• For if a Lady comes to Town to fee
A Lady; Tales are pretty Company.
I was at Madims t'other Day, and who
Do you think came by, but Bellamira Whow!
Tawdry at Fifty, and a perfect Blowze:
Lord! had you seen her Dress, and large white Fruze,
You wou'd have split your Sides with Laughing Cuz
No more of this. Infirmities will be
In Age, in Youth, in Rags and Quality.
Affected Looks, soft Smiles, and winning Air,
And wrinkled Age attempting to be fair
Are common Follies: but the greatest still
Is unreform'd of ever speaking ill.
_ Do not ill Actions merit publick Shame ?
But you talk not to mend, but to defame.
Would you have all without Diftinction pass?
Virtue Good-natur'd is, and ever was,
Severe unto it felf alone, and the
Lessens the Credit of her Worth to me,
Whose Fame wants the support of others Infamy.
Suspect the Woman, when no Fear's upon her,
That starts, and claps her Hand upon her Honour
Who in all Companies I'm chafte cries out,
Till what we never doubted of, we doubt.
Who for nice Reasons blasts another's Name,
The most cenforious are the most to blame.
Guilt clears the Sight, with a difcerning Eye
Naked, we others Nakedness descry.
But furely I may talk of what I hear:
To make the Lewdness of this Town appear,
And how unjust their groundless Cenfures are,
You know what has been faid of Betty Feast,
The common Scandal, and the common Jeft;
And yet there's not a Person to be found
In Town Discreeter, or more Grave, or Sound.
I hope you will not Cousin her defend.
'Tis hard; yet any Thing in hopes to mend.
But I've my News from Mr. Such-a-one,
Ne're trust a Man that never dines at Home,
For fuch Invent to make an equal Treat;
They feed you with Discourse, you them with Meat.
Must then all pleasant Conversation fail,
And dull Good-nature above Wit prevail ?
Excellent Proof of Wit indeed! to rail.
Week Malice tinctured with little Sense,
And a gay, nauseous, chearful Confidence
Make up the wretched Compound: I despife
Injurious Nonsense founded upon Lyes.
And this when your engag'd, your selves you own,
A Hellish Lye! but what won't this damn'd Town.
You with much Truth, and much Concern exclaim
And yet at once you practice what you blame.
At this Rate, half the Town would filent fit.
Sophronia.
Can you want Compass for your boafted Wit?
When dying Reputations every where
Lye bafely wounded, and demand Repair?
Hast when the Breath of a good Name is gone,
In vain you seek to find a Cure. There's none.
But now my Business calls me Home, adieu.
Good Night. There's no one fond of such as you.
-Credulity, or t'e Inconstancy of Mankind.
FOR the dull World most Honour pay to those
Who on their Understanding most impose. First Man creates, and then he fears the Elf, Thus others cheat him not, but he himself; He loaths the Subftance, and he loves the show, You'll ne'er convince a Fool, Himself is so: He hates Realities, and hugs the Cheat, And still the only Pleasure's the Deceit. So Meteors flatter with a dazling Dye, Which no Existence has but in the Eye. At distance Prospects please us, but when near, We find but desart Rocks, and fleeting Air. From Stratagem to Stratagem we run, And he knows most who latest is undone. Mankind one Day ferene and free appear, The next, they're cloudy, fullen, and severe: New Paffions, new Opinions still excite, And what they like at Noon, they leave at Night. They gain with Labour, what they quit with Eafe, And Health, for want of Change, becomes Disease. Religion's bright Authority they dare, And yet are Slaves to fuperftitious Fear. They Counsel others, but themselves deceive, And tho' they're cozen'd still, they still believe
The Infirmary, or Diseases.
NIGH the Recefs of Chaos and dull Night,
Where Death maintains his dread tyrannick Sway
In the close Covert of a Cypress Grove,
Where Goblins frisk, and airy Spectres rove,
Yawns a dark Cave, most formidably wide;
And there the Monarch's Triumphs are defcry'd.
Confus'd, and wildly huddl'd to the Eye,
The Beggar's Pouch, and Prince's Purple lye.
Dim Lamps with fickly Rays scarce seem to glow,
Sighs heave in mournful Moans, and Tears o'erflow.
Old mouldring Urns, pale Fear, and dark Distress,
Make up the frightful Horror o'the Place.
Within its dreadful Jaws those Furies wait,
Which execute the harsh Decrees of Fate.
* Febris is first. The Hag relentless Hears,
The Virgin's Sighs; and fees the Infant's Tears.
In her parch'd Eye-balls fiery Meteors reign;
And restless Ferments revel in each Vein.
Then† Hydrops next appears amongst the throng,
Bloated, and big, she flowly fails along.
But like a Miser, in excess she's poor;
And pines for Thirst amidst her wat'ry Store.
Now loathsom || Lepra, that offenfive Spright,
With foul Eruptions stain'd, offends the Sight.
Still deaf to Beauty's foft perfuading Pow'r,
Nor can bright Hebe's Charmsher Bloom fecure.
Whilft meager † Phthifis gives a filent blow;
Her Stroaks are sure; but her advances flow.
* Feaver, † Dropsy, H Leprosy, Consumption.
No loud Alarms, nor fierce Affaults are shown:
She starves the Fortress first; then takes the Town.
Behind stood Crouds of much inferior Name,
Too num'rous to repeat, too foul to Name;
The Vassals of their Monarch's Tyranny:
Who, at his Nod, on fatal Errands fly.
Colonel Codrington to Sir Samuel Garth, on his Difpenfary.
ASK me not, Friend, what I approve or blame,
Perhaps I know not why I like, or danın;
I can be pleas'd; and I dare own I am.
I read thee over with a Lover's Eye,
Thou hast no Faults, or I no Faults can spy;
Thou art all Beauty, or all Blindness I.
Criticks, and aged Beaux of Fancy chaste;
Who ne'er had Fire, or else whose Fire is past,
Must judge by Rules what they want force to taste.
I wou'd a Poet, like a Mistress, try,
Not by her Hair, her Hand, her Nose, her Eye;
But by fome Nameless Pow'r to give me Joy, c.
ANGER in hafty Words or Blows,
It felf Discharges on our Foes,
And forrow too finds fome Relief
In Tears, which wait upon our Grief:
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