To wish their vile resemblance may remain ;
And stand recorded at their own request,
To future days, a libel or a jest!

Else should we see your noble pencil trace Our unities of action, time, and place:

A whole compos'd of parts, and those the best,
With every various character exprest:
Heroes at large, and at a nearer view;
Less, and at distance, an ignobler crew.
While all the figures in one action join,
As tending to complete the main design.

More cannot be by mortal art exprest;
But venerable age shall add the rest.
For time shall with his ready pencil stand;
Retouch your figures with his ripening hand;
Mellow your colours, and imbrown the tint;
Add every grace, which time alone can grant;
To future ages shall your fame convey,
And give more beauties than he takes away.

[race.

TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM. Farewell, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think, and call my own; For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike. To the same goal did both our studies drive; The last set out, the soonest did arrive. Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place, Whilst his young friend perform'd, and won the O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the smoothness of thy native tongue. But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line. A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betray'd, [prime, Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their Still shew'd a quickness; and maturing time [rhyme. But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of Once more, hail, and farewel; farewel, thou young, But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd.)

The lovely Thais, by his side,

Sate like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
(Such is the power of mighty love.)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god:
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd:

And while he sought her snowy breast:
Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, [world.
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;
A present deity, they shout around:

A present deity the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace

He shews his honest face:

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes.
Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain;
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again; [the slain. And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew The master saw the madness rise; . His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he Heaven and earth defy'd, Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse,

Soft pity to infuse:

He sung Darius great and good,

By too severe a fate,

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,

And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With down-cast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smil'd, to see
That love was in the next degree:
"Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble,

Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying.

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying. Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the Gods provide thee.

The many rend the skies with loud applause;

So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again:

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.

Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.

Hark, hark, the horrid sound

Has rais'd up his head:

As awak'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, he stares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries;

See the furies arise;

See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unbury'd remain
Inglorious on the plain:
Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew.

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

THE SECULAR MASQUE.

Enter JANUS.

JANUS. Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace. An hundred times the rolling sun Around the radiant belt has run

In his revolving race.

Behold, behold the goal in sight,

Spread thy fans and wing thy flight.

Enter CHRONOS with a scythe in his hand, and a globe on his back; which he sets down at his entrance.

CHRONOS. Weary, weary of my weight,

Let me, let me drop my freight,

And leave the world behind.

I could not bear,

Another year,

The load of human-kind.

Enter Momus laughing.

MOмUS. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well hast thou done,

To lay down thy pack,

And lighten thy back;

The world was a fool, e'er since it begun :
And since neither Janus,nor Chronos, nor I,

Can hinder the crimes,

Or mend the bad times,

'Tis better to laugh than to cry.

Cho. of all three. 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. JANUS. Since Momus comes to laugh below,

Old Time begin the show,

That he may see, in every scene,

What changes in this age have been.

CHRONOS. Then, Goddess of the silver bow, begin. [Horns, or hunting music, within.]

Enter DIANA.

DIANA. With horns and with hounds I awaken the day,

And hie to the woodland walks away;
I tuck up my robe, and am buskin'd soon,
And tie to my forehead a wexing moon.
I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox,
And chace the wild goats o'er summits of
rocks.

With shouting and hooting we pierce
through the sky,

And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the

cry.

Mars has look'd the sky to red;
And Peace, the lazy good, is fled.
Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly;

The sprightly green,

In woodland walks, no more is seen; [dye.
The sprightly green has drunk the Tyrian

Cho. of all. Plenty, peace, &c.

MARS.

Sound the trumpet, beat the drum;

Through all the world around,

Sound a reveille, sound, sound,
The warrior God is come.

Cho. of all. Sound the trumpet, &c.

MOмUS. Thy sword within the scabbard keep,
And let mankind agree;
Better the world were fast asleep,
Than kept awake by thee.

The fools are only thinner,

With all our cost and care;
But neither side a winner,
For things are as they were.
Cho. of all. The fools are only, &c.
Enter VENUS.

VENUS. Calms appear, when storms are past;
Love will have his hour at last:
Nature is my kindly care;

Mars destroys, and I repair:

Take me,

take me, while

you may,

Venus comes not every day.

Cho. of all. Take her, take her, &c.
CHRONOS. The world was then so light,

I scarcely felt the weight;

Joy rul'd the day, and love the night.
But since the Queen of Pleasure left the
I faint, I lag,

And feebly drag

[ground,

[To Mars.] Thy wars brought nothing about;

[To Venus.] Thy lovers were all untrue.
JANUS. "Tis well an old age is out,
CHRONOS. And time to begin anew.
Cho. of all. All, all of a piece throughout;
Thy chace had a beast in view;

Thy wars brought nothing about;
Thy lovers were all untrue.

'Tis well an old age is out,
And time to begin anew.

[Dance of huntsmen, nymphs, warriors, and lovers.]

