employ,

And each luxuriant, guilty Wish enjoy,

The Acquisition must his Peace destroy.

Virtue, dear Lindamor’s, the milkey Way,

We lose the Clue, when we from Virtue stray.

G Cupid G1v 42

Cupid and the Rose-Bush.


One Moon-shiney Night,

The Stars too shone bright,

You might see o’re the Launs at a View;

Young Cupid sat hush,

Behind a Rose-Bush,

As the Trifler had nothing to do.


Unlucky for her,

Poor Sylvia was near,

Who so often had baffl’d his Power;

To Cloe apply’d,

Who walk’d by her Side,

They thought themselves very secure.


That palt’ry Boy

Blind Cupid, said she,

How lavish he grows of his Darts;

At Random he wounds

The meanest of Clowns,

He despairs of our generous Hearts.

There’s G2r 43


There’s Damon and Thee,

There’s Alexis and Me,

What a Fool have we made of his Skill;

Tho’ he and his Mother

Make so much a Pother

I’ll be hang’d, if He e’re have his Will.


Says Cloe, indeed

I often have said,

I would never come under his Clutches;

Young Damon is fair,

But I do declare

I’d not have him, to make me a Dutchess.


Let’s gather a Rose,

Now so fresh with the Dews

Not Venus herself is so sweet;

Were the blind Puppy here,

We have nothing to fear,

I’d tell him his own if we meet.

G2 7. Say G2v 44


Say ye so, pretty Maid,

The Youngster he said,

These Arrows are sharp, I suppose,

He aim’d at each Heart;

They scream’d at the Smart,

But thought it a Thorn from the Rose.


Soon came the two Swains,

Tripping over the Plains,

They snatch’d a sweet Rose as they past.

That little blind Brat

Shot, and hit ’em full pat;

So he conquer’d them all at the last.


Cupid ran to Mamma,

With ha, ha, ha, ha.

“And what hast thou done, my dear Lovey?”

I have met with the Crew

That despis’d Me and You,

And I’Faith I have caught the whole Covey.

To G3r 45

To the Fair Injur’d Celia.

Beauty! thou soft Intruder to the Heart,

Where is thy Triumph? Tell us what thou art.

Like Light and Truth, thine Energy we feel,

Hard to describe, but harder to conceal:

A Gift celestial! and of mighty Sway,

Whose transient Power we willingly obey:

Auxiliary Aid! which by ill Conduct lost

Betrays the Fair, and leaves Mankind to boast.

Rich in thy self, but oft’ without Defence,

What Guard has Celia found from Innocence?

With glitt’ring Fortune, and obsequious Lyes,

How many Charms one Fop can sacrifice!

Ah! Celia, thou not singly art undone,

The vile Contagion through the Sex has run;

We gaze, admire, then all our Arts employ,

With the same Pleasure, ruin and injoy.

A generous Foe, this Secret I confess,

Honour is shock’d at Celia’s great Distress.

To G3v 46

To Mrs. S――. An Epigram.

When Jupiter to Fair Alcmena’s Bed,

By Love the greater Deity was led;

He knew the Theban Dame so nicely chaste,

In vain (alas) he shou’d his Courtship waste,

Tho’ with resplendent Rays of Godhead grac’d.

For Women have a different Taste of Bliss,

And one’s Aversion’s t’ other’s Happiness:

Not Io’s Bull, nor Leda’s tempting Swan,

No Gold in Showers distill’d, nor artful Man,

Cou’d move the faithful Wife to change her Mind;

(Too strict Example for the Female Kind.)

Amphitrion’s Image, all her Soul possest;

And in that Form, she made th’Immortal blest.

Love’s Power’s eternal! shou’d the God forego

His Heaven a while, to be belov’d by you,

With less Expence, he might his Passion own,

In any Shape succeed,—if he your Husbands shun.

The G4r 47

The Scots Lovers. A Ballad.


Trees had their verdant Beauties lost,

Keen Northern Winds did blow,

The Earth was candy’d o’re with Frost

And bury’d deep in Snow.


The lowing Herd for Covert sought,

The Herdsmen blew their Nails,

And blowsey Mopsa homeward brought

Her Milk in Icy Pails.


The idle Vagrant shook with Cold,

As Cowards shake with Fear,

Half naked through the Village stroll’d

And to their Straw repair.


When Bonny Scot for Jenny’s Love

Advent’rous cross’d the Tweed,

And, that she might his Faith approve,

Did many a noble Deed.

5. Her G4v 48


Her English Lovers sigh’d and pray’d,

But would no Hazards run,

He, tho’ he lost the lovely Maid,

Was gloriously undone.


For Fortune, than the Winter hard,

Nipt every Hope in Bloom;

His Rivals all her Favours shar’d,

And sent him wounded Home.


So quite undone poor Sawny was,

And quite undone the Maid;

She saw his Blood run on the Grass,

And found they were betray’d.


As on the frozen Earth they lay,

Each own’d their Love sincere,

She kiss’d the trickling Blood away,

They dy’d together there.

9. Then H1r 49


Then every faithful wretched Pair,

Brought Cypress and Yew,

With mournful Garlands deck’t their Beir,

And strew’d ’em o’re with Rue.


But Just Astrea own’d their Cause,

Threw Palms and Laurels down,

Bestow’d from Heaven her loud Applause,

And did their Virtues crown.

To Strephon.

When You and I shall to our Earth return,

And the World thinks each quiet in their Urn;

When Life’s gay Scene no more shall cheat the Eye

With flattering Prospects of uncertain Joy;

When Truth and Falshood shall unveil’d appear,

And Gold which rules below no Influence shall bear,

Then tell me, Strephon, where our Souls shall move,

And how our Tale shall be receiv’d above?

H Of H1v 50

Of broken Vows, a long Account for You;

For Me—the Sin of Loving ought below:

Ah! Strephon! why, was I ordain’d by Fate,

To please a Swain, so fickle and ingrate?

Why, from the Airy, Witty, and the Fair,

Was I the Choice of One so insincere?

And why, my constant Heart, art thou the same?

Why not extinguish’d the disast’rous Flame?

Fond Heart! false Strephon!—but the Conflict’s o’re;

You can betray, nor I believe, no more.

Forgive Us, Heaven! tho’ never, never here,

We meet again, may We be Angels there:

There, may my faithful Passion find Reward;

Your Guilt pardon’d, and my Prayers be heard.

On H2r 51

On theLossof Stella’sFriendship.


Tell me not Cloe, ’tis in vain

Of broken Kindness to complain;

That it is nothing new or strange,

That Stella should like others change:

Wou’d that suffice, ’tis sure as true,

Death is to all as common too;

Yet I remember, Cloe cry’d,

When Thyrsis favourite Shepherd dy’d.


The Body’s Sickness shall we moan,

Unmov’d with this more dangerous one?

For when we Friendship failing find,

’Tis sure the Jaundice of the Mind:

The Soul her Friend discolour’d sees

Thro’ the false Medium of Disease;

His Thoughts to Her’s assimilates,

Then loaths the Object she creates.

H2 3. Or H2v 52


Or is’t not Jealousie that blights,

This Bud of mutual Delights?

Or does not Envy’s scatter’d Seed,

This Canker of Affection breed?

Which like the Rose-enwrapped Worm,

Or spreads around its poys’nous Sperm;

Or sucks the Sweets which Life supply,

And leaves the sapless Flower to dye.


Medea’s Secret, we are told,

Cou’d re-invigorate the Old;

Rekindle Youth’s extinguish’d Blaze,

And thaw the frozen Stream of Age:

This may be probable, But who

Decaying Friendship can renew?

That, once impair’d, like Womens Fame,

No Art, no Labour, can redeem.


Ungrateful Lambs! Why shou’d ye play,

In fond Agreement, all the Day?

Is’t H3r 53

Is’t not enough, my Friend to lose,

But you must aggravate my Woes?

Ah, Philomel! how chang’d thy Note!

Is then thy Melody forgot?

Why dos’t that mournful Tale repeat,

Who erst were us’d to sing so sweet?


Be silent there, thou troubled Spring!

Peace, Zephyr, with thy murmuring!

Ye envious Shades, What have I done,

That you shou’d hide me from the Sun?

Are you then all with Stella join’d?

Or is the Difference in my Mind?

I list not it was Friendship’s Power,

That taught you all to please before.


Forgetful Maid! How oft’ did we,

Beneath yon Shade-extending Tree

Together, Shakespear’s Sense admire,

Or Congreve’s Wit or Waller’s Fire?

How useful have our Minutes past,

While each improv’d the other’s Taste;

And H3v 54

And mutual Comment brought to Light

Beauty’s escaping single Sight.


When happily secure of This,

I envy’d not a Monarch’s Bliss;

Pleasure like this, what Monarch shares?

Who shou’d be kind are Flatterers.

Ah, Stella! I suspect that you

Had better lik’d a Flatterer too

Whose Tongue, perhaps, had spread your Fame,

Where awkward Friendship hinted Blame.


Ingenious Pope! whose better Skill

Can dive into a Woman’s Will,

How truly have thy Numbers told

“Her Soul is of too soft a Mould,

A lasting Character to hold.”

Her Inclination’s fickle Side,

The varying Gust of Passion guide;

And her Affection shifting Stream,

Flows and reflows as mov’d by Them.

10. Since H4r 55


Since this is so, some future Wind

May change again my Stella’s Mind;

And that inconstant Appetite,

Which first divorc’d us, re-unite.

’Tis thus the Viper’s venom’d Smart

Eludes the baffled Rules of Art;

Till in her self a Medicine’s found

To heal her sting-inflicted Wound.

Reflections on the Sight of a Vault.

In this dark Gloom by the pale Taper’s Light,

How my Soul shudders at th’ amazing Sight!

Solemn Tranquility! most aweful State!

Tremendous Ruin! wretched Mortal’s Fate!

Ye silent Horrors!—Where’s the Grandeur now

With which you made your Ent’rance here below?

When Dust on Dust, and Earth on Earth is thrown,

The Pomp retreats, and we are left alone;

That H4v 56

That undisturb’d th’ insatiate Worm may feed,

Seize the cold Prey, and wanton o’re the Dead:

Nourish’d by what was once our Pride and Care,

How close th’ Alliance which commences here!

O, my sad Soul! must thy Companion be

Reduc’d indeed to this Deformity?

Made a pale Victim to remorseless Death,

A mould’ring nautious Clod devoid of Breath?

See, ’midst these squalid Heaps, if ought appear,

That Beauty, Sense, or Strength did once inhabit

Humane the Tears which the Great Persian shed,

As He his Millions on to Glory led;

To Think how soon each Individual must

Pay Nature’s Tribute, and unite in Dust:

Ambition paus’d, and generous Pity sway’d;

Compassion govern’d, and his Eyes obey’d:

His Soul confess’d, what he abhorr’d to own,

A Power superior to the Persian Throne.

Down Pride, and Vanity! Resentment dye,

These Mansions know, no Inequality:

The I1r 57

The Glair of Riches, the Insults of Power,

When here arriv’d, will envy’d be no more;

Distinguish’d once, have now impartial Share

Of the cold Honours which are center’d here:

Fortune’s proud Minions shall no more oppress,

And the much Injur’d shall obtain Redress:

The sighing Prisoner shall no more complain,

Nor longer drag his macerating Chain;

But every Wretch, emphatically so,

Shall quit the Burthen of his various Woe.

Tremble thou, Atheist! who’s extended Wish

Is to find a Refuge in a State like this!

Conscious too late; when Time shall be no more,

Were thy vile Atoms drove from Shore to Shore,

Omnipotence will thence collect the Whole,

And re-unite them to thy blacken’d Soul;

Raise thee to Horrors, exquisitely great,

Which cou’d Thought fathom, Tongue cou’d ne’re

I Hail, I1v 58

Hail, venerable Reliques! once the Shrine

Of Souls, who now in blissful Regions shine!

Tho’ the Great Maker’s Image be defac’d

By Sin, by Sorrow, Time and Death laid waste,

The latent Principle of Life entire,

You’ll Phenix like, rise from celestial Fire:

Sure of Refinement, to your pristine State,

Meet your glad Consort, and her Joys compleat.

No impious Hand this sacred Dust prophane!

To the decisive Day, in Peace remain.

The I2r 59

The Nightingal.

Forgive me, Philomel, if I no more

Can Tereus matchless Cruelty deplore;

I must believe thy Sense of Grief is past,

Who so melodiously the Night canst waste,

Nor can the pointed Thorn annoy thy Breast,

Was ever Sorrow in such Notes exprest?

O, no, the Gods, in Pity to thy Wrong,

Gave in Exchange, for a frail Woman’s Tongue,

A lasting Power to please with thy inimitable

Indulgent of thy Fate, they now assign,

That every Glory of the Spring be thine;

Where, undisturb’d, thou may’st its Joys possess,

And listening Ears, with me, thy tuneful Numbers

I2 To I2v 60

To a Lady.

Who desir’d Me to Answer her Lover’s Letter.


When Philadella you desire

That I of Love should write,

You must suppose I’ve felt the Fire

Or how should I indite?


The tender Passion, I confess,

Was once poor Sylvia’s Theme;

But, ah! how hard ’twas to express,

Even while I felt the Flame.


A Stranger to the happy Swain,

Who does your Thoughts employ;

I may by my unlucky Pen

Your growing Hopes destroy.


No Rules, alas! there are in Art,

Which can the Passion move;

Nature must dictate from the Heart,

And Love himself teach Love.

A I3r 61

A Song.


From Tempe’s charming Vale draw near,

And from th’ Arcadian Plains;

Ye Nymphs and Shepherds all declare

Love’s Pleasures and his Pains.


Say, when Possession crowns your Wish,

If Joy be then sincere?

O, no! we fear to lose a Bliss,

Which once has cost so dear.


’Tis hard to know when Hearts are joyn’d;

Or, if they’ll so remain:

The Nymph too often proves unkind;

Too often false the Swain.

Pas- I3v 62


Tityrus, Damonand Linco.


This speckl’d Goat, I for my Cloe rear;

Fair is the Maid, and how to please my Care.


Behold this Garland, ’tis for Phillis wove;

Fair is the Maid, and I all over love.


Sing thou of Phillis, Cloe I’ll rehearse:

And Linco, be thou Umpire of our Verse.


If I sing best, thy Lelaps shall be mine;

If Thou, this Crook and Tar-box shall be thine.


Count all the Pebbles in this bubling Brook,

Or all the Leaves on yonder spreading Oak;

Then may’st thou number up my Cloe’s Charms,

And guess the Passion which my Bosom warms.

Damon. I4r 63


Count all the Colours of the Rain-bow bright,

Or all the Stars in a clear Winter’s Night,

My beauteous Phillis has as many Charms;

As many Joys contain’d within her Arms.

Apollo lov’d not Daphne half so true;

I’ll give her all I’m worth, this tender Ewe,

With both her Lambs; and all my mellow Pears;

My Linnet, and my prating Starling’s hers:

Grant, Venus! she Accept of Them and Me,

And every Year I’ll pay a Dove to Thee.


