Mulgrave had much ado to 'fcape the fnare,
Though learn'd in all those arts that cheat the fair:
For after all his vulgar marriage-mocks,
With beauty dazzled, Numps was in the ftocks;
Deluded parents dry'd their weeping eyes,
To fee him catch his tartar for his prize:
Th' impatient town waited the wifh'd-for change,
And cuckolds fmil'd in hopes of sweet revenge;
Till Petworth plot made us with forrow fee,
As his eftate, his perfon too was free:
Him no foft thoughts, no gratitude could move;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love;
Yet failing there he keeps his freedom still,
Forc'd to live happily against his will:
'Tis not his fault, if too much wealth and pow'r
Break not his boasted quiet every hour.
1 And little Sid. for fimile renown'd,
Pleasure has always fought but never found:
Though all his thoughts on wine and women fall,
His are fo bad, fure he ne'er thinks at all.
The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong,
His meat and miftreffes are kept too long.
But fure we all miftake this pious man,
Who mortifies his perfon all he can:
Edward Howard, Efq; a gentleman of the Berkshire family, confequently related to Sir Robert Howard. He wrote four plays, but none of them fucceeded on the stage, nor procured him any reputation. He allo published an epic poem, called the British Princes, for which he was feverely ridiculed by all the wits of his age: lord Rochefter, lord Dorfet, Mr. Waller, the duke of Buckingham, Dr. Spratt, lord Vaughan, published lampoons upon
1 And little Sid. for fimile renown'd,
Pleafure has always fought but never found.
This Sidney, brother of Algernoon Sidney and the earl of Leicester, was rather a man of pleasure than of bufinefs; his talents were great, but his indolence was greater; his appearance was graceful; he was favourite with the ladies, had a turn for intrigue, and was of a difpofition exactly fitted to Charles's court, easy, affable, and infinuating; free from any guile, and a friend to mankind.
What we uncharitably take for fin,
Are only rules of this odd capuchin;
For never hermit under grave pretence,
Has liv'd more contrary to common fenfe;
And 'tis a miracle we may suppose,
No naftiness offends his fkilful nofe;
Which from all ftink can with peculiar art
Extract perfume and effence from a f---t:
Expecting fupper is his great delight;
He toils all day but to be drunk at night:
Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping fits,
Till he takes 2 Hewet and Jack Hall for wits.
Rochester I defpife for want of wit,
Though thought to have a tail and cloven feet;
For while he mifchief means to all mankind,
Himself alone the ill effects does find:
And fo like witches juftly fuffers fhame,
Whofe harmless malice is fo much the fame.
Falfe are his words, affected is his wit;
So often he does aim, so seldom hit;
To every face he cringes while he speaks,
But when the back is turn'd the head he breaks:
Mean in each action, lewd in every limb,
Manners themselves are mischievous in him:
A proof that chance alone makes every creature,
A very 3 Killigrew without good nature.
2 Till he takes Hewet and Jack Hall for rits, &c. Hewet, a man of quality, famous for gallantry, and often named in the State Poems. Sir George Etherege intended for him the cele brated character of Sir Fopling Flutter. Jack Hall, a courtier, whon I take to be the fame with Uzza in the second part of Abfalom and Achitophel.
3 A very Killigrew without good nature. Thomas Killigrew, of whom we hear daily fo many pleafant ftories related, was brother to Sir William Killigrew, vice-chamberlain to King Charles the IId's Queen; had been fome time page of honour to King Charles I. and was, after the refloration, many years mafter of the revels, and groom
For what a 4 Beffus has he always liv'd,
And his own kickings notably contriv'd?
For, there's the folly that's ftill mixt with fear,
Cowards more blows than any hero bear;
Of fighting sparks fome may their pleasures fay,
But 'tis a bolder thing to run away;
The world may well forgive him all his ill,
For every fault does prove his penance ftill:
Falfly he falls into fome dangerous noofe,
And then as meanly labours to get loose;
A life fo infamous is better quitting,
Spent in bafe injury and low fubmitting.
I'd like to have left out his poetry;
Forgot by all almost as well as me.
Sometimes he has fome humour, never wit,
And if it rarely, very rarely, hit,
Tis under so much nafty rubbish laid,
To find it out's the cinderwoman's trade;
Who for the wretched remnants of a fire,
Muft toil all day in ashes and in mire.
So lewdly dull his idle works appear,
The wretched texts deferve no comments here;
Where one poor thought fometimes, left all alone,
For a whole page of dullness must atone.
How vain a thing is man, and how unwife?
E'en he, who would himself the most despise?
I, who fo wife and humble feem to be,
Now my own vanity and pride can't see.
of the chamber to King Charles II. in whofe exile he shared, being his resident at Venice in 1651; was a most facetious companion; his wit was lively and fpirited; and he had a manner of faying the bittereft things, without provoking refentment; he tickled you while he made you smart, and you overlooked the pain, charmed by the pleasure. He died at Whitehall in March 1682, aged feventy-one. 4 For what a Besjus has he always liv'd. Beffus is a remarkable cowardly character in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of a King and no King.
While the world's nonsense is so sharply shewn,
We pull down others but to raise our own;
That we may angels feem, we paint them elves,
: And are but fatires to fet up ourselves.
I, who have all this while been finding fault,
E'en with my mafter, who first satire taught;
And did by that describe the task so hard,
It seems ftupendous and above reward;
Now labour with unequal force to climb
That lofty hill, unreach'd by former time:
'Tis just that I fhould to the bottom fall,'
Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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