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The Royal Malady should rest unknown,
Both for her Husband's Honour, and her own..
But ne'erthelefs fhe pin'd with Difcontent;
The Counfel rumbled till it found a Vent.
The thing the knew fhe was oblig'd to hide;
By Int'reft and by Oath the Wife was ty'd;
But if fhe told it not, the Womin dy'd.
Loath to betray a Husband and a Prince,
But the muft burft, or blab; and no Pretence
Of Honour ty'd her Tongue from Self-Defence.
A Marfhy Ground commodioufly was near,
Thither the ran, and held her Breath for fear,
Left if a Word the fpoke of any Thing,
That Word might be the Secret of the King.
Thus full of Counfel to the Fen fhe went,
Grip'd all the Way, and longing for a Vent:
Arriv'd, by pure neceffity compell'd,
On her Majestick Marrow-Bones fhe kneel'd:
Then to the Waters-brink fhe laid her Head,
And, as a Bittour Bumps within a Reed,
To thee alone, O Lake, fhe faid, I tell
(And as thy Queen command thee to concealy
Beneath his Locks the King my Husband wears,.
A goodly Royal pair of Affes Ears:
Now I have eas'd my Bofom of the Pain.
Till the next longing fit Return again.


Dryden from Chaucer


A Country Life..

HOW Sacred and how Innocent
A Country Life appears,

How free from Tumult, Difcontent,
From Flattery or Fears!


This was the firft and happieft Life,
When Man enjoy'd himself;
'Till Pride exchanged Peace for Strife,
And Happiness for Pelf.

'Twas here the Poets were infpir'd,
Here taught the Multitude;

The brave they here with Honour fir'd,
And civiliz'd the Rude..

That Golden Age did entertain
No Paffion but of Love;

The Thoughts of Ruling and of Gain
Did ne'er their Fancies move.
None then did envy Neighbour's Wealth,
Nor Plot to wrong his Bed :-
Happy in Friendship and in Health,
On Roots, not Beafts, they fed.
They knew no Law nor Phyfick then,
Nature was all their Wit.

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And if there yet remain to Man
Content, fure this is it.

What Bleflings doth this World afford
To tempt or bribe Defire ?.

Her Courtship is all Fire and Sword,
Who would not then retire?
Then welcome dearest folitude,
My great Felicity;

The' fome are pleas'd to call thee rude,
Thou art not fo, but we.

Them that do covet only Reft,
A Cottage will fuffice:

It is not brave to be poffeft
Of Earth; but to defpife.
Opinion is the rate of Things,
From hence our Peace doth flow;
I have a better Fate than Kings,
Because I think it jo..


When all the ftormy World doth roar,
How unconcern'd am I?
I cannot fear to tumble lower,
Who never could be high.
Secur'd in these unenvy'd Walls:
I think not on the State,
And pity no Man's Cafe that falls.
From his Ambition's Height..
Silence and Innocence are fafe;
A Heart that's nobly true
At all thefe little Arts can laugh,
That do the World fubdue.
While others Revel it in State,
Here I'll contented fit,

And think I have as good a Fate:
As Wealth and Pomp admit.
Eet fome in Courtship take Delight,
And to th. Exchange refort;
Then Revel out a Winter's Night,
Not making Love, but Sport.
Thefe never know a noble Flame,
'Tis Luft, Scorn, or Defign,
While Vanity pays all their Game;
Let Peace and Honour mine.
When the inviting Spring appears,
To Hide-Park let them go;
And, hafting thence, be full of Fears
To lofe Spring-Garden fhow.
Let others, nobler, feek to gain
In Knowledge, happy Fate,
And others bufy them in vain,
To ftudy Ways of State.
But I refolved from within, -
Confirmed from without,.
In privacy intend to fpin
My future Minutes out;


And from this Hermitage of mine:
I banish all wild Toys,

And nothing that is not Divine,
Shall dare to tempt my Joys.
There are below but two Things good,
Friendship and Honefty,

And only thofe, of all, I would
Ask for Felicity.

In this retir'd and humble Seat,
Free from both War and Strife,
I am not forc'd to make Retreat,
But chufe to spend my Life.

Mrs. Philips

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HOW weak a Star doth rule Mankind,

Which owes its Ruin to the fane

Caufes, which Nature had defign'd
To cherish and preferve the Frame !

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As Common Wealths may be fecure,
And no remote Invafion dread;
Yet may a fadder Fall endure.

From Traytors in their Bofom bred:


So while we feel no Violence,

And on our active Health do trust, A fecret Hand doth fnatch us hence,. And tumbles us into the Duft..



Yet carelefly we run our Race,
As if we could Death's Summons wave,
And think not on the narrow Space
Between a Table and a Grave..


But fince we cannot Death reprieve,
Our Souls and Fame we ought to mind,
For they our Bodies will furvive,
That goes beyond, this ftays behind.


If I be fure my Soul is fafe,

And that my Actions will provide
My Tomb another Epitaph,
Then that I only liv'd and dy'd

So that in various Accidents

I Confcience may and Honour keep;
I with that Eafe and Innocence
Shall dye, as Infants go to fleep.

Mrs. Philips.


Few Happy Matches.

By the Reverend Mr. Wats.

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SAY mighty Love, and teach my Song,-
To whom thy fweeteft Joys belong,
And who the Happy Pairs,

Whofe yielding Hearts and joyning Hands,
Find Bleffings twifted with their Bands,
To foften all their Cares.

2. Not

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