On this same Bank I kept my Goats one Day,

And down that Path came Cloe fresh as May;

A Sky-blue Ribbon ty’d her flaxen Hair,

Her Arm a Basket full of Flowers did bear:

Two little Lambs run frisking by her Side;

By Turns she play’d with both, and both would

One was all black, and did his shining owe

To her fair Hand, which did bestroke him so:

Black I4v 64

Black, as a Coal, is Titryus; may she,

Great Cupid! quickly grow as fond of me.


My Phillis may with any Maiden vie;

A lovely Chesnut Hair and sparkling Hazle Eye;

Slender, and tall; a Goddess in her Mein;

The Wonder and Delight of all the Green.


Cloe her Lambs by Isis River feeds,

And all the Naids leave their ouzey Beds,

To see her pretty Face, and hear her Song;

The Nymphs and Graces wait her all Day long:

For Cloe, every Swain will make him fine;

And Pan, for her, will all his Flocks resign.


I yield my Verse, but will for Love contend;

Here, take those Toys, and Hymen both befriend.


Both have sung well, and Damon well has spoke;

He shall not want a Tar-box, nor a Crook.

To K1r 65

To theMemoryof AnnaBella.


From Parnassus Hill descend

A while, ye Tuneful Nine attend;

Attend on me alone:

A bold Demand, ’tis true!

But singly ne’re a One of You,

Can the rapturous Song pursue;

With exalted Thoughts inspire,

Bring every One her softest Lire,

And make the Cause her own.


Let Sacred Friendship be the Theme;

And sing my Annabella’s Name;

Worthy of all your Art:

Let the same Honours here be done,

As Cowly paid to Jesse’s Son,

And his beloved Jonathan,

When Greater than Apollo bore a Part.

K 3. Sing K1v 66


Sing of the Maid from early Youth,

A Patroness to every Truth;

Whom Interest could not sway:

To all who truly knew her dear;

Of tender Nature, Soul sincere;

A poinant Wit, and Judgment clear,

As Phœbus brightest Ray.


But this, alas! seems all my own;

A weak Attempt, and nothing done;

I begg’d for Inspiration:

Or, do the conscious Choir,

Knowing her Virtue’s so divine,

The bold advent’rous Task decline;

And enviously admire.


Say, gentle Sisters, is it just,

That Annabella’s sacred Dust,

Shou’d unreguarded lie?

That such a Daughter, Sister, Friend,

You should unwillingly attend,

And not your best Assistance lend,

To grace her Memory?

6. In- K2r 67


Ingrateful! to desert a Name,

No Stranger to Castalia’s Stream;

Tho’ studious to avoid the Fame:

Melodious was her Soul:

Love and Friendship shar’d her Breast;

Friendship which could bear the Test,

And nothing over-rule.


Inexorable! still refuse!

Not one good-natur’d generous Muse,

To aid my feeble Lays;

Hark! how the Choristers above,

From Regions of eternal Love,

Smiling assert, Not all our Skill,

Had I the Power, and you the Will,

Could chaunt out half her Praise.

K2 The K2v 68

The Slattern.


Salina saunt’ring in a Shade,

Her Shoes were slipt, her Gown unty’d;

A single Pinner on her Head,

And thus the easie Trollop cry’d;


Thus disengag’d from all the Crew,

Which on a Lady’s Rising wait,

I can without Constraint pursue,

The Pleasure of this soft Retreat.


She oft had heard, that Poets chose

To be retir’d from Noise and Rout;

And fancy’d she could now compose,

If she could find a Subject out.


By Chance she had one Pocket on;

Therein a Pencil neatly made:

She pull’d it out, and sat her down,

And thought she’d more than half her Trade.

5. The K3r 69


The back-side of a Billet deux

Was ready to receive her Notions:

The first Thing she resolv’d to do,

To put in Rhime her Morn Devotions.


She then began with the Sublime;

But found the Theme so much above her,

She past it till another Time,

And chose to Poetize her Lover.


The great Dispute, which Name to use,

Of Damon, Pythias, or Endymion;

Did, by the Way, so damp her Muse,

That soon she alter’d her Opinion.


Aid me, Melpomene! she cries,

The Weakness of my Sex to sing;

While I lament their Vanities,

Do thou thy choicest Numbers bring.

9. Bless K3v 70


Bless me! how trifling is the Lass,

Spends ever half the Day in Dressing;

It makes me hate a Looking-Glass,

And loathe a Toilet past expressing.


No farther had the Nymph the Power;

Abrupt she threw the Paper by;

Quo’ she, ’tis an unlucky Hour,

Walk one Turn more, and then I’ll try.


Help, Thalia! comic Strains to sing;

Apollo, pray attend it;

Just then, her Petticoat broke a String,

And forced her Home to mend it.

Venus K4r 71

Venus Reveng’d. A Song.


A Renegade Swain,

Who Love’s Sanctions had broke,

Triumph’d o’re the Plain,

He had cast off the Yoke:

He Venus insulted, and banter’d the Boy;

While his Jest, and his Bottle, compleated his Joy.


The Goddess prophan’d,

Thought it Time to assert,

The Power she once gain’d,

O’re his trifling Heart;

She swore by her Charms, she’d reduce the fond

And plague him at once, with Love and with

3. From K4v 72


From Paphos inrag’d,

Her Honour came down;

And quickly engag’d

That Stripling her Son

To sharpen his Arrows, and she’d find a Lass,

Should revenge the Affront and humble the Ass.


Young Cloe appear’d;

And twang went the Bow:

The Shepherd declar’d,

She had met with him now.

But to lessen the Conquest, took Care to discover

As much of the Mad-man and Fool, as the Lover.

To L1r 73

Adviceto Amanda.

Plunging through all the various Ills of Life,

With every Passion, every Care at Strife,

Shun vain Amusements; for in them you’ll find,

Only a superficial Ease of Mind:

First, Heaven address; then to the Muse repair;

That will support thee, this divert thy Care:

Tho’, like succeeding Waves, Misfortunes haste,

And thou on Rocks and dangerous Shelves art cast,

Despair not to attain the Port of Peace at last.

This found the Royal Saint, distressed Israel’s King,

Who, though the Floods o’rewhelm’d, could pray
and sing:

His strong Resource was Heaven; there fix thine

And with the Eagle build thy Nest on high:

Indignant look on sublunary Bliss;

Distance will render every Object less;

And close Reflection, the true Value show

Of what has Power, to discompose thee now.

L The L1v 74

The Sacrifice.

What Sacrifice shall I prepare!

How an accepted Altar rear?

Great Babel’s Tower it must out-vie;

Surmount the Clouds, and reach the Sky:

Of polish’d Marble let it be,

Form’d with mighty Accuracy:

Let Ophir’s Gold adorn the Base,

Its Pedestals Corinthian Brass,

And shining Gems its Cornish grace.

Shittim and Lebanon contend,

Which shall the fairest Cedars send;

Sidonian Artists carve them out,

And Ivory Columns place about:

Let Persian Carpets spread the Ground,

And Tyrian Purple hang around:

The costly Fir and Ebony,

The Myrtle and the Almug Tree;

Bring every Shrub from Carmel’s Hill,

Delightful for its Shade and Smell;

From L2r 75

From Sheba’s Land bring each Perfume,

And let Arabian Spices come.

Sharon, thy Rose in Splendor bring;

The Lilly, fairer far than Israel’s King,

Come, and profusely strew the Offering.

The fatted Calf from Jordan’s Stream,

The Kid just bleating from its Dam,

The first Year’s Heifer hither lead,

Fresh from the Pasture let it bleed:

Nor will one of each suffice,

To count-less Numbers let ’em rise:

Whole Hecatombs the Pile shou’d load,

Pacifick of an Angry God!

Could this be done, this Care and Cost,

It were, my Soul, intirely lost,

Till thou, with contrite Tears apply

To Him, who suffer’d on Mount Calvary:

On that Attonement only, dare confide,

Who now lives for thee, and there for thee dy’d.

L2 An L2v 76

An Evening Hymn.


Come, Blessed Spirit, Great Three One!

My languid Soul inspire;

Help me to do what must be done,

E’re I to Rest retire.


The Morn is past, the Noon-tide o’re;

And the declining Sun,

Obedient to Creative Power,

His steady Course has run.


Perhaps, no more on Earth to rise,

At lest, to shine on me;

The Close of Night, may close these Eyes

To all Eternity.

4. Re- L3r 77


Reflect, my Soul, the Days and Years,

The Hours of dark Account;

Trifling Pursuits, and fruitless Cares,

To what do they amount?


E’re thou presume to lay thy Head

On thy soft Pillow down,

Call the Almighty to thine Aid

And thy Transgressions own.


Art thou in Peace, in perfect Peace;

No Guilt of Heart, or Tongue?

Are there no Passions to repress;

Nothing to wish undone?


With Magdalen dost thou repent,

The Errors of thy Youth?

With Peter’s, do’s thy Heart relent

When deviating from Truth?


If so, there’s richer Balm in Store

To cleanse and heal thy Wound,

Than L3v

Than ever fruitful Gilead bore,

Or can on Earth be found.


And shou’d the dreadful Trumpet call,

To Universal Doom;

Thy Sins, tho’ red as Scarlet, shall

As white as Snow become. INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to that regMe is unmatched.Isaiah 1.18.


What, tho’ To-morrow’s Dawn behold,

This corruptible Frame,

Lie a pale Object stiff and cold,

And nothing but a Name?


My Soul, enlarg’d, may tow’ring fly,

Born on soft Mercy’s Wing,

Through all the Wonders of the Sky

Toward Heaven’s Almighty King.


The Angelick Hosts, forever pure,

My late Return shall bless;

Nor Sin, nor Sorrow, ever more,

Conspire against my Peace.

13. Then L4r 79


Then O, ye Lov’d! ye Darling few!

On Earth my Joy! my Care!

We shall again our Loves renew,

As lasting as sincere.


Those false Suggestions, Flesh and Blood,

Did interpose below,

Shall then be clear’d, and understood,

And unmixt Friendship flow.


That cordial Drop, made Life so sweet,

Shall swell like Jordan’s Stream;

Make every other Bliss compleat,

In one celestial Flame.


Glory and Praise! for ever due,

Let every Creature pay,

To Him, who only can bestow,

That Peace, for which we pray.

Hymn L4v 80

Hymnon Christmas-Day.


Thou Power, Supream! who didst inspire

The Royal Prophet’s Sacred Song,

Permit me, take my humble Lyre,

Assist the Muse, and tune my Tongue.


Bid every Storm of Passion cease;

And soften every jarring String:

Sooth all my Faculties to Peace,

While to the God of Peace I sing.


Blest Paraclete! my Soul adorn,

That fit Reception may be given,

The Day-spring of this happy Morn;

And the glad Tidings sent from Heaven.

4. From 81 M1r


From Heaven and Earth, from Seas and Air,

All ye harmonious Beings join;

Exert your selves, in Praise and Prayer,

And make the Concert all divine.


A Saviour Born, to Lost Mankind!

O, conscious Sinner, bend thine Knee;

The next Great Advent let him find,

Th’ Effects of boundless Charity.


With thy Offences, quit thy Fears;

Confide in an Almighty Power;

Mix with thy Joy repentant Tears,

And all thy Wants to Heaven explore.


Then, with the bright Angelick Train,

Who waited on Heaven’s New-born King;

Repeat their rapturous Hymn again,

And with seraphick Ardour sing.

M To M1v 82

To Miranda.

Blame not, Miranda, what you’re now to

Who can be wretched yet without Concern?

You, on the smiling Surface, gently glide,

The Winds to favour, and a flowing Tide;

Your tender Bark ne’re felt a Winter’s Gale,

No Storms to ruffle your expanded Sail:

But I, from Wave to Wave, have long been tost;

My Tackling shatter’d, my Sheet Anchor lost:

Frequent, on pointed Rocks, my Vessel thrown,

Or Savage Coasts, where Pity is unknown:

Pity! even that cool Cordial’s some Relief,

That may alleviate, tho’ it cure no Grief:

No Judgment can you make from what you feel;

Time and ill Fortune must the Secret tell.

Whilst that afflicted Pattern of the East INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to that regMe is unmatched.Job, 1st Chap.

Was in his Substance, in his Children blest;

Whilst M2r 83

Whilst the Almighty’s Favours crown’d his Head,

What Adoration by the World was paid?

Old Age submitted, by his Grandeur aw’d;

And Self-conceited Youth his Sense applaud:

The Poor were grateful, whilst a liberal Power

Thought fit to bless, and give ’em Hopes of more.

But when rapacious Hands had made a Prey,

Destroy’d his Servants, led his Flocks away;

When the commanded Terrors from on High,

Took every Child from the fond Father’s Eye,

The Great, the Good, the Patient did lament;

And shew’d his Grief, tho’ not his Discontent:

Distrest on every Side, and left forlorn,

Durst curse the fatal Hour that he was born;

Friendship itself grew rigid and severe,

And added to the Weight he had to bear:

Cease then, my Dear Miranda, give me Room,

My Woes are present, Heav’n knows what’s to

M2 The M2v 84

The Spring.

Lovely, as happy Eden, to the Sight!

When first created Man beheld the Light;

As worshiping he rais’d him from the Ground,

And with admiring Eyes saw all around

Thus gaily dress’d, he blooming Nature found.

Such, the delightful Greens, and every Flower;

With which well pleas’d, he adorn’d the Bridal

When to his Arms his charming Spouse was given

A Present, worthy of indulgent Heaven;

So sung the Birds, so smelt the opening Rose,

And such Perfumes, did through the Air diffuse;

No ruffling Winds oppos’d the curling Waves,

Nor from their Branches tore the verdant Leaves;

No sultry Dog-Star threatned to annoy,

Nor nipping Frosts the tender Fruit destroy:

The Elements were all at Peace with Man,

Till he, himself, the dangerous War began.

Nature M3r 85

Nature recoil’d at the audacious Stroke;

And Heaven, with Justice, did its Gifts revoke:

Those promis’d Joys, he to Obedience gave,

All disappear’d and Man became a Slave;

Subject to Passions, liable to Death;

To breathe with Sorrow, momentary Breath:

From Paradice, transporting Scene! was driven,

And made precarious all the Joys of Heaven.

A Letterfrom aGentlemanin Russia.

With the Answer.

“From Seas of Ice and Hills of Snow,

Where Nore Nore-East so frequent blow,

Where Sun but seldom shews its Head,

No sooner up, but goes to Bed:

While Beasts of Prey do roam all Night,

And Ink is frozen while I write,

Where Balls, nor Parks, nor Plays are seen,

Nor Ladies with a jaunty Mein:

‘I, M3v 86

I, wrapt in Skin of Native Bear,

Do shudd’ring spend the gloomy Year.”

The Date of Yours so chills my Veins,

How shall I read the sad Remains?

“Neighbouring Siberia’s dreadful Waste,

Where Criminals of State are plac’d,

When Jealousies disturb the Rest

Of the Great Russian’s Royal Breast;

There, till suspicious Qualms abate,

The Wretch lives Object of his Hate,”

Ah! have a Care, with all your Tricks,

How you ingage in Politicks;

“Banish’d, my Dear, Aurelia’s Sight,

And Friends which were my Soul’s Delight,”

Were you to Dear Aurelia true?

Nor did your Friends complain of you?

“To you, my Love, in happier Clime,

I chuse to ease my Heart in Rhyme;

Tho’ you, perhaps, mayn’t now receive

’Bove half the Lines which I contrive:

For, have you never heard, my Dear,

Our Frosts are sometimes so severe,

‘That M4r 87

That even our Words congeal so fast,

They can’t be heard till Winter’s past?

