Page images

What push'd poor E-s on th' imperial whore? "Twas but to be where CHARLES had been before. The fatal steel unjustly was applied,

When not his lust offended, but his pride:
Too hard a penance for defeated sin,
Himself shut out, and Jacob Hall 5 let in.

Suppose that honest part that rules us all
Should rise, and say-Sir Robert! or Sir Paul!
Did I demand, in my most vigorous hour,
A thing descended from the Conqueror?
Or when my pulse beat highest, ask for any
Such nicety as Lady or Lord Fanny?'
What would you answer? could you have the face,
When the poor sufferer humbly mourn'd his case,
To cry, 'You weep the favours of her GRACE?'
Hath not indulgent nature spread a feast,
And given enough for man, enough for beast?
But man corrupt, perverse in all his ways,
In search of vanities from nature strays:

Yea, though the blessing's more than he can use,
Shuns the permitted, the forbid pursues! [spring,
Weigh well the cause from whence these evils
"Tis in thyself, and not in God's good thing:
Then, lest repentance punish such a life,
Never, ah, never! kiss thy neighbour's wife.

First, silks and diamonds veil no finer shape, Or plumper thigh, than lurk in humble crape:

5 The Duchess of Cleveland was said to have been in love with Jacob Hall, the famous rope-dancer, and gave him a salary.

And secondly, how innocent a belle

Is she who shows what ware she has to sell;
Not lady-like, displays a milk-white breast,
And hides in sacred sluttishness the rest.

Our ancient kings (and sure those kings were wise,

Who judg'd themselves, and saw with their own


A war-horse never for the service chose,

But ey'd him round, and stript off all the clothes;
For well they knew, proud trappings serve to hide
A heavy chest, thick neck, or heaving side;
But fools are ready chaps, agog to buy,
Let but a comely forehand strike the eye:
No eagle sharper, every charm to find,
To all defects, Ty-y not so blind:
Goose-rump'd, hawk-nos'd, swan-footed, is my dear,
They'll praise her elbow, heel, or tip o' th' ear.
A lady's face is all you see undress'd

(For none but Lady M

show'd the rest);

But if to charms more latent you pretend,
What lines encompass, and what works defend!
Dangers on dangers! obstacles by dozens!
Spies, guardians, guests, old women, aunts, and
Could you directly to her person go,

[cousins. Stays will obstruct above, and hoops below,

And if the dame says yes, the dress says no.
Not thus at Needham's; your judicious eye


May measure there the breast, the hip, the thigh!

6 Mrs. Needham was a notorious bawd.

And will you run to perils, sword, and law,
All for a thing you ne'er so much as saw?

'The hare once seiz'd, the hunter needs no more The little scut he so pursu'd before,

Love follows flying game (as Suckling sings),
And 'tis for that the wanton boy has wings.'
Why let him sing-but when you're in the wrong,
Think you to cure the mischief with a song?
Has nature set no bounds to wild desire?
No sense to guide, no reason to inquire
What solid happiness, what empty pride?
And what is best indulg'd, or best denied?
If neither gems adorn, nor silver tip
The flowing bowl, will you not wet your lip?
When sharp with hunger, scorn you to be fed,
Except on peachicks, at the Bedford-head?
Or when a tight, neat girl, will serve the turn,
In errant pride continue stiff, and burn?
I'm a plain man, whose maxim is profest,
'The thing at hand is of all things the best.'
But her who will, and then will not comply,
Whose word is If, Perhaps, and By-and-by,
Zounds! let some eunuch or platonic take-
So Bt cries, philosopher and rake!
Who asks no more (right reasonable peer)
Than not to wait too long, nor pay too dear.
Give me a willing nymph! 'tis all I care,
Extremely clean, and tolerably fair,

Her shape her own, whatever shape she have,
And just that white and red which nature gave.

Her I transported touch, transported view!
And call her Angel! Goddess! Mue!
No furious husband thunders at the door;
No barking dog, no household in a roar;
From gleaming swords no shrieking women run;
No wretched wife cries out, Undone! Undone !
Seiz'd in the fact, and in her cuckold's power,
She kneels, she weeps, and worse! resigns her

Me, naked me, to posts, to pumps they draw,
To shame eternal, or eternal law.

Oh love, be deep tranquillity my luck!

No mistress H-ysh-m near, no Lady B-ck! For, to be taken, is the devil in hell;

This truth let L- −1, J


-w tell.


His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani




DORSET, the grace of courts, the Muses' pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:

Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Bless'd satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd, vice had his hate and pity too.
Bless'd courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships and his ease.
Bless'd peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;

Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.




Who, having resigned his Place, died in his Retirement at Easthamsted, in Berkshire, 1716.

A PLEASING form, a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd:
Honour unchang'd, a principle profest,

Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too,
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A generous faith, from superstition free,
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;

Such this man was, who now, from earth remov'd,
At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.

« PreviousContinue »