THE COCK AND THE FOX.

FROM CHAUCER.

There liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow somewhat old, and very poor:
Deep in her cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A simple sober life, in patience, led,

And had but just enough to buy her bread:
But huswifing the little Heaven had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.

The cattle in her homestead were three sows,
An ewe called Molly, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour window stuck with herbs around,
Of savoury smell; and rushes strew'd the ground.
A maple-dresser in her hall she had,

On which full many a slender meal she made;
For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat;
According to her cloth she cut her coat:
No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat:
A sparing diet did her health assure;
Or, sick, a pepper posset was her cure.
Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle-light to bed:
With exercise she sweat ill humours out,
Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout.
Her poverty was glad; her heart content;
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely cheer:
Brown bread, and milk (but first she skim'd her
And rashers of sing'd bacon on the coals. [bowls),
On holy days, an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reach'd to roast.

A yard she had with pales inclos'd about,
Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead, liv'd, without a peer
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer;
So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of the cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And sooner than the matin-bell was rung,
He clapt his wings upon his roost, and sung:
For when degrees fifteen ascended right,
By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night.

High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattled like a castle wall;

His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet;
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet:
White were his nails, like silver to behold,
His body glittering like the burnish'd gold.
This gentle cock, for solace of his life,
Six misses had, besides his lawful wife;
Scandal, that spares no king, though ne'er so good,
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood;
His sisters both by sire and mother's side;
And sure their likeness shew'd them near ally'd.
But make the worst, the monarch did no more
Than all the Ptolemys had done before;
When incest is for interest of a nation,
'Tis made no sin by holy dispensation.
Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone,
Which by their common ugliness are known.
But passing this as from our tale apart,
Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart:
Ardent in love, outrageous in his play,
He feather'd her a hundred times a-day:
And she, that was not only passing fair,
But was withal discreet and debonair,
Resolv'd the passive doctrine to fulfil,
Though loth; and let him work his wicked will:
At board and bed was affable and kind,
According as their marriage-vow did bind,
And as the church's precept had enjoin’d.
Ev'n since she was a se'nnight old, they say,
Was chaste and humble to her dying day,
Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey.

By this her husband's heart she did obtain;
What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain!
She was his only joy, and he her pride,
She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his side;
If, spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn,
The tribute in his bill to her was borne.
But, oh! what joy it was to hear him sing
In summer, when the day began to spring,
Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat;
"Solus cum sola" then was all his note.

For in the days of yore, the birds of parts [ral arts.
Were bred to speak, and sing, and learn the libe-
It happ'd that, perching on the parlour-beam
Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream,
Just at the dawn; and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast,
As every breath he drew would be his last.
Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side,
Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cry'd
For help from Gods and men: and sore aghast
She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last.
Dear heart, said she, for love of Heaven, declare
Your pain, and make me partner of your care.
You groan, sir, ever since the morning-light,
As something had disturb'd your noble spright.
And madam, well I might, said Chanticleer,
Never was shrovetide cock in such a fear,
Ev'n still I run all over in a sweat,
My princely senses not recover'd yet.
For such a dream I had of dire portent,
That much I fear my body will be shent :

It bodes I shall have wars and woful strife,
Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life;
Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast,
That in our yard I saw a murderous beast,
That on my body would have made arrest:
With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow;
His colour was betwixt a red and yellow :
Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears
Were black, and much unlike his other hairs:
The rest, in shape, a beagle's whelp throughout,
With broader forehead, and a sharper snout:
Deep in his front were sunk his glowing eyes,
That yet methinks I see him with surprise.
Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat,
And lay it to my heart and feel it beat.
Now fie for shame, quoth she, by Heaven above,
Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love;
No woman can endure a recreant knight,
He must be bold by day, and free by night:
Our sex desires a husband or a friend,
Who can our honour and his own defend;
Wise, hardy, secret, liberal of his purse;
A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse:
No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight.
How dar'st thou talk of love, and dar'st not fight?
How dar'st thou tell thy dame thou art affear'd?
Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard?

If ought from fearful dreams may be divin'd,
They signify a cock of dunghill kind.
All dreams, as in old Galen I have read,
Are from repletion and complexion bred;
From rising fumes of indigested food,
And noxious humours that infect the blood:
And sure, my lord, if I can read aright,
These foolish fancies you have had to-night,
Are certain symptoms (in the canting stile)
Of boiling choler, and abounding bile;
This yellow gall that in your stomach floats,
Engenders all these visionary thoughts.
When choler overflows, then dreams are bred
Of flames, and all the family of red;