These Things, as real Truths, are known

Upon the Spot, where they were done.”

Yes, I have heard of some such Jokes,

You Travellers tell to home-bred Folks;

Of Heaps of Noses too were found;

Take Heed, if yours yet be found.

“Then think, my Love, what ’tis I bear,

Who freeze and burn throughout the Year!”

Can’t you proportion these Extreams,

And make Snow-water quench your Flames?

With us, ’tis us’d at every Turn;

Probatum est, to cure a Burn.

“O’re Rocks and Mountains, Seas and Land,

As I my Rain-Deer’s Speed command,

How oft’ I wish her nimble Feet,

By Nature, were with Wings replete;

That I might post o’re all, through Air,

And in Hide-Park salute my Fair.”

Your Equipage would strangely please;

We still delight in Novelties:

But, M4v 88

But, pray, don’t make the Devil your Friend,

To help you to your Journey’s End;

Astride behind some Lapland Witch,

Upon a new-cut Hazle Switch,

If at my Feet you should alight,

You’ll kill your Dearest with the Fright.

“Kind Fortune! back to Albion’s Shore,

Th’ unhappy Celladon restore!”

I own that your Distress is great;

But――e’en make a Merit of your Fate:

For shou’d kind Fortune play the Fool,

And take you from Affliction’s School,

You’ll ne’re return a Man of Worth,

Who were not so, at setting forth:

Believe me, Celladon, that here

We’ve Thousands such as You to spare.

To N1r 89

To Strephon.

No Strephon, no, I now dispute your Power;

There was a Time――which can return
no more,

When my fond Heart, too partial in your Cause,

With Pleasure had submitted to your Laws:

The Influence own’d, you like a Tyrant reign’d;

With how much Toil my Freedom I regain’d!

You found my Heart disinterest’ and sincere;

But, Strephon――did we meet upon the Square?

Did not your false malignant Passion come,

Like Honey Dews, upon my early Bloom?

As fatal to my Peace, as to the Spring

The Ruin, those destructrive Symptoms bring?

Cou’d ought but Tears wash off the dang’rous Blast;

And cou’d I fly from your Designs too fast?

Foreboding Fears to my Assistance came,

Lov’d was my Strephon, much more lov’d my

N Go, N1v 90

Go, Strephon go; the Guards are doubl’d now;

Such my Defence I fear not even you:

You! the grand Master in the Art to please,

Who boast of Conquests gain’d with so much Ease,

Must to some distant Climate now remove;

And where your Name’s unknown pretend to love.

Shou’d sar’s Fortunes there, your Steps pursue,

And Victory incline where e’re you go,

May Sylvia’s guardian Angel warn the Fair,

To shun the Mischiefs you have practic’d here;

Or――let her all the Woman’s Skill exert,

To plague, or to reduce thy treach’rous Heart.

On N2r 91

On the New Fashion’d Fans with Motto’s.

An Epigram.

A Speaking Fan! a very pretty Thought;

The Toy is sure to full Perfection brought:

It is a noble, useful, great Design,

May the Projector’s Genius ever shine!

The Fair One now, need never be alone:

A Hardship sometimes on the Sex is thrown;

For Female Notions are of that Extent,

Impossible, one Tongue, should give ’em vent.

New Schemes of Dress, Intrigue, and Play,

Want new Expressions every Day:

And doubly blest! must be that mortal Man,

Who may converse with Sylvia and her Fan.

N2 A Re- N2v 92

A Receipt for an Extraordinary Made-Dish.

Take off Flesh, and Blood, and Bone,

A living Thing of Twenty One;

Sent from the Schools for want of Brain,

To see its dear Mamma again:

It may be either fat or lean,

Or black or fair, or blue or green;

’Tis not the Colour, but the Make,

Quantum sufficit you must take;

Fit it out, to make a Tour,

Let it return by Twenty Four;

Provided with some Scraps of French,

And Fragments of a foreign Wench;

A flippant Blockhead let it come,

Equip with well-bred Oaths at Home;

Let little Pumps inclose its Feet,

Silk Stockings make the Leg compleat;

The finest Holland ruffl’d Shirt,

A Waistcoat with a dapper Skirt;

A N3r 93

A Snuff-Box with a nauseous Lid,

A Pound of Powder on its Head,

Must shine with Lace from Top to Toe;

Whither you like it aye or no,

This Thing we Ladies call a Beau.

The Rover. A Ballad.


When Love did first my Heart ensnare,

My Constancy to show ye,

All Day and Night, for half a Year,

I dreamt and talkt of Cloe.


’Till brighter Phillis came in View;

Who had such Charms about her,

I thought I cou’d all Joys forgoe,

Rather than live without her.


But, on a shining Summer’s Day,

In Meditation walking,

I N3v 94

I saw young Cloris making Hay;

And to her would be talking.


Her Tittle-tattle pleas’d so well,

I’ll vow I cou’d not leave her;

But with a Tear began to tell,

That I wou’d love her ever.


Going next Morn to see the Fair,

Sylvia I chanc’d to meet;

With such a Shape and such an Air,

I threw me at her Feet.


And there most certainly had dy’d,

Had Celia not been by;

But something which her Eyes apply’d,

Was present Remedy.


For two whole Days the happiest Lad

I thought me on the Plain;

But Love not half his Pranks had play’d,

He whet his Darts again.

8. Then N4r 95


Then bright Clemene gave a Wound,

No mortal Man cou’d bear;

And I resolv’d to hang or drown,

Or mollify the Fair.


About the Woods I wildly rave,

To find a decent Willow;

Preparing for the silent Grave,

I made the Earth my Pillow.


In gentle Notes I heard a Maid,

Cry, Perjur’d Youth, adieu!

I rais’d my Head, and through the Glade,

Long absent Cloe knew.


My Heart confess’d her early Sway,

And new Allegiance swore;

Her nat’ral Subject I obey,

And now can change no more.

The N4v 96

The Return’d Heart.

It must be mine! no other Heart cou’d prove

Constant so long, yet so ill us’d in Love.

How bruis’d and scarify’d! how deep the Wound!

Senseless! of Life no Symptom to be found.

Can it be this, that left me young and gay?

Just in the gaudy Bloom it fled away:

Unhappy Rover! what cou’dst thou pretend?

Where Tyrants reign, can Innocence defend?

I’ll vow thou art so alter’d, I scarce know

Thou art the Thing, which Strephon sigh’d for so:

Look, how it trembles! and fresh Drops declare

It is the same, and he the Murderer.

Thus lawless Conquerors our Town restore,

With the sad Marks of their inhuman Power;

No Art, nor Time, such Ravage can repair,

No Superstructure, can these Ruins bear.

Cu- O1r 97

Cupidand Miss Kitty.


Young Cupid piqu’d at Kitty’s Scorn,

She too his Tricks resented,

They met by Chance one May-day Morn,

And thus their Spleen they vented.


Hey-day! says he, is Kitty here?

What Whimsey now prevails?

Gath’ring May-dew to make her fair

And getting draggl’d Tails.


No Good, she cries, can now be done,

Thou little medling Elf,

Take up thy Trumpery, and be gone,

And leave me to my self.


I think your Mother but a Fool,

To trust you with those Arrows,

O Such O1v 98

Such Boys as you shou’d go to School,

And not be shooting Sparrows.


And what shou’d you be doing, Miss,

That were so pert and silly,

To flounce and frisk, and shun a Kiss,

From such a Swain as Billy.


This Dart was forg’d by――I know who,

I’m sure ’tis sharp as Hunger:

And for this Bow,――I’m sure ’twill do;

I never――drew a stronger.


Then, prithy, shoot that Butter-Fly,

Says Kitty, in a Joke:

The Rogue took Aim immediately;

But Kitty felt the Stroke.

On O2r 99

On a Dispute betweenTwo Farmers for
an Old

A Pastoral.

Undress’d and void of Art, my humble Muse,

Has chose a Theme which will all Faults excuse;

The simple Lines are of the rural Strain,

Serve but to sing what’s acting on the Plain;

From Pan himself I did this Leave obtain.

Lord of the Vale, fair Syrinx by his Side,

Beneath a Shade, where murm’ring Waters glide,

How oft has Pan my rustick Numbers grac’d,

And made them Musick when his Reed he press’d.

I sung the speckl’d Ewe and stoutest Lamb,

Who own’d the Kid that straggl’d from its Dam;

Of Clumsey’s Ox, and of Menalcas’ Cow,

Of Callia’s Goat, and now of Collin’s Sow:

’Tis fit you know the best my Muse pretends,

And here the Preface to the Poem ends.

Domestick Animal, of worthy Race!

Stand thou a while in beauteous Hellen’s Place;

O2 That O2v 100

That each Contender may his Right assert,

And tell th’ expecting World whose Beast thou art.

Come, Coridon, declare her Birth and Breed;

Come, Collin, thou who didst her Hunger feed,

Come tell her Age, her Built, her Blighs, her Face,

Her winning Carriage, and each charming Grace.

Say, all ye conscious Swains, whose Mark she bears,

Who ring’d her Nose, who notch’d her pretty Ears?

That Mark (says Coridon) assures her mine;

Known for the same of all my other Swine:

A strolling Fancy after Change of Food,

(As we suppose) seduc’d her to the Wood.

Prone are the Sex, old Eson then reply’d,

“Gadding they love, and will not be deny’d.”

In solemn Manner, with a long O――yes,

Three Times in publick I proclaim’d her Loss;

Some Moons past o’re, she came all lean and weak,

Her Hair an end, a Yoke about her Neck;

And young Ones had,――tho’ I ne’re heard ’em

Her well-known Mates with grunting Joy express’d

Her safe Return, and recogniz’d the Beast.

The O3r 101

The Beast is mine, says Collin, in a Heat,

With Life and Fortune I’ll the Cause debate:

She stray’d from my Back-side; and I can prove

I found her feeding in the neighbouring Grove.

My Wife affirms it too, as well as I,

Who, tho’ she’ll scold a little, scorns to lye:

Let Law decide; I’ve Witnesses enow;

The Cost be Coridon’s, and mine the Sow.

Law, Law, he cry’d, and summon’d up a Force

Of sturdy Swains, cou’d swear a Man’s a Horse:

Some knew her from a Pig, and said no more;

But others knew the Creature long before.

Nay, then,—says Coridon, ’tis Time for me

To right my self; ’tis but a Lawyer’s Fee.

“On, on, the Lawyers cry’d, you both are right;

One sues for Justice, t’other out of Spight:

Charge will prove a Trifle in the End,

And glorious is the Cause, you both defend!

A helpless Female wrong’d to this Degree,

What Man of Honour can with Patience see?”

My Witnesses, says Coridon, are few,

They’ll take no Bribe to swear the Thing that’s true,

There’s O3v 102

There’s old Dame Gillian lives at yonder House,

Who wisely has reserv’d some kindred Souse,

And kindly in the Chimney given it Place,

E’re since it ceas’d to ornament the Face;

On harness’d Dobbin she’ll for me appear,

And justify the Mark on either Ear.

I fear you not, says Collin, nor will give

My Title up to any Man alive;

We soon shall know who has the best Pretence,

Since there is Law, and I have some odd Pence.

Loud were their Threats, on both Sides Friends

To ease their Pockets, and retrieve the Swine.

Thus the contending Chiefs in Days of Yore,

Prepar’d the Battle on the Grecian Shore;

While the fair Cause did all her Charms display,

And with one Smile, could influence the Day.

Qua- O4r 103


Of all the foolish Things which Women do,

Which (by the way) we know are not a few,

My great Aversion is their Game Quadrille,

Of which no Woman ever had her fill:

All other Whims they like by Starts and Fits;

But this, their lasting Inclination hits.

See the grave Matron crawling from her Prayers,

Sit down to Cards with Beaux, Coquets, and Airs,

Pore on Spadil, and for the Vole prepares.

Nay, little Miss, in hanging Sleeves and Bib,

Has all the Terms of this black Art so glib;

None ask if she can either read or spell,

Since she knows Mattador’s ’tis full as well.

The married Lady, tho’ her Spouse make one,

Has a fair Chance to play the Game alone;

Or changing Hands, the kind Gallant may prove

The Ruler of her Pocket and her Love.

There O4v 104

There was a Time, bless’d be those happy Days!

When Women spent their Hours in diff’rent Ways;

When the fond Husband found his Wife at Home,

And Virgins had not learn’d perpetually to roam;

Conscious that Vertue added to their Charms,

Gladden’d the Parent, warm’d the Husband’s Arms;

Ispir’d the Lover with a Flame so true,

That every Beauty doubl’d to his View:

But, now! without Reserve, the Sexes meet,

Parties of Scandal some, and some to cheat.

All modest Freedoms every Female takes,

And trusts her Character to Fops or Rakes:

Fresh, as the blooming Rose, the Nymph sets forth,

Loses her Vertue, e’re she knows its Worth.

The P1r 105

TheProphet Jonah.

On Sylvan Scenes and Pastoral Delights,

Ambition’s restless Course or bloody Fights,

On Friendship’s Falsehood, or of Love decay’d,

The perjur’d Swain or the forsaken Maid,

My Muse no more will waste her tuneful Breath;

But Earth’s vain Trifles to the Earth bequeath.

Too long (alas) she did her Song confine;

Wou’d now aspire, and aim at Things divine.

Thy Aid, Urania! first, I humbly ask;

Without thy Aid, unequal is the Task;

Thou in celestial Song dost still delight;

My Pen attends, Goddess do thou indite.

Sing of the Man, who did from Tarshish fly,

And sought t’evade th’Almighty’s Embassy:

Weak Supposition! Can the Seas divide

Thee from that God, whom thou hast disobey’d?

So thinks the audacious Sinner, who goes on,

And justly meets the Wrath he strives to shun.

P A P1v 106

A soothing Calm the Ocean’s Bosom grac’d,

When from the Shore the Prophet made such haste;

From sinful Nineveh, a pleasing Gale

Gave a soft Motion to their spreading Sail;

Bright shone the Sun, and distant Coasts appear’d,

To which with Joy the busie Ship-men steer’d;

The Rebel Prophet thought himself secure,

And safe from his avenging Master’s Power,

Lay down to Sleep, and all his Cares gave o’re.

But, lo! that Mighty, that Eternal Lord,

Who rules the whole Creation by his Word,

With dark’ning Clouds, o’re-spread the azure Skies,

And boisterous Winds, from their pent Caverns rise;

At his first bidding, Winds and Seas obey’d;

And Man’s Neglect of his Commands upbraid.

Man! who his glorious Maker’s Image wears,

And such an Affluence of his Bounty shares,

Yet most Remiss in Duty, still appears.

Loud Thunders roll, and the blue Lightnings fly;

The Seas ferment, the Waves run Mountain high;

The Storm increases, Sea-men toil in vain;

And all despair, the wish’d for Coast to gain:

They P2r 107

They strive to rule th’ unwieldy Bark no more;

Let fly their Cordage, and their Gods implore.

While sullen Jonah they awake, and cry,

Who art thou, Man, that thus compos’d canst lie?

What, and from whence? insensible! to sleep

Admist the Dangers of th’ inraged Deep;

Call on thy Gods, if any God thou own;

More powerful he, perhaps than those to us are

Hark, how the Surges beat the constant Shores;

How the Wind rises, and the Tempest roars!

The cheering Sun from our Horizon gone,

Leaves us the Conduct, of the pale-fac’d Moon;

Whose Light dependant, gathering Clouds obscure;

And not one Star attempts to show its Power!

Hark, how the Thunders burst the swelling

Behold! the Lightning scorch our tatter’d Shrowds!

Wide yawns the Deep, just ready to devour;

Call on thy God! immediate Help implore,

E’re Death and Hell, receive us to their Power.

P2 Agast P2v 108

Agast and shudd’ring, up the Prophet rose;

And guilty Fear in every Action shows;

Silent, amidst th’ amazed Crowd he stands;

Lifts up his Eyes and wrings his trembling Hands.

Oh, wretched Caitif! they cry’d aloud,

Thou’rt by some angry Deity pursu’d;

Thy Life must ransom ours, and Lots shall show

If we mistake the Criminal, or no.

Then all approach to stand the fatal Proof,

And bound themselves by Oath to fling him off

Into the raging Main, who shou’d be prov’d,

The Cause for which all Nature thus was mov’d.

On Jonah, Guilty Jonah! fell the Chance;

Then up to Heaven, in Praise their Hands advance:

Which done, with speed they fling the Prophet o’re;

The Seas grew calm, and soon they reach’d the

What art thou Man, that darest with Heaven

Knowest thou his Power, yet willingly offend?

Mercy abus’d, Judgment must next assume,

Or saucy Man, would to the last presume.

Yet, P3r 109

Yet, on Urania! Mercy ever wakes,

And of repentant Tears Compassion takes;

Tho’ in the great Abyss inclos’d he lay,

That glorious Attribute, had found a Way,

To give him back to Light, and Peace, once more;

And land him safe upon the destin’d Shore.

On Part of Psalm the cxxxixth.


Thou,Lord, do’st search my secret Soul,

Through every dark Recess;

Observ’st what darling Passions rule,

And where they most distress.


The latent Seeds of Vice to Thee

Perspicuously appear;

Long e’re their full Maturity

Thou seest the Poyson there.


About my Path, about my Bed,

Omniscience deigns to wait;

Knows P3v 110

Knows every Thought, and every Tread,

And what shall be their Fate.


This animated Lump of Clay,

Which must be Earth again,

Was accurately form’d by Thee,

For lasting Joy or Pain.


Presumptuous! when I dare aspire

These Wonders to explore,

My bounded Reason, does retire,

And humbly I adore.


If insincere my Language flow,

The Fraud is known to Thee;

Then whither must thy Creature go,

From such a Scrutiny?


If I attempt the Heavens to scale;

There is the Throne of God:

If in Despair I fly to Hell;

There, his avenging Rod.

8. If P4r 111


If with the Wings of Morn I fly,

And in the Deep remain;

There I shall meet thy piercing Eye;

Even there, Thou canst sustain.


Darkness, as thick as Egypt’s Curse,

Cannot thy Day obscure;

At thy Command the Clouds disperse;

And own Almighty Power.


Whilst thus dependent Beings stand,

In every Part display’d;

O, let thy All-assisting Hand,

Be every where my Aid.

A Fare- P4v 112

AFarewelto L―― Park.

Belov’d of Phœbus! Favourite of the Nine!

Oh, Sydney! could my Pen but copy thine:

The fam’d Arcadian Plains and shady Groves,

Joy of the Shepherds, Scene of Royal Loves,

In this small Compass shou’d a Rival find;

With equal Charms to sooth the pensive Mind.

Lovely Inclosure! Circle of Delight!

To what untainted Pleasures you invite?

Say, Sylvan Powers! the joyous Hours that past,

When Sylvia was by Stella’s Friendship grac’d!

How oft have we, on these green Banks reclin’d,

Reciprocally eas’d each other’s Mind?

When Joy was Her’s, Sylvia had double Share;

And generous She divided all my Care;

With balmy Friendship laid my Woes to Rest,

And hush’d the wild Disorders of my Breast

But Stella’s gone; nor she, nor I to blame;

Our Stars have differ’d—we are still the same:

I must Q1r 113

I must, my Friend, to her own Worth resign;

Virtue, like her’s, shou’d universal shine.

High born, yet humble, affable, sincere,

Fine Sense, strict Piety, all meet in her:

Unjust such Treasure to monopolize!

But who, unmov’d, can give up all their Joys?

Ye chearful Plains! ye ever pleasing Shades,

Well known Recess when ought my Peace invades;

Ye verdant Vales, ye slow ascending Hills,

Ye Carpet Walks, ye little murmuring Rills,

Tall nodding Elms, and Shrubs which gently move,

When fanning Zephyr whispers through the Grove,

And all ye feather’d Kind, who tuneful sing

Your faithful Loves, and the returning Spring,

Enjoy your Loves—enjoy the fragrant May;

Adieu to all; my Stella is away.

March on majestick Herd; and o’re the Lawns,

In usual Safety lead your tender Fawns;

May no malignant Planet blast your Food;

Nor Mid-night Rapin shed offenceless Blood:

Q No Q1v 114

No spiteful Elves, which but for Mischief wake,

Rouze your fond young Ones from their native

Lords of this sweet Inclosure! jocund play;

Adieu to all――my Stella is away.


Coridonand Menalcas.


See, Coridon, the Sun-burnt Swains haste

And to the Folds our bleating Flocks are come,

The Kine have fill’d the Pail and to the Meads
are gone.

The sweaty Labourer, weary with Employ,

Now quits his Work, and wishes to enjoy

Th’ unenvied Morsel he has earn’d to Day:

While Q2r 115

While lengthning Shades, the cautious Beauties

To taste the Air and share our rural Sport;

In Pairs the chosen Lovers tread the Green;

There’s Thyrsis, with the much-lov’d Sylvia seen;

Alexis, here, with charming Nissa walks,

Of Love when absent sings, when with her talks.


How oft, Menalcas, underneath this Tree,

Have thee and I, from Love and Business free,

Enjoy’d the Mid-day Sun, and Evening Breeze,

Improv’d our Friendship, and indulg’d our Ease;

’Till the May Garland Amarillis grac’d,

And ’twas thy Hand the fatal Chaplet plac’d:

I saw her blush, yet conscious of Desert,

To merit that, and every Shepherds Heart.

Didst thou not mark, how all the Maids look’d

To see her Brow become the Wreath so well?


Ah, Coridon! our Hearts so much the same,

By Friendship made, now perish in one Flame:

Q2 ’Twas Q2v 116

’Twas then my Heart an unknown Measure beat;

Reason retir’d, and Passion took its Seat:

Insensible to all the Means of Cure,

Thou seest me now Love’s raging Calenture.


I in soft Notes have strove to gain her Heart,

In dying Numbers did my Griefs impart;

“Inanimates from Sounds so soft have shown

The Force of Musick, and ’tis she alone,

That’s more inflexible than Trees or Stone.”

Not Ovid’s tender Lines, with great Apollo’s Lyre,

Can change the Maid, or Thoughts of Love inspire;

The fleeting Air returns the melting Strain,

Nature and Art exert themselves in vain.


I love to Madness, great as thine, fond Youth;

Have the same Raptures, equal thee in Truth;

But in my Breast the God a Tyrant reigns,

I, while I scorn his Empire, wear his Chains:

Her Pride, with Pride I meet, and wou’d repel

With Force, the poyson’d Arrows which I feel.

An Q3r 117

An abject Sufferance I cannot bear,

To kneel and sue, and after all despair!

But, like an injur’d Wretch, her Steps I trace,

Call Vengeance down on her bewitching Face;

Insulting Beauty is the Theme I chuse,

Erynnis’ Rage inspires my angry Muse:

Proud Amarillis, on each Bark you see

Stands deep ingrav’d, with matchless Cruelty;

Like Marks at Sea, to warn advent’rous Man,

T’ avoid her Eyes, and certain Ruin shun.


Ah! hold Menalcas, this Way turn thine Eye,

A Star more bright than Hesper’s gliding by;

Look through yond Glade, her Beams like Day

And the Sun sets in vain while she is near.

Stay, Amarillis――


――Let the vain Thing go on;

Why should we wish to be yet more undone:

Stay, till thou canst a real Cause assign,

How Fire and Frost, how Heat and Cold combine;

How Q3v 118

How when her Eyes, like scorching Meteors glow,

Does her chill’d Heart congeal to Ice and Snow!

Know’st thou from whence the fair Destroyer came?


From Ætna sure; her Composition flame.


Rather a Native of the frigid Zone,

Where one eternal Winter still is known;

Where bleak North Winds bind up the barren Soil,

Where Nature never once vouchsaf’d to smile;

Where plenteous Crops ne’re blest the Tiller’s

Gay Spring, or fruitful Summer, ever nam’d:

No odorous Flowers, nor wholesom Shrubs are

But Heaven’s first Curse possesses still the Ground;

There, in that starving Clime, the Maid was born,

Her savage Breast no Passion knows but Scorn.

To Q4r 119

To Amanda. OnScandal.

Can that celestial Spark, thy generous Soul,

Admit Disturbance from each Knave and Fool?

Drop thy Resentment, and thy Virtue raise,

Beyond the Reach of sublunary Praise:

Scandal! that dear Regale of little Minds,

Where the most conscious Entertainment finds,

Like some foul Meteor, blazes for a Time,

Then falls to Earth, and vanishes in Slime.

Our Actions must not center in the Name

Of that most common Jilt, call’d Common Fame;

Whose noisy Tongue no Reputation spares,

Extempore repeats what e’re she hears;

Fixes on Innocence pestiferous Bane,

And leaves successful Villany to reign.

No, my Amanda! never let thy Peace

Depend on such Uncertainties as these;

Dare to be singular, where Vice prevails;

Truth will subsist when the Detractor fails.

The Q4v 120

The stately Swan when rising from the Wave,

Upon her Breast no Sign of Wet you have;

On your white Name no Soil, by Malice thrown,

Here, or hereafter, shall be call’d your own.

Psalm the xxiiid.

I To the Great Jehova’s Flock belong;

To him address my Prayer, to him my Song:

What e’re my Wants, he has the Power to give;

What e’re my Cares, the Goodness to relieve.

To Meadows fresh with everlasting Bloom,

(An Emblem of those Joys he has to come)

He’ll lead me forth, and at the River’s Brink,

Of inexhausted Streams, will make me drink.

For his own Mercy Sake, he will convert,

My willing, tho’ a weak inconstant Heart;

Tho’ in the Shades of Death a while I stray,

No horrid Fantoms shall my Soul dismay;

Thy Rod shall teach me, and thy Staff support,

Omnipotence shall be my safe Resort;

In R1r 121

In Deserts wide thou shalt my Table spread,

And feed my Soul with Eucharistick Bread,

The Affluence of Grace thou wilt bestow,

It shall, like Ointment, Head and Cup o’reflow:

Within thy Temple shall my Station be,

Blest with thy Mercy to Eternity.

To the Muse.

FFriend to my Peace, thou Object of my Love,

E’re dawning Reason could the Choice approve,

Through every change of Life and Fortune, Thou,

My constant Solace, to this instant Now.

Can’st thou so soon forget my seeming Scorn,

Forgive my Weakness, and with Smiles return?

We, like fond Lovers when they’re piqu’d, resent,

Then feel in Absence mutual Punishment.

By Friends and Foes, forewarn’d I’d often been,

To shun thy Syren Note like deadly Sin;

R Was R1v 122

Was told thy Strains, so wond’rous sweet to me,

To half the World at least want Harmony;

That Criticks no Compassion had in Store,

And Fortune ever gives thy Votaries o’re;

That Nature err’d, when tempting me to sing,

Who never tasted the Parnassian Spring.

Too just Reproof,—then like the tim’rous Maid,

Who loves, and fears to be by Love betray’d,

I banish’d thee, which gave a greater Pain

Than all their spiteful Eloquence cou’d feign.

Frighted, provok’d, yet griev’d, I rashly swore

Thy Soul delighting Charms shou’d sooth no more;

No more advent’rous wou’d my Genius stretch,

To soar at empty Fame, beyond my Reach.

I then at once grew peevish, sullen, wise,

Cou’d even Pope and Addison despise,

And call’d their Inspirations—Fooleries.

’Midst the polite, the trifling, gigling Crowd,

I thrust my vacant self, and laugh’d aloud;

Rally’d th’ absurd Impertinence of those

Who Books and stupid Solitude had chose.

But R2r 123

But—e’re the long, the irksome Day was done,

Oh! how I’ve sigh’d, and wish’d my self alone:

’Tis then the Soul her Heaven born Freedom finds,

Learns its own Worth, and this mad World resigns;

This Farce of Life the World! with some soon past,

Traverse the Stage, and to their Period haste.

Others in larger Characters appear,

With loud Applauses rend the Theatre;

Are blest or curst with all that they desire,

In Splendor enter,—triumph, and retire:

The shifting Scenes no Change of Fortune bring,

Constant to them, tho’ ever on the Wing.

My Scene of Action is the tragick Part,

How e’re perform’d,— I feel it at my Heart;

Taste every Drop of well digested Woe,

And quaff the bitter Fountains as they flow.

Honour, with all her Train of rigid Laws,

Which, like the Diamond, admits no Flaws,

Love, Fear and Pity, war within my Breast,

Active as Whirlwinds, never let me rest.

No Truce with Fortune—nor so mean to stop

At every Toy, which she thinks fit to drop.

R2 But R2v 124

But why, my Muse, shou’d Thee and I complain,

In these still Shades, and Friendship met again?

These conscious Shades, sacred to Love and Thee,

Have tun’d my ruffl’d Soul; and set it free

From galling Spleen, and from corroding Care:

Be only Love and Hope, Attendants here.

O, gently sooth me with thy wonted Charm;

Let lambent Flames my tender Bosome warm:

Collect soft Sounds from each harmonious Thing;

The Soul of Musick, to my Refuge bring;

In Numbers melting as the Mantuan Swain,

Tuneful as Orpheus on the Thracian Plain.

I feel thy Influence, and sweet Peace comes on;

Care flies before thee;—so the rising Sun

Dispels the noxious Mists; what Joy to find

My lov’d Companion to my Wishes kind!

Nature resumes her Bloom, and my past Years

Are in Oblivion lost; a new gay World appears!

Serene the Air, How fresh the Evening Breeze?

Hush’d are the Waves, and murmuring roll the

De- R3r 125

Delightful all! Hark, how the Wood Larks sing!

The bubling Brooks with softer Cadence ring;

Obliging Philomel her Note improves,

Forgets her Woe, and warbles through the Groves:

The rival Songsters flutter all around,

And Eccho lengthens each melodious Sound.

Here fearless Innocence has fixt her Seat,

Queen of all chaste Desires, and calm Retreat;

Without Allay, her Pleasures does bestow,

And, grateful, I confess,—there’s Bliss below:

Thou kind indulgent Muse wer’t ever sure

To ease, what Æsculapius cannot cure.

On R3v 126

On the --01-30xxxth of January.

Whilst shining Characters from Greece or Rome,

By learned Authors, are transmitted Home;

We trace the Glories of each distant Age,

And read with Pleasure the instructive Page.