Red dragons, and red beasts, in sleep we view,
For humours are distinguish'd by their hue.
From hence we dream of wars and warlike things,
And wasps and hornets with their double wings.
Choler adus congeals our blood with fear,
Then black b oss us, and black devils tear.
In sanguine airy dreams aloft we bound;
With rheums oppress'd we sink in rivers drown'd.
More I could say, but thus conclude my theme,
The dominating humour makes the dream.
Cato was in his time accounted wise,
And he condemns them all for empty lies.
Take my advice, and when we fly to ground,
With laxatives preserve your body sound,
And purge the peccant humours that abound.
I should be loth to lay you on a bier;
And though there lives no 'pothecary near,
I dare for once prescribe for your disease,
And save long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees.
Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice know,
And both at hand (for in our yard they grow);

On peril of my soul shall rid you wholly
Of yellow choler, and of melancholy:
You must both purge and vomit; but obey,
And for the love of Heaven make no delay.
Since hot and dry in your complexion join,
Beware the sun when in a vernal sign;
For when he mounts exalted in the ram,
If then he finds your body in a flame,
Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat,
A tertian ague is at least your lot;
Perhaps a fever (which the Gods forefend)
May bring your youth to some untimely end:
And therefore, sir, as you desire to live,
A day or two before your laxative
Take just three worms, nor under nor above,
Because the Gods unequal numbers love.
These digestives prepare you for your purge;
Of fumetery, centaury, and spurge,
And of ground-ivy add a leaf or two,
All which within our yard or garden grow.
Eat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer:
Your father's son was never born to fear.

Madam, quoth he, gramercy for your care,
But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare:
'Tis true, a wise and worthy man he seems,
And, as you say, gave no belief to dreams:
But other men of more authority,

And, by th' immortal powers, as wise as he,
Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forbode;
For Homer plainly says they come from God.
Nor Cato said it: but some modern fool
Impos'd in Cato's name on boys at school.

Believe me, madam, morning dreams foreshew
Th' events of things, and future weal or woe:
Some truths are not by reason to be try'd,
But we have sure experience for our guide.
An ancient author, equal with the best,
Relates this tale of dreams among the rest.
Two friends or brothers, with devout intent,
On some far pilgrimage together went.
It happen'd so that, when the sun was down,
They just arriv'd by twilight at a town:
That day had been the baiting of a bull,
'Twas at a feast, and every inn so full,
That no void room in chamber, or on ground,
And but one sorry bed was to be found;
And that so little it would hold but one,
Though till this hour they never lay alone.

So were they forc'd to part; one stay'd behind, His fellow sought what lodging he could find: At last he found a stall where oxen stood, And that he rather chose than lie abroad. 'Twas in a farther yard without a door; But, for his ease, well litter'd was the floor. His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept, Was weary, and without a rocker slept: Supine he snor'd; but in the dead of night He dreamt his friend appear'd before his sight, Who, with his ghastly look and doleful cry, Said, help me, brother, or this night I die: Arise and help, before all help be vain, Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain,

Rous'd from his rest, he waken'd in a start,
Shivering with horror, and with aching heart;
At length to cure himself by reason tries;
'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies?
So thinking, chang'd his side, and clos'd his eyes.
His dream returns; his friend appears again:
The murderers come, now help, or I am slain :
"Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain.
He dreamt the third: but now his friend appear'd
Pale, naked, pierc'd with wounds, with blood be-
smear'd:

Thrice warn'd, awake, said he, relief is late,
The deed is done; but thou revenge my fate;
Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes,
Awake, and with the dawning day arise:
Take to the western gate thy ready way,
For by that passage they my corpse convey:
My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among
The filth and ordure, and inclos'd with dung:
That cart arrest, and raise a common cry;
For sacred hunger of my gold I die :

Then shew'd his grisly wound: and last he drew
A piteous sigh, and took a long adieu.
The frighted friend arose by break of day,
And found the stall where late his fellow lay.
Then of his impious host inquiring more,
Was answer'd that his guest was gone before:
Muttering, he went, said he, by morning light,
And much complain'd of his ill rest by night.
This rais'd suspicion in the pilgrim's mind,
Because all hosts are of an evil kind,

And oft to share the spoils with robbers join'd.
His dream confirm'd his thought: with trou-
bled look

Straight to the western gate his way he took;
There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found,
That carry'd compost forth to dung the ground.
This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat,
And cry'd out Murder with a yelling note.
My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead,
Vengeance and justice on the villain's head.
Ye magistrates, who sacred laws dispense,
On you I call, to punish this offence.

The word thus given, within a little space,
The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place.
All in a trice they cast the cart to ground,

And in the dung the murder'd body found; [wound.
Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the
Good heaven, whose darling attribute we find
Is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind,
Abhors the cruel; and the deeds of night
By wonderous ways reveals in open light:
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time,
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels: [heels,
The hue and cry of Heaven pursues him at the
Fresh from the fact, as in the present case.
The criminals are seiz'd upon the place:
Carter and host confronted face to face.
Stiff in denial, as the law appoints,

On engines they distend their tortur'd joints:
So was confession forc'd, th' offence was known,