The gen’rous Soul expands, and ardent feels

The innate Joys, consummate Virtue yields.

But when the Prince, the Patriot, or the Saint,

In every Ornament of Truth they paint,

Let conscious Britain, blushing, make her Claim,

Of all united, in one deathless Name;

And call him Charles,—read him with Candour

You’ll find inimitable Goodness flow;

Pride of his Friends, the Envy of his Foes;

Whose Soul above the common Standard rose.

Undaunted Champion of our Church and Laws;

Impartial Friend, to every noble Cause:

Humble in Royal, Great in Abject State,

As truly Pious as Unfortunate;

Conspi- R4r 127

Conspicuous in thy Actions, all may see,

The Christian Hero perfected in Thee!

Is it too much, with the revolving Year,

To offer for our selves and Thee a Tear?

The Tears thy Virtues and thy Sufferings claim;

The only Tribute we can pay thy Fame.

Tho’ circling Ocean do’s embrace our Shores,

And rich returning Fleets increase our Stores;

Tho’ Theologick Truths are purely taught,

And Civil Sanctions accurately wrought;

Wars dreadful Din, confin’d to foreign Climes,

Reflect, O Britain! on thy Native Crimes;

In all thy Boast of Peace and Plenty, bring

To thy Remembrance, thy Martyr’d King.

Then fell the Saint, the Patriot, and the Prince;

Victim to Honour, and to Innocence:

Erase our Annals, or our Griefs renew,

Give to his Memory, at least, its Due.

From R4v 128

From aSheetofGilt Paper.

To Cloe.

In Days of Yore, Beast, Birds, and Trees,

Exprest their Sentiments with Ease;

They sigh’d, made love, complain’d or rail’d,

As Inclination most prevail’d.

Then bar Surprize;――’twas really so,

Æsop and Ovid swear ’tis true.

In our own Isle, a Brazen Head

Makes probable what they have said;

Thrice that Rhetorically spoke,

And then the fell Inchantment broke.

These Things premis’d, Attention give,

Your Interest ’tis, you shou’d believe:

The Motive’s strong, your Faith extend;

Madam, I call my self your Friend.

From filthy Rubbish, bleach’d with Care,

Press’d, and impress’d, and gilded fair;

Inscrib’d S1r 129

Inscrib’d—To Cloe in her Bloom,

On a Love Embassy I’m come;

Scraul’d o’re with Words of mystick Sounds,

And Hieroglyphick Darts and Wounds,

The neat Produce of genuin Beau,

Ambitious all the World may know,

That the Sun shines, and Cloe reigns;

And He—has nothing in his Brains.

Touch’d with Remorse, tho’ guiltless, I

Approach you with Humility.

A passive Vehicle, I’m made,

How many Hearts have I betray’d?

Forgive th’ Intrusion, lovely Maid!

Cajol’d by Fortune, he presumes

Beauty submits where e’re he comes.

O, set those false Ideas by,

Which Dress and Equipage supply,

You’ll find your Lover means no more,

Than I, who now his Thoughts explore;

Those random Thoughts, which e’re the Post

Reach’d his first Stage, were wholly lost;

S Or S1v 130

Or new vampt up, to Sylvia sent,

To give prolifick Folly vent.

In Pity thus, the Fates decree

You shou’d be undeceiv’d by me.

White as your Hand, I came to his;

Behold the Metamorphosis!

With Lyes and Nonsense slubber’d o’re,

More vile by far, than heretofore,

Take this kind Hint, despise the ’Squire,

And gently lay me――on the Fire.

On S2r 131

OnFriendship. To Aminta.

You talk of Friendship! who were never known

To study any Interest but your own!

No more,—’tis Affectation of a greater Good

Than You, Aminta, ever understood:

Your’s are but Words of course and common Cant;

A sort of running Cash you never want;

Thy little Way of Thinking’s too confin’d

To taste that noble Rapture of the Mind.

A Friend! there’s something sacred in the Name;

’Tis Love and Honour,—a celestial Flame.

By Wealth, by Beauty, nor by Art acquir’d,

Sameness of Soul, by Heav’n alone inspir’d;

It speaks a Creature of most perfect Mould,

Such Poets sung,—and such there were of Old:

The Word’s synonimous,—I apprehend;

And when I name my self,—I mean my Friend.

No sep’rate Interests, no sep’rate Joys,

What chagrins one, the other’s Peace destroys;

S2 Im- S2v 132

Imbib’d from something,—never learn’d in Schools,

Exalted far above meer Nature’s Rules:

Or in the Brother, Sister, Parent, we

Were always sure of this Felicity;

Even in the Nuptial Bed, too oft we find,

An awkward Love and diff’rent Int’rest join’d;

Yet self convicted, that there ought to be,

In every Character, this Harmony,

What fair Pretensions every where are found,

Which, Eccho like, still terminates in Sound.

Can you reprove the Friend you fear to lose;

In private chide those Follies you’ll excuse?

Can you in Grief as well as Pleasure share?

And prove most kind, when Fortune’s most severe?

Unblest by her, abandon’d and forlorn,

My Blossoms wither’d, and my Branches torn,

Obnoxious to the Winter’s Storms, shou’d I,

Like a poor blasted Vegetable, lie,

Dare you transplant me to a happier Soil,

Dispel those Clouds, and chear me with a Smile?

Dare you, in Absence, my Defence presume,

Tho’ Scandal from the Tongue of Greatness come?

At- S3r 133

Attempt, e’vn then, to palliate a Crime,

Which past uncensur’d in my prosp’rous Time?

When the sad Heart discharges all its Woe,

With Pity wipe the Tears which gently flow?

Take the Forsaken to thy gen’rous Breast,

And lull the Broken-hearted to their Rest?

This were a Friend indeed!—You startle now!

I see Reluctance gath’ring on your Brow;

A Damp to your Delights my Cares would prove;

Friendship’s at least, as great a Weight as Love:

No Medium is suppos’d where these prevail;

Who ever lov’d, or serv’d their Friend, too well?

Forbear then, your no-meaning Complaisance,

And frankly own the Offer came by Chance.

Prithee, Aminta, spare dissembling Breath,

Nor, when you write, conclude,—Your Friend ’till

’Tis fulsome Nonsense to a Heart sincere,

And sullies Life’s most radiant Character.

An S3v 134

An Answer to Belinda in the Country.

Dear Belinda.

Neither Business nor Pleasure have took up my

But an Indolence owing to Nature;

Or, to your Request, I had answer’d in Rhyme,

Your whimsical sort of a Letter.

As to Phillis, she’s now in a curable State;

(That Coquet of the latest Edition)

With a lost Reputation, in Spite of his Fate,

She’s married to — the Physician.

Miss Kitty you know is a Prude at Eighteen;

But the Captain her present Pretender,

Declares he so much of that Species has seen,

He’s sure he shall make her surrender.

Com- S4r 135

Compos’d of gay Atomes as wild as the Wind,

With a Heart light as Cork or a Feather;

Young Clody addresses to all Womankind;

Tho’ he care not a Button for either.

As the Butterflies range o’re the blooming Parterre,

And the Grasshopper chirps o’re the Meadow,

He dangles about from the Fair to the Fair,

As unheeded by them as their Shadow.

Poor Sylvio! (the Cause of your scribling to me)

Nay, prithee, don’t blush when I name him,

Is as constant as you can expect him to be,

’Till a Ring and a Licence reclaim him.

For my self, I’ll assure you, I’m free as the Air;

A meer Novice in modern Intrigue:

And humbly confess, shou’d I fall in the Snare,

The Man I like best, is a—Whig.

If you please, you may take my bare Word for all

But if I may with Freedom advise ye,

A S4v 136

A speedy Return wou’d not be amiss,

Lest you hear of such Things as surprize ye.

From this smokey gay Town, to you in the Spleen,

One Secret I needs must impart;

I had rather be saunt’ring with you o’re the Green,

Than here run the Risk of my Heart.

Celadon to the Limner Drawing
His Mistress’s Picture.

Artist, desist, I can no longer bear

The matchless Charms of my relentless Fair;

So nigh the beauteous Life thou dost approach,

I cannot live to bear another Touch.

Ah! set her by, she’s universal Bane

To all who love like me, and love in vain:

Draw the reverse of all that’s fair and good,

T’ expel the dang’rous Poyson in my Blood;

Draw T1r 137

Draw me Zenobia with her antique Face,

Scoring her Eyebrows at the Looking-Glass;

When her Cheeks glow with Wine and lewd

And every Word and Action all conspire

To make us loath the Sex we shou’d admire.

’Tis done,—the outward Form betrays the rest;

At Home a Torment, and Abroad a Jest:

Affecting Youth, fond of a vicious Life,

A rampant Widow, and provoking Wife.

Now to the Flames commit the horrid Piece,

For, O ye Powers! I feel my Pangs increase:

This is a Foil for lovely Womankind,

And adds new Grace to every Face and Mind;

How must it then my Delia’s Charms improve,

Confirm her Empire, and increase my Love?

T Dange- T1v 138

Dangerous Friendship.

To Lindamor.

What mighty Conquest, Strephon’s Arts to

To be by your’s more certainly undone!

Scorch’d with that dang’rous Passion, I withdrew,

The cooler Shades of Friendship to pursue,

And hop’d to find that safe Retreat with you.

But the Unhappy can no Shelter find,

Love is too cruel, Friendship is too kind;

For Sylvia’s Ruin each alike contend,

Perjur’d the Lover, treacherous the Friend.

Thus different Vessels to one Port design’d,

Make their Advantage by an adverse Wind;

(Pyrates at large, you’re all, to Womankind)

To Fortune’s roughest Billows let me be

Expos’d a Prey; from these Destroyers free.

Sad! when the richest Cordials Heaven bestows,

So often prove the Source of all our Woes!

Mis- T2r 139

Misplac’d our Loves, ill chose our Friendships are;

And want of Judgment is our fatal Snare.

Tho’, with much Art, your Sex insinuate

Eve, as the Authoress of the first Deceit,

Observe, at least, how we degenerate;

Those Maxims which long Ages since were known,

To fix weak Woman in Dominion,

Are superseded by your manly Skill,

And we are govern’d now—just as you will:

By the same Instinct that the timerous Hare

Bounds o’re the Lawns, and roughs the Woods
for fear;

The eager Hound pursues, and knows her Turnings

’Tis Nature that; but, oh! ungen’rous Man,

From whose Applause our Vanity began,

Whose servile Worship did the Idol rear,

Then curst it with the Epithet of Fair;

Who gave an Empire of so short Extent,

As makes th’ Ambitious their own Punishment,

Scorn to betray the Goddess you adore;

And shew your Honour, when you shew your Power:

T2 A T2v 140

A Power you dare not for your Hopes assert,

While we have real Interest in your Heart;

To that dark Cavern, we have no Access,

’Till all the Goddess, all the Charmer cease;

’Till then seduc’d, by wand’ring Fires we’re led;

(Unskilful Travellers are so betray’d)

The strong illusive Glair entices on,

Through dreary Wasts and uncouth Paths we run,

While Fancy points the hospitable Dome,

And draws the Veil of Fraud, o’re Years to come;

Shews smiling Love and faithful Friendships wait

To ope’, with ready Hands, the willing Gate.

Flush’d with these Hopes, redoubling every Pace,

Quick, through the Gloom we rush, and meet the
fated Place:

Where Tygers, Scorpions, and Hyenas rest,

And Birds of evil Omen make their Nest;

Where Vultures hover, and where Satyrs stalk,

And mutt’ring Wizards take their Midnight

Not less distrest is th’ advent’rous Maid,

Who trusts designing Man; and is betray’d;

His T3r 141

His the Hyena’s Tears, the Satyr’s Grin,

The Tyger’s Pity, Scorpion’s poyson’d Sting,

With Hell makes contract to disturb our Peace,

Advance false Lights,—then lead us as they please.

Poet Humdrum.

As Humdrum the Poet was shut up in his Garret,

Luxuriously feasting on brown Bread and

He examin’d his Cash for a Pint of small Beer,

To enliven his Muse, and make her sing clear;

But,—as ill Luck wou’d have it, and it was a hard

His Pocket was torn, he had lost the odd Farthing.

He’d a new Sett of Notions, unwilling to baulk,

So call’d over the Way, and bad ’em use Chalk;

He was writing Heroicks, and calling to Mind,

That his old Master Homer was Beggar and Blind,

He invok’d the Nine Muses, and spur’d up his Jade,

(For his Landlady swore she must quickly be paid;)

Then T3v 142

Then applauded his Stars, who had brought it to

He cou’d read his own Lines by the Help of a Glass:

And happy it was, that cou’d give him Content,

For no Soul, but himself, cou’d tell what he meant.

All ye Patrons of Poetry, take my Advice;

All ye mangling Criticks, so curiously nice,

All ye who love Ballads, for the sake of the Rhyme,

Where Words and soft Syllables prettily chime;

All ye Printers and Hawkers so deeply concern’d,

With the whole Class of Mortals we call the Book

Spare, spare your poor Bard, when his Works shall

Let him live, tho’ debar’d Pen and Ink the next

Consider, he scrauls to the best of his Power,

And your Popes or your Granvilles have never done

Re- T4r 143


Welcome, thou silent soft Retreat;

Blessing so oft deny’d the Great!

Welcome, as Ease to Men in Pain;

Or to the Miser, sordid Gain:

Welcome! as the relenting Fair,

Is to her Lover in Despair.

No Wretch, who long by Tempests tost,

Survives the Fright and gains the Coast,

Where Plenty, Peace, and darling Friends,

And every happy Wish attends,

Can feel Delight that’s more sincere

Than what my Soul possesses here.

Time is a Treasure ill bestow’d

Amongst the noisey thoughtless Crowd;

A Jewel of a Price so high,

As Crœsus’ Wealth cou’d never buy.

Great Macedon’s extensive Soul,

Had found One World enough to rule,

T4v 144

If (the Fatigues of Glory o’re)

He’d given himself one thinking Hour.

A Song.


Tell me no more of Love sincere,

Which but with Life shall waste;

I own you promise very fair,

But, oh! you think too fast.


Your Life may many Years contain,

And various Changes know;

E’re half be done, you’ll own how vain,

Were your Pretensions now.


Forbear those Sighs, and rasher Vows;

Reflect upon the Cause:

We can’t of Time to come dispose,

Nor give frail Nature Laws.

The U1r 145

The Request of Alexis.

Give, give me back, that Trifle you despise,

Give back my Heart, with all its Injuries:

Tho’ by your Cruelty it wounded be,

The Thing is yet of wond’rous Use to me.

A gen’rous Conqueror, when the Battle’s won,

Bestows a Charity on the Undone:

If from the well aim’d Stroke no Hope appear,

He kills the Wretch, and shews Compassion there:

But you, Barbarian! keep alive in Pain,

A lasting Trophy of unjust Disdain.

U Modern U1v 146

Modern Love.

And now, fond Love, where is thy boasted

“Those Wounds which neither Time nor Fate
could cure;

Those soft Delusions which the Heart betray’d,

Sighs which could speak, and Tears which could

Romantick Notions of unthinking Youth!

Instill’d with Art, they bear the Stamp of Truth.

The painted Cupid with his downy Wings,

His Bow, his Quiver, those Poetick Things;

His Mother’s Beauty, his un-erring Dart,

As real Mischiefs plague a tender Heart.

Chimera all! they’re in the Poets Brain;

Those idle Triflers teach Mankind to feign.

Theirs the Elysium, they profuse bestow;

And theirs the Stygian Lake which foams below.

Ixion’s Wheel, and Sisiphus’s Stone,

Medea’s Witchcraft, Ariadne’s Crown,

Prome- U2r 147

Prometheus’ Vulture, Tantalus’s Curse,

With tender application, charm of Course.

The vain Theology! by Ovid taught,

When Julia’s wanton Eye, corrupted e’ry Thought;

Their sensual Passion, did the Art improve;

New-nam’d the flagrant Guilt, and call’d it Love.

Mysterious Love! what Langauge can define?

’Tis from the Soul, the Soul from Love divine.

From the same Power, which lends the Lover

And tho’ in Cloe’s Arms can give him Death.

Founded on Virtue, and to Virtue firm;

That the Attractive, That the lasting Charm.

’Tis not the Sally of a loose Desire,

Nor the pale glimm’ring of a Glow-worm Fire;

Not in the Feature, nor the pollish’d Skin,

Th’ intrinsick Jewel must be found within.

’Tis Sympathy of Soul, must Souls unite;

Without that Sympathy, no true Delight.

What Gold cements, by Gold may be dis-join’d;

There is no Interest in the Lover’s Mind.

U2 This U2v 148

This, fair Lucinda, now too well can prove;

Who listen’d to a Tale of Modern Love.

Her Birth, reputed Fortune and Desert,

Worthy the Conquest of an honest Heart:

Num’rous her Slaves, obsequious and sincere,

As by the Sequel, we may well aver.

Amongst the rest, Philander Homage paid;

He lik’d her Fortune—but ador’d the Maid.

Perpetual sigh’d, made Vows, and dy’d away,

Not less than twenty thousand times a Day. The Lady had 20000 l. in the South Sea Stock.

Repeated all the Cant of Passion o’re,

Grew raving, wept and pray’d, and ly’d and swore.

But hold, my Muse, nor tragick Tale prolong;

Take not Example from Philander’s Tongue.

In height of Hopes, fresh blooming every Hour,

Blest with her Smiles, ne’re smil’d on him before;

New plum’d with Hopes, the Beau, with Charms,
the Fair,

(Secure of Bliss, who such a Change can bear!)

Disast’rous Fortune, by a South Sea Blast,

In one short Day, laid all her Beauties waste.

Invi- U3r 149

Invidious Fame, who never wants Supplies,

Found the fond Lover in his Extasies;

At large declares the epidemick Woe;

Lucinda’s ruin’d,—where’s the Lover now?

Her Charms (at once) to his admiring Eye,

Vanish’d, like gaudy Iris, from the Sky:

He felt the thrilling News through every Vein;

His Heart grew temperate, and cool his Brain.

Passion subsides,—bright Reason re-assumes;

He sighs,—is sorry,—and at length presumes,

His Chariot waits,—past Ten, upon my Word!

Madam, your Pardon,—I must meet my Lord.

To U3v 150

To Amoret.

On the Loss of Stella’sFriendship.


My little Flock let Cloe feed,

While Stella I bemoan;

Take thou my Scrip and tuneful Reed,

And then—I’m quite undone.


No Melody the Pipe contains,

I all resign with Ease;

Stella her faithful Friend disdains;

And nothing now can please;


No more retir’d from high Estate,

And its Attendants free,

Will she in some well-chose Retreat,

Converse with humble me.


My wither’d Garland she no more,

Will deck with Flow’rs so gay;

Nor U4r 151

Nor call me forth at early Hour,

To crop the blooming May.


My rural Notes no more can please;

Nor shall the gaudy Sun,

When he his cheerful Light withdraws,

Be thought to set too soon.


Sweet Philomel on every Bough,

May undisturb’d complain;

No more shall we together go,

To hear her charming Strain.


Ye shady Coverts, verdant Meads!

Ye Nymphs and Swains can tell,

’Mongst all Arcadia’s happy Maids,

No two e’re lov’d so well.


How oft at Foot of yonder Hill,

Close by the green Wood side;

Have we observ’d that little Rill,

Do’s o’re the Pebbles glide?

9. So U4v 152


So pure (said she) is Friendship’s Course,

When Hearts like Ours are join’d;

It springs from an immortal Source,

By flowing more refin’d.


But, oh! the Brook’s a Mirror still,

Tho’ Friendship be no more;

Poor Stella’s false against her Will;

Forc’d by some envious Pow’r.

A X1r 153

A Song.


Yes, Celadon, I see it plain,

Your Heart is on the Wing;

You play the Hypocrite in vain,

To say ’tis no such Thing.


The golden Bait has lur’d it hence,

And Delia’s Wealth supplies,

With its potent Influence,

What’s wanting in her Eyes.


Pursue the gilded Butter-fly,

And be a Slave for Life;

You’ll catch a very pretty Toy;

But—an insipid Wife.

X An- X1v 154



Tis false, I never really lov’d;

’Twas Affectation all;

A Woman’s Art, to the height improv’d,

You Inclination call.


An Answer to your kind Address,

Was playing on the Square;

And when we Trick for Trick confess,

I think ’tis very fair.


The Gamester who will throw the Dice,

When he can nothing win,

Must certainly indulge the Vice,

And if he’s damn’d, ’tis out of Choice;

Which aggravates the Sin.

To X2r 155

To Fortune.

Turn, Goddess! turn; reflect on those beneath;

Ease the dead Weight, and let the Wretched breath.

Not Crœsus’ Wealth, nor sar’s Pow’r I crave,

No dang’rous Baits, which may the Soul enslave;

No Lydian Softness, nor no Persian Pride,

Voluptuous Joys I beg to be deny’d;

’Twere to be wretched still, and never know,

Those tranquil Hours, for which I’m wishing now.

Un-envy’d and un-pity’d would I live;

’Tis all I ask, and all I would receive.

By Nature just, benevolent, sincere,

What Luggage these! for Indigence to bear?

Happy the Man! dare with the World contend;

Can risk thy Frown, to serve and bless his Friend;

To help the Weak, to animate the Strong;

Preserve the Innocent, and improve the Young.

These generous Notions, must abortive dye;

Who stops the Fountain, leaves the Channels dry.

X2 Turn, X2v 156

Turn, Goddess! turn; reflect on those beneath;

Ease the dead Weight, and let the Wretched breath.

Strephonto Sylvia.

Sylvia, when you those Symptoms see,

In other Men, which are in me,

Then I’ll give you Leave to chuse;

Which to take, and which refuse.

If to see, when you are by,

Nothing else that gives me Joy;

If when absent not to know,

Whether I’m alive or no;

If my Friends can give no Pleasure;

If (but for you) I scorn all Treasure;

If my Bottle cannot warm me;

If no other Woman charm me;

Then, dear Sylvia, do, believe me,

Such a Love can ne’re deceive ye;

I ne- X3r 157

I never talk’d of Darts and Flames,

Nor call’d you by romantick Names;

All I ever said to gain ye,

Was—I love you best of any:

My very Soul is in your Power;

Sylvia, be kind, and that secure.

On Receiving aLetterfrom a Lady,
I had neither seen, nor heard of, for some Years.

When to my Hand thy friendly Letter came,

It rais’d Emotions, which must want a Name.

Those gay Ideas which in Youth we shar’d,

Those soft Amusements then our chief Regard,

Those calm Delights, which Innocence supply’d,

And all the blissful Hours we then injoy’d,

Rush’d on my Soul, and snatch’d me from my Cares;

And Time, methought, relinquish’d half my Years.

O wond’rous Proof of Love’s resistless Force!

Which will prevail, through Life’s long rugged

Like X3v 158

Like Arethusa wandering under Ground,

The bub’ling Fountain will at length be found;

Whose hidden Streams, as rapid run and clear,

As those expatiating in open Air.

Scanty the Bounds are set to earthly Bliss!

When overflowing, naturally decrease.

Those Transports your unlook’d for Letter gave,

Ended in Pangs, you only can conceive:

Emphatick Sorrow breaths in every Line,

While Love, Joy, Grief, and Pity, all combine,

To wound my Heart, without relieving Thine.

Had the poor Wanderer (as you call it) come,

And Sylvia sleeping lain, within her Tomb,

The Seal broke up by some indiff’rent Hand,

Perhaps some rude ill-natur’d Wit had scan’d;

But if its Destiny had thrown it, where

Good Sense, and soft Compassion have a Share,

The tender Sentiments, in some Degree,

Had wrought the same Effects they do in me.

Where have you been? and where has Sylvia slept?

What persevering Star our Friendship kept?

Long X4r 159

Long Absence, and long Silence always prove,

The Bane of vulgar Friendships, vulgar Love;

But You and I, so early took the Bent,

Yielding that Way, now meet in full Consent.

Officious Fame, so prodigal of Breath,

Has kept your Secret as the Shades of Death,

And left the curious World, in vain to guess,

What happy Climate you thought fit to bless;

And, as a greater Prodigy, my Heart,

Wanted the Instinct, Friendship shou’d impart;

Or in that Solitude you now reveal,

You’d found a Friend cou’d all your Sorrows feel:

Could Sigh for Sigh, and Tear for Tear repay,

Hear thy sad Tale, and mourn the live-long Day.

Unhappy Mortals! tho’ divinely led,

With Inadvertency we seem to tread;

Nor can extend one Thought so far, to know,

Why Inundations of Misfortunes flow;

Weak Reason’s shallow Ford we search in vain,

In Doubts and endless Errors still remain:

Yet watchful Providence conducts with Care;

Proportions to our Strength, the Weight we bear;

Or X4v 160

Or Thee and I Constantia, long ago,

Had sunk beneath accumulated Woe.

How much more wretched, we might both have

Possest of all we wish’d, of all we lov’d!

One Refuge yet remains for every Ill;

(Submission to the Great Disposer’s Will.)

There Safety dwells; thither let us retire;

’Twill bring at last, the Peace we both desire:

And may that Peace, be antedated here;

Averted be those Ills you seem to fear:

And, oh! may I this ample Wish obtain,

To see my dear Constantia smile again;

’Till then—let Paper Embassies supply

Fewel to Friendship, which can never dye.

Such Fewel! as may warm and raise the Soul,

To Regions far beyond the distant Pole;

No crack’ling Blasts, fan’d by gay Fancy’s Wing,

(They end in Vapour, and from Follies spring)

But let right Reason dictate every Line,

Glow in each Breast, in all our Actions shine.

The Y1r 161

The Play call’d The Bondman being Revis’d
and Publish’d by Mr. Row some Years since,
the following
Prologue and Epilogue
Were Written in the Country for the Diversion of a

The Prologue.

An Age of Criticks this! where all contend,

Who first, shall damn those Lines they cannot

We—come prepar’d; nor fear your solemn Censures;

These Lines have past the Pikes, before your Grandfires.

You’ll say, alass! we have a diff’rent Gout,

And what was Wit with them is Nonsense now.

That’s very hard upon our quondam Betters;

For some of them (’tis said) were Men of Letters.

Beside, you’ll say, you pay a better Price;

And ought to have your Entertainment Choise:

Y If Y1v 162

If their good Natures could contented sit,

And think their Twelvepence well bestow’d, is’t fit,

You pay more Money for the self same Wit?

For once, be plain,—is’t Wit and Sense you follow,

When with such Care you dress for Punchinello?

Can it be Wit, and Sense, that you are seeking,

When you spend Hours to hear Italian Squeaking?

―― No, this will never do;

’Tis the dear Novelty, that rules your Purse;

If new, ’tis worth your Time, and Cash of Course.

Knowing your blind Side, makes us hope, at least,

To please one Night, with an old Play new dress’d;

Here’s nought to make the Ladies look askew;

And very little which reflects on Beau;

Some Hints there are, which might the Age improve,

There’s some Morality, and a World of Love.

Epi- Y2r 163

Epilogue to the same Play.

Spoke by Timandra.

That I have play’d my Part, you’ll all allow,

Both for my self, and for my Brother too;

Had we sat wringing of our Hands at Home,

And like forsaken Turtles made our Moan,

My faithless Lover in his Sins had dy’d,

And I liv’d all my mournful Days—a Maid.

Cleora’s dreadful Vow, still makes me shake;

When once such swinging Ones we Lovers make,

How great is the Temptation then, to break!

Yet she persisted; which methinks was strange;

Since e’re perform’d—her Inclinations change.

But outward Objects banish’d, wise Men say,

The Intellects injoy a brighter Day;

And she in those dark Hours both Causes try’d;

Love turn’d the Scale, and gave it on our Side.

You Ladies thought me wond’rously resign’d,

That to a Rival cou’d appear so kind;

Y2 And Y2v 164

And you, gay Sparks, believ’d Pisander so,

Who had her in his Power,—yet let her go.

Young Tarquins all, you wou’d have seiz’d the

And by that means have spoilt a harmless Play.

These Lovers, all liv’d in a peaceful Nation,

In Days of candid, cool Consideration;

When Men in Earnest, valu’d Moderation.

While dull Morality was much in Use;

And Folks for doing Ill, made some Excuse.

When Love, was really Love, and Honour too;

Which was, you’ll own, a many Years ago.

Ne’re call it a Reflection on the Age,

We vamp old Plays to furnish out the Stage;

As well may we condemn your Dresses now;

For some of them, about that Time, were new.

And, oh! the Air of Ruff and Fardingale,

Shou’d Quality but wear it in the Mall.

The Art of pleasing long, we can’t attain;

Where all the Men are false, the Women vain.

Proteus himself wou’d all his Skill disown,

E’re be a Slave to this fantastick Town:

Par- Y3r 165

Pardon a Woman’s Spleen—’tis quickly over;

Consider, I had almost lost my Lover!

The charming Sex will for my Fault attone;

If they’ll be pleas’d to make my Case—their own.

Then Rakes, and Beaux, and Bullies do your worst,

And if you dare—begin the Quarrel first.

Phillisto Amoret.

Prithy tell me, Amoret,

Why that Look of sad Distress;

Hast thou lost thy Paraquet?

Or has thy Husband lost his Place?

Hast thou broke a China Dish?

Or has the Coachman broke his Neck?

At Ombre hast thou lost a Fish?

Or lies thy Character at Stake?

Hast Y3v 166

Hast thou lost thy prat’ling Boy?

Or has Miss Tabby lost a Chit?

Has little Veny gone Astray;

That thus Disconsolate you sit?

What Tears! Nay then, thy Gown’s ill made.

Perhaps—a Quarrel with your Spouse.

Or, is your favourite Monkey dead?

Or quite burnt down the Mansion House?

“These, ’tis like, might equal move me;

But, I’ll tell you all, my Dear;

Celia, last Night, was plac’d above me!

Such a Tryal who can bear.”

On Y4r 167

On a very Pretty Young Lady, an everlasting
Talker, and very Ill-humour’d

There need not those forbidding Frowns,

On beaut’ous Cynthia’s Brow;

She has a Tongue—which deeper wounds,

Than e’re her Eyes can do.

The Acids in her Blood to cure,

Wou’d baffle all Great Galen’s Skill;

What Mortal wou’d the House endure,

If Cynthia wants her Will.

The Roaring of Vesuvius’ Flames,

Are Symphony, compar’d;

Wou’d lull, like soft Meander’s Streams;

Nor, when she talks, be heard.

Short is the Triumph of her Face;

Tho’ tempting as the Hesperian Tree:

Her Tongue supplies the Dragon’s Place;

And is Mankinds Security.

Cloe Y4v 168

Cloeto Aminta.

On the Loss of herLover.


Tell—dear Aminta, now ’tis over,

How came you, to lose your Lover?


Tell me, first, how I obtain’d him.


O, ’twas Youth and Beauty gain’d him.


My Youth and Beauty still remain;

Yet, you see, I have lost the Swain.

Ah! my Girl, the Thing’s too certain;

Th’ Pangs he felt, were for my Fortune.

Why—five and forty—thousand—Pound!

Had given the Great Mogul a wound.

The Mighty Czar, had He been living,

Had thought the Present worth receiving.

But—that delightful South-Sea Scheme;

That charming, warming, golden Dream,

Which Z1r 169

Which made so many Fools and Knaves;

And left so many well-bred Slaves;

Fell to the Depths from whence it came;

And quench’d at once his tow’ring Flame.

On theDeathof MyDear Brother;
Late of University College, Oxford.
Who Dy’d Young.

Mournful the Night! with utmost Horror

Which told my trembling Soul, that thine was fled.

To Sense ’twas dreadful, Nature cou’d not bear

So great a Breach, nor the sad Tidings hear,

Without the Symptoms of a wild Despair.

’Twas then I lost, a Brother and a Friend!

What poinant Grief, must such a Stroke attend?

Tho’ as prophetick of so short a Date,

His Soul was disciplin’d, to meet his Fate,

Yet my Distress no Mitigation finds;

That Blessing is reserv’d for stronger Minds:

Z Minds Z1v 170

Minds like his own, who can extend their View;

Sit loose to every transient Good below,

Rise to ætherial Joys, and the bright Track pursue.

Wond’rous young Man! thou early blooming Good,

Snatch’d hence, e’re half thy Virtue’s understood.

In useful Learning, what swift Progress made!

How soon the tender Parents Care repaid.

His toward Genius did with Ease attain,

What some by long Fatigue have sought in vain;

Strict were his Morals, his Address polite!

Wit, Judgment, and Humanity, unite

To make his Loss esteem’d, as infinite.

Ah! faint Description, of a Worth so great;

This a short Sketch, th’ Original compleat.

Like some Noviciate, I attempt to show,

Those Lines a Master Hand wants Skill to do:

Who can paint Souls? or trace to Realms of Light,

Spirits prepar’d, to reach that glorious Height.

’Twas Heav’n, not Death, that ravish’d him away,

For such Perfection never can decay.

The Z2r 171

TheComplaintof theShepherd Adrasto.

A Pastoral.

Tho’ the bright Nymph whom I adore

Forsakes the myrtle Shade,

Alass! it is not in my Power

To shun the lovely Maid.

She’s in my Heart, my Soul, my Brain,

My daily Thought, my Dream,

Her dear Idea still will reign;

She’s every where the same.

When by some rash unlucky Hand,

The Twig receives a Wound;

It kills at first, or will expand,

And on the Tree be found.

That Storm alone, which shakes the Fruit,

Rends the Branches, rives the Root,

Th’ Impression can remove;

Own my Laura, prithy do,

’Tis so with Hearts in Love.

My Ashes only can deny,

To cruel Curiosity,

Z2 “With Z2v 172

With taunting Smile, or pitying Tear,

To point the Wounded, or the wounding Fair.

Thus sung Adrasto to his oaten Reed;

The Sun was down, and all his Flocks at feed;

Descending Dews fell silent on the Plain;

Sweet smelt the Thyme, and sweetly sung the

The Wood Nymphs charm’d, forgoe their eager

And conscious Philomel her wonted Place;

Rememb’ring well how fatal the Dispute,

What Numbers fell on the contending Lute;

When Emulation swell’d each little Throat,

And broke a Heart, for every melting Note:

Constrain’d she sat in the adjacent Wood;

While the wild Satyrs, by his Voice subdu’d,

With savage Pleasure grinn’d, and softly trod,

As apprehensive to incense a God.

All, all was calm, but in the Shepherd’s Breast,

There perjur’d Laura wou’d admit no Rest.

Laura! no more the Pleasure of the Plain,

But Laura now, the Fickle and the Vain;

By Z3r 173

By some unhappy Influence had stray’d,

And left the purling Streams and peaceful Shade.

Had seen great Towns, since first she heard his Tale,

Where artful Courtships, artful Charms prevail.

Had glitter’d in the Boxes and the Ring,

Seen Harlequin, heard Faranelli sing,

Refin’d her Taste, and her own Charms survey’d,

Heard her self call’d the lovely rural Maid;

The Rounds of Vanity, new form’d her Mind,

Debas’d her to the worst of Womankind.

While gay young Fops with neither Love nor Truth,

Blust’ring for Honour, tho’ a Foe to both,

Had in her fripp’ry Heart such Havock made,

Love rais’d the Siege, and gave the Shepherd Aid.

His Empire scorn’d, the little Deity,

Swore by his Dart, she was more blind than he;

Disdain’d a Heart, no Merit cou’d ingage,

Unbent his Bow, and left her in a Rage.

Each Pow’r compassionates Adrasto’s Wrong,

Pleas’d with his Truth, and soften’d by his Song;

Gave blooming Phebe to the Shepherd’s Arms,

Equal their Virtues, equal were their Charms.

A Z3v 174

A Song.

Made by ――, on her Resolution to Leave off
the Vanities of Dress.

To the Tune of, The Green Willow.


Gaudy Trappings here I leave ye,

Tarnish’d Beauty to adorn;

All the Charms which you can give me,

Vary like an April Morn.


Daphne when Apollo woo’d her,

Knew no Art the God to please;

Her Hair thus flowing, he pursu’d her,

She scorn’d such idle Toys as these.


’Twas not with a sparkling Jewel

Helen won the Trojan Swain;

Love subsists by other Fewel,

Will by other Methods reign.

4. Tir- Z4r 175


Triumph, Youth! and Triumph Nature,

Welcome honest rural Grey!

Love alone improves each Feature,

Love can every Charm convey.

A Song.


On Cloe all my Hopes were bent,

Forgive me, mighty Jove!

I thought the Flame from thee was sent;

But find it mortal Love.


Her wand’ring Heart no Charms can fix,

No Truth her Soul reclaim;

With all the Beauties of the Sex,

She’s Faults I blush to name.


Yet is my Passion so sincere,

So fondly dotes my Heart,

Ra- Z4v 176

Rather than lose the worthless Fair,

With all the World I’ll part.


Why when her Eyes I chance to meet,

Must mine to Fountains turn?

Not rather the false Nymph forget,

And pay back all her Scorn.


Nor Pride, nor Reason bring Redress,

There’s Magick in her Face;

I cannot, wou’d not, love her less,

In spight of my Disgrace.


If ’mongst Mankind, one Heart there prove,

So weak, so true as mine,

Let it from Cloe’s Charms remove,

Or all its Peace resign.

The Aa1r 177

TheHero. ABallad.

On a YoungGentleman’sReturn from Flanders.

When Clody the valiant return’d from the War,

So spiteful was Fame his Laurels to blast;

Because in his Face he had never a Scar,

She presum’d he ne’re went, till the Battle was

The Hero perceiving his Honour at Stake,

In Dread of the Odium Thersites sustains,

In a Hurry of Thought, expos’d his bare Back;

And at the same Time, discover’d his Brains.

Nor Glory, nor Profit, but a charming red Coat,

Had allur’d the young Puppy to make a Campaign;

The Sound of the Drum put his Courage on float;

Which the Noise of the Cannon, soon settl’d again.

Aa That Aa1v 178

That Part of Command which proclaim’d a Retreat,

Was Musick the sweetest, that ever he heard;

He shew’d the Activity prone to his Feet,

And the Wound on his Back his Character clear’d.

Now he raves at Dame Fortune, a B— and a Wh––e,

And swears ’twas wrong Conduct to rally so soon;

When next he takes Leave of the old British Shore,

Will push for Preferment, in the World in the

O ye brave Sons of Mars! who for Glory contend,

And dare venture to march tho’ the Weather is

In the midst of a Skirmish your Features defend,

There’s nothing, my Lads, in the Breath of Parole.

Lines Aa2r 179

Linesoccasion’d by the Burning of someLetters.

Not all pale Hecate’s direful Charms,

When Hell’s invok’d to rise in Swarms;

When Graves are ransack’d, Mandarrakes torn,

And Rue and baleful Nightshade burn,

Cou’d give that torturing racking Pain,

These magick Lines did once obtain;

There’s not a Letter in the Whole,

But what conspir’d to wound the Soul.

But, now! the dread Inchantment’s o’re;

The Spell is broke, they plague no more;

’Twas only Paper dawb’d with Art;

Could such a Trifle gain a Heart?

Obstruct the Peace of early Life,

And set the Passions all at Strife?

Admit no Cure, till Time eras’d

The fond Ideas Fancy plac’d?

Aa2 Com- Aa2v 180

Combustible, I’m sure you are;

Arise, ye Flames! assist me Air!

Wast the vain Atoms to the Wind;

Disperse the Fraud, and purge Mankind.

The fatal Reliques, thus remov’d,

Do’s Celia look like one who lov’d?

Who durst her future Peace repose,

On Vows, and Oaths, and Toys like those.

Fallacious Deity! to Thee

The Guilt, and the Simplicity;

Who thought such Cobweb Arts cou’d bind,

To all Eternity, the Mind?

When Honour’s fled, thy Flames expire,

And end in Smoke like common Fire.

Thus the intangl’d Bird set free,

Finds treble Joy in Liberty:

Her little Heart may throb and beat,

Nor soon the Danger past, forget:

Dread Aa3r 181

Dread to forsake the safeguard Wood,

And shun a-while, the cristal Flood;

But, with the next returning Spring,

Retire to Shades――you’ll hear her sing.

To Mr. ―― after a Denial from his Mistress.

So fell Phaeton from the Sky,

Who strove the fiery Steeds to rule;

The vain Attempt undid the Boy,

And none lament the Fool

As your Ambition was no less,

We’re not surpriz’d at your Success.

What hair-brain’d Planet rul’d your Fate,

To aim at Cloe’s Heart?

She looks, she reigns, she kills in State;

And minds no Mortal’s Smart:

A haughty Beauty, so well known!

The Toast, the Joy, the Plague of all the Town.

Poor Aa3v 182

Poor Lysander――think again,

Move in a lower Sphere;

Cloe’s Love you’ll never gain,

She—bilk’d a Garter and a Star!

The gentle Reins of soft Desire,

Can never, manage Air and Fire.

The Sad Shepherd.

A Song.

By the Side of a Pond,

Alexis the Fond,

Laid him down at the Foot of a Willow;

His Bed was a Stone;

For Grass there was none;

And the musty damp Moss, was his Pillow.

The Rain and the Wind,

Beat before and behind;

And the Frogs were all Croaking about him;

But the Pangs in his Breast,

Kept the Shepherd from Rest;

Much more than the Evils without him.

Ah, Aa4r 183

Ah, Phillis! he cry’d;

Is’t Aversion or Pride,

That’s the Cause of your Lover’s Despair?

Tho’ so Charming to Me,

Perhaps no other He,

Will think you a Maiden so fair.

For Love we know’s blind;

And to Mischief inclin’d;

He shoots not an Arrow in vain.

Tho’ now ’tis my Turn,

Thus hopeless to Burn;

There’s Vengeance in Store for Disdain.

The Aa4v 184

The Wish.

If Mortals may presume to Wish,

And lay their Schemes for Happiness;

Propose to sweeten Human Cares,

And gently wast their number’d Years;

Propitious Heaven! my Prayer permit,

Yet grant what Portion thou thinks’t fit.

While rival Princes Crowns defend,

Glory the Motive, Pow’r the End:

While Fate determines who’s the Slave,

And who the bandy’d Ball shall have,

From factious Strife let me retire;

Un-scorch’d by wild Ambition’s Fire.

Where warlike Sounds ne’re reach’d the Ear;

Nor Echo can the Clangor bear:

The sad Distress, the Vanquish’d feel,

For ever from my Breast conceal;

There’s not a tender Fiber there,

But must in their Misfortunes share.

I ask Bb1r 185

I ask no Wealth, but to provide,

For Nature’s Use, without its Pride;

Something with Pleasure to impart,

To ease an honest akeing Heart;

Beneath an humble cleanly Roof;

Convenient, but yet Envy-proof.

Inclos’d by Hills and flow’ry Meads,

Where e’en the Brute in Safety feeds:

One Friend select, whose Heart I trust,

Who true to Me, will love my Dust.

Not Rome, in all her State, and Trim,

Tho’ Titus wore the Diadem,

E’re gave a Laurel could dispence,

The Joys are found in Innocence;

What cou’d intrude to hope or fear?

What Ills, could gain Admission here?

Impartial Conscience cou’d no Terrors bring;

Life know no Pain, nor Death no Sting.

Thus, on Salona’s peaceful Plain,

His Crown contemn’d, dismiss’d his Train,

Great Diocles knew first, to live and reign.

Bb The Bb1v 186

The Shepherd’s Daughter.

An humble Imitation of Chaucer’s Tales, as told
by Mr. Dryden.

Far from the Court where curst Ambition

Where Merit starves, and Villians prey on Fools;

Far from the noisie, busie, factious Town,

With all its Follies, which the Wise disown;

Where yet soul Scandal no Abetters found,

To give the Innocent a secret Wound,

Dwelt poor Palemon, as old Stories tell,

Near Cypress Groves, and in an humble Cell.

A tight warm Cottage to keep out the Cold;

Some fertile Vines, and an un-envy’d Fold,

Was all his Store; except the Fair Clemene,

Who for her sprightly Dancing on the Green

With one Consent, was chose the Shepherd’s Queen.

This was their Law, that she who danc’d the best,

Shou’d win the annual Crown, from all the rest.

And Bb2r 187

And Laws with them, were counted sacred Things,

None durst dispute, corrupt them, or infringe.

’Twas her Prerogative alone, to chuse

Whom to reward, and whom she wou’d refuse.

Beneath a well-spread Beach she kept her Court,

Where every Nymph and Shepherd did resort,

While she gave Rules to all their rustick Sport.

No injur’d Nymph, or well-deserving Swain,

E’re made Appeal to fair Clemene in vain:

For fair she was,—and as my Authors tell,

She, in those Days, did every Nymph excel.

Palemon’s Joy all Parents must allow,

He saw her Virtues, with her Beauties grow;

Immensely rich he thought himself in her,

His greatest Blessing, and his greatest Care.

To Heav’n his aged Knees were daily bow’d,

To have the choicest of its Gifts bestow’d

Upon the beauteous, the deserving Maid;

And she with tender’st Duty, all his Cares repaid.

’Twas thus they liv’d, of every Good possest,

Which in reality, could make Life blest;

Bb2 Till Bb2v 188

Till in the midst of May, one pleasant Eve,

(The first that they had ever cause to grieve)

Rob’d all in White, her Garland fresh and gay,

Came bright Clemene, to see the Shepherds play;

A Train of Nymphs stood waiting all around,

While her fair Hand held forth the Laurel Crown.

The Custom was the Laurel Bough to place

Upon that Shepherd she thought fit to grace,

For his sweet Notes upon the Oaten Reed;

And happy was the Swain that should succeed:

Each tun’d his Pipe, with utmost rural Skill;

And each perform’d his Roundelay so well,

’Twas hard to know, if either did excel.

But young Philaster did the Prize obtain,

A Youth, who long had sigh’d the lovely Maid to

Peculiar Favours none had e’re receiv’d;

But he so happy was to be believ’d.

In moving Phrase he did his Passion tell,

He sung, he pip’d, he danc’d,—did all Things well;

And she, without a Blush, his Flame might own,

For in the Lad a thousand Graces shone.

But Bb3r 189

But Fame, who idly round the World does roam,

Had took her gadding Wings, and told at Rome,

The unlearned Graces of the lovely Maid,

And every Secret of her Bliss betray’d,

Spoke loud her Praise, then did her Fate deplore,

In Beauty only rich, in Fortune poor.

This heard, young Delphio, and his Heart grew

Resolv’d to see what could at Distance charm.

A nearer View, he thought, might bring Relief;

Of Roman Lords he was esteem’d the Chief:

Polite in Manners, and of Form compleat,

In Arts and Arms inimitably great;

Made to be lov’d, and wanton as the Wind,

A fond Admirer of the Female Kind.

Unknown to all, the Court he bid adieu,

And with a Lover’s Speed to fair Clemene flew.

That Hour arriv’d, when innocent and gay,

Admist the harmless Troops that grac’d the May,

She sat well pleas’d, and gave impartial Heed

To the soft Melody of every Reed.

Love Bb3v 191

Love (not remiss) his Eyes directed right,

And fills his Soul with Wonder and Delight,

Diana thus, among her Nymphs was known;

(Superior Graces did Clemene crown)

Gazing he stood some Time, then on the Grass

He threw himself, near where Palemon was;

Complain’d to him, that he had miss’d his Road,

And now belated, far from his Abode:

He beg’d his hospitable Care that Night;

A sober Guest, and wou’d the Deed requite.

There needs not, says Palemon, a Return,

To serve our fellow Creatures we were born;

Humanity obliges, ’tis your Due,

I shou’d expect, young Man, the same from you;

If gilded Roofs and costly Fare you’ll wave,

To what you find you shall a Welcome have.

And now the Flocks began to want their Care,

And to their Homes the jolly Swains repair;

The pretty Arbitratress smiling rose,

And wills ’em all, to hasten to Repose.

Observing Delphio yet had ’scap’d her View,

The Throng was great, and she had much to do,

Till Bb4r

Till with Palemon, to conduct the Fair,

The noble Stranger took her to his Care;

She blush’d, as tenderly he touch’d her Hand,

He sighing begg’d, she wou’d his Life command.

As o’re the verdant Meads they past along,

The Dews of Hybla oyl’d his flatt’ring Tongue:

No more, ye Powers! let me in Courts no more,

Supinely vain, Fame, Power, and State adore;

Those artificial Joys no more can please;

Ye Gods! send me Delights un-mixt like these,

Which you, fair Shepherdess, with happy Swains,

And their kind Nymphs enjoy on flow’ry Plains.

No more he spoke, his Eyes declar’d the rest,

Whilst her’s unwonted Pleasure too confest.

The Way not long, they to the Cottage come,

Where good Palemon bad them welcome Home;

His niggard Fortune had not starv’d his Soul,

He cou’d dispense as he were born to rule,

And knew a cheerful Freedom better Fare

Than costly Viands with Confinement are.

We pass their Evening Chat and nightly Rest,

The Pleasure of the Host, and of their Guest,

And Bb4v 192

And only tell you that with early Day,

They all arise to celebrate the May.

The noble Roman their Employ wou’d share,

He cropt fresh Nosegays to adorn the Fair,

With her made Vows for a propitious Year.

That done, a handsome Present wou’d bestow,

But old Palemon wou’d not that allow;

The Honour done his Cottage was enough,

So brave a Youth ne’re slept beneath his Roof:

Then took reluctant Leave, and o’re the Plain

They saw his bounding Steed gain Ground amain.

He reach’d the Mountains Top, then slack’d his Pace,

And turn’d once more to view the happy Place;

There lives the charming Maid who blest these Eyes,

There, there, she dwells, th’ inamour’d Roman cries.

Hark their sweet Lays, the Shepherds now begin,

And now they pay Obeysance to their Queen.

See! when she comes, the Graces disappear;

Defective Beauties all, when she is near.

Happy the Nymphs who lead her to the Grove,

How blest the Man who shall enjoy her Love!

’Twas Cc1r 193

’Twas thus he talk’d,—then sudden turn’d again,

To look once more on the delightful Plain;

And can I quit that Prospect? charming Shade!

Forsake those Plains,—and that distracting Maid!

But one Look more,—that drew another on,

He sigh’d, then wept, and cry’d I am undone,

Let my Stars finish what they have begun.

Rome’s lofty Tow’rs less glorious now appear,

Alass! I cannot find Clemene there.

Not the shrill Trumpet, Honour’s Call to War;

Tho’ now the distant Sounds salute mine Ear,

Can move my Soul; Ambition sleeps, and Love
alone will rule,

Love gives me Laws, no Reason can controul,

I must—I will the beauteous Maid obtain;

Let Cassius fight, and let Octavius reign.

Then, says my Tale, he bad farewel to Rome;

Turn’d his proud Steed, resolv’d to seek his Doom,

And try the utmost Force of Love and Art,

To gain Admission to Clemene’s Heart:

Her Heart, where Love already had a Friend,

Apt to perswade, and powerful to contend;

Cc Who Cc1v 194

Who mourn’d his Absence, as she knew his Flame;

Her Hopes, her Fears, her Wishes were the same.

He’s gone, she says, the noble Stranger’s gone;

The Blessing, transient as a Winter’s Sun,

Blest me too late, forsaken me too soon,

He must to Empire, and to Crowns be born,

Whom Nature’s so industrious to adorn!

No homebred Shepherd, at the Feast of Pan,

When he his best Attire, with Care, puts on,

The God to honour, and the Fair to please,

Cou’d e’re subdue a Heart with so much Ease.

In artful Courts he’s practis’d to deceive

Those unlearnt Maids who shall his Vows believe.

What would my Heart? why do these Thoughts

Disturb my Peace, and haunt my Solitude?

The Cause is gone; and now in gaudy Courts,

To some beloved She, perhaps, resorts;

And thinks of me no more: ’Twas thus she talk’d,

As by pale Cynthia’s Beams she pensive walk’d.

(Evil the Omen) Delphio then arriv’d;

And had, to meet her in that Grove, contriv’d;

The Cc2r 195

The Transports either felt, let those reveal,

Who know the Passion, and once lov’d as well.

’Twas then he told how much he did contemn

The Roman Pomp, and sar’s Diadem;

His own high Birth, his Pow’r and early Fame.

Then Female Nature did its Force exert,

And taught Clemene’s Tongue t’ oppose her Heart.

But Delphio, skill’d in the bewitching Sex,

Knew with how much Reluctance they perplex

A gay young Lover, sighing at their Feet;

And Stratagem, with Stratagem, cou’d meet:

With Patience heard the Fair his Conduct blame,

And vow she never wou’d allow his Flame;

Who took Advantage of her humble State,

And press’d so rudely on her lov’d Retreat.

Is this well done? oh, noble Youth, be gone,

Leave me, to just Resentment, here alone.

Forgive me then, said the admiring Youth,

Earth, Air, and Seas, be witness to my Truth!

Those glitt’ring Lights which make the Night so fine,

Can hardly boast a Flame more pure than mine.

Cc2 ’Tis Cc2v 196

’Tis Love’s magnetick Force which brings me here,

And from your Lover what have you to fear?

Go, gentle Youth, she cries, (if I have Power)

Where Glory calls, and think of me no more;

Contented with his chosen Country Life,

Palemon means me for a Shepherd’s Wife;

If Inclination do my Duty join,

Delphio, despair; for I can ne’re be thine.

That word Despair, had struck the Roman dumb,

But he perceiv’d how on her fault’ring Tongue,

In almost dying Sounds the Accents hung.

He saw with Transport—what she cou’d not hide,

That Love with Duty did her Soul divide;

And strove t’ improve the first with all his Heart;

To make a perfect Conquest of her Heart;

Nor did he long contend,—for now his Care,

Was how to fix his Habitation near,

Where he unknown to old Palemon might

With lov’d Clemene hourly bless his Sight.

Part of a Cottage the next Day he took;

Hir’d half the Land, and bought a little Flock:

A Cc3r 197

A Shepherd’s Weed puts on, and on the Green,

With Crook and Scrip, and rural Toys was seen;

Wholly transform’d to all but his Clemene.

He soon improv’d in all their past’ral Care;

And learn’d by Rote the Shepherd’s Kalendar:

Could carve the Beechen Bowl, and pip’d such Lays,

As swelling Envy was oblig’d to praise.

She seem’d surpriz’d, while her inclining Heart,

With Pleasure felt Love made him so expert;

The foreign Foe that inbred Traytor joyn’d,

And every adverse Star against her Peace combin’d.

His rustick Garb took nothing from his Air;

There’s no disguising of the Young and Fair.

Thus when Apollo in Disgrace did keep,

’Mongst simple Swains, the King Admetas’ Sheep;

He ow’d their undesigning Tempers more,

For his Concealment, than his mighty Pow’r.

The Stranger Swain was every Muses Theme;

The Shepherd’s Wonder, and the Maiden’s Dream:

Not one fair She, but with repeated Vows,

Kind Heaven entreated to be made his Spouse.

In- Cc3v 198

Indeed he talk’d of Hymen’s golden Joys;

But, oh! that was put on with his Disguise;

Those sanctimonious Tyes long since disclaim’d,

But to amuse and gain Belief, were nam’d;

Ambitious to possess, and unconfin’d,

Lay Beauty waste, then wander as the Wind:

The little God ne’re gain’d so much before,

To make him three long Moons the same fair Maid

As she in Charms excell’d, in Falshood he;

Unequal Match! ’twixt Truth and Perfidy.

Affected Virtue made Palemon free

To use him with a friendly Liberty;

Nor saw the Roman through the homely Weed,

Nor knew what Mazes subtle Lovers tread;

To his Brunetta’s Arms he came sincere,

From Youth to Age he lov’d, and only her;

Stranger to Fraud, his unsuspecting Soul

Gave Delphio room to court without Controul.

Unhappy Fair! here draw the Cyprus Vail;

Her Garland wither’d,――and her Cheeks look’d

God- Cc4r 199

Goddess! Protectress of the Virgin Train,

Bear’st thou the Silver Bow and Shaft in vain,

How ’scap’d false Delphio thy discerning Eye,

Or wer’t thou charm’d too, by his Flattery?

Not less reserv’d was our deluded Fair,

Left in the Bloom of Youth to black Despair.

Ingratitude! thou Monster of the Earth!

’Twas the infernal Shades which gave thee Birth,

The first black Crime, the last to be forgiven,

Abhorr’d below, no Int’rest in Heaven:

’Gainst thee the generous Mind no Fence provides,

To all benevolent,—in all confides.

Is there Necessity each hapless Maid,

Who gives a Heart, shou’d be so ill repaid?

Have the weak Sex no Maxims to elude

The natural Bent of Man’s Ingratitude?

Then weak they are indeed, and curst be he,

Who triumphs over Imbecility.

Tell thou, Melpomene, the next sad Scene;

Thou hast Companion to Philaster been;

In darksome dreary Nights to thee alone,

The so fond Youth oft made his piteous Moan.

No Cc4v 200

No Tongue but thine, pretend to tell his Pain;

Who ’spy’d the Rival in the treach’rous Swain,

His infant Hopes he hourly saw decrease;

Nor durst complain,—but dy’d of the Distress.

Upon a flow’ry Bank th’ ill-fated Maid,

Early one Morning found her Lover dead;

Wrote with his Blood upon his faithful Breast,

These few short Lines th’ unhappy Cause exprest:

Cruel Clemene! Love so true as mine,

Not ev’n to Delphio will its Rights resign;

Ask your own Heart if I deserve my Woe,

Who without you can find no Joy below.

She look’d with Horror on the bleeding Wound,

And too much Guilt in her own Bosom found;

Swift o’re the Mead th’ affrighted fair One flew,

So swift, she scarce brush’d off the Morning Dew;

Thought every Step Philaster must pursue.

Breathless and panting to the Cottage come,

She hop’d to find a Comforter at Home;

There all Confusion reign’d, for now ’twas known,

The Stranger Shepherd, from his Flock was gone;

Had Dd1r 201

Had left his simple Weed, and did declare,

He had no longer any Business there;

That Glory was his Mistress; and the Charms

Of Beauty should give Place to those of Arms.

Heaven saw the recent Fact, nor wou’d forgive;

What Right, have such vile Caitiffs to live?

T’infect the ambient Air which fans the Grove,

And wrong a Passion so sublime as Love!

The base Ungrateful was no sooner fled,

But Thunders roll o’re his devoted Head;

Incens’d Astrea hurl’d a fiery Dart

(Mortal the Wound) to his perfidious Heart:

Fal’n from his Steed, the Furies plunge his Soul

In direful Styx, where wretched Spirits howl.

As thus my mournful, dol’rous Lines go on,

Let either Sex, exempt from Hearts of Stone,

Wipe the becoming Tears, and make one Character
their own.

Palemon sunk beneath his Weight of Woe;

Clemene’s Ruin gave the fatal Blow.

Dd Re- Dd1v 202

Remorse, Despair, Distraction tore her Breast,

Love, Duty, Pity, Scorn, her Soul opprest:

Distrust and Terror seize the Nymphs and Swains,

And general Consternation fills the Plains.

Diana rag’d, Love drooping slack’d his Bow,

And rival Venus did Compassion show!

The Graces fled who did the Maid attend!

Conscious how ill they could their Charge defend.

No more the sportive Youth their Revels keep;

Dispers’d to Grottos in Retirement weep:

Neglected Flocks at Random feed all Day;

At Night unfolded o’re the Mountains stray.

The smiling Goddess Peace no more is seen;

And every Maiden shun’d the lost Clemene;

Fell Execrations rest on Delphio’s Name,

The Blot of Honour and of Roman Fame.

On solid Stone, and lasting Oak you’ll read,

Engrav’d by Shepherd’s, the inglorious Deed;

From that black Æra, back they count their Cares,

Their Shepherd’s Falshood, and their Virgin’s Tears.

Hence, Dd2r 203

Hence, thou Deceiver! whosoe’r thou art,

Dread Delphio’s Fate, as due to thy Desert;

Boast not of Honour, Pow’r, or noble Blood;

By virtous Actions all are understood.

Be cautious all ye Fair, nor trust too soon;

For tho’ my Tale bear Date so long agone,

Beauty retains the same attractive Pow’r;

And Man’s—at least as false as heretofore.



  • Page 5, Line 20, instead of bitter, read little Span.
  • P. 9, L. 15, r. At the Name,&c.
  • P. 10, L. 16, instead of Pent, r. Pert.
  • P. 178, L. 14., r. Breach of Parole.