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Occasioned by a Lady's faying, that none of the ancient
poetical Stories reflected so much on the Vanity of Womer,
as that of Phaëton does on the Ambition of Men.
OVE for amusement quitted oft his skies,
To visit earth, contracted to our fizes
And lov'd (however things in heav'n might go)
Exceedingly a game of romps
of romps below.
Miss Semele he pick'd up, as he went,
And thought, he pleas'd her to her heart's content.
But minds aspiring ne'er can be at ease;
Once known a god, as man he ceas’d to please.
In tenderest time, which women know, 'tis said,
Thus she bespake the loving god in bed.
Thou, who gav'it Dædalus his mazy art,
And knoweft all things but a woman's heart,
Hear my request, for something yet untry'd,
And swear by Styx, I shall not be deny'd.
Fond Jove, like men, the better to succeed,
Took any oath ; then bade the girl proceed.
In human guise, great Jove, leave off to rove,
Deceiving woman-kind, and pilf ring love :
What are those joys, which as a man you give,
To what a god of thunder can atchieve ?
Such weight of love, and might of limbs employ,
As give immortal madams heav'nly joy.
Jove came array'd, as bound by cruel fate,
And Semele enjoy'd the god in ftate:
When flaming splendors round his beamy head
Divinely Thone, and struck the mortal dead.
Faint from the course though we awhile retreat,
To cool and breathe before another heat;
The gods can't know, fresh with eternal prime,
Love's ftinted pause, nor want recruits from time;
But must with unabating ardours kiss,
And bear down nature with excess of bliss.
Learn hence, each fair one, whom like beauties grace,
Poffess’d of lawless empire by your face,
Not to do what you lift, because you may,
Let cool discretion warm defires allay ;
And itching curiofity believe,
A lurking taint deriy'd from mother Eve,
Spare then the men, ye fair, and frankly own,
Your fex, like ours, has had its Phaëton.
WHEN I firt came to London, I rambled about
From fermon to fermon, took a slice and wentout. Then on me, in divinity batchelor, try'd Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride; And urging their various opinions, intended To make me wed fyftems, which they recommended.
Said a letch'rous old fry’r skulking near Lincolu’s-Inn, (Whose trade’s to abfolve, but whose pastimes's to sin; Who, spider-like, feizes weak protestant flies, Which hung in his fophiftry cobweb he spies ;) Ah pity your soul, for without our church pale, If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail ; The bible, you boast, is a wild revelation : 1: Hear a church that can’t err if you hope for salvation.
Said a formal non-con, (whose rich ftock of grace Lies forward expos’d in shop-window of face,) Ah! pity your soul : come, be of our feet : For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect. As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves faints, Being Chrift's little flock ev'ry where spoke against.
Said a jolly church parfon, (devoted to ease,
While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,)
If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither;
The first is in error, the last a deceiver :
That ours is the true church, the fenfe of our tribe is,
And surely in medio tutiffimus ibis.
Said a yea and nay friend with'a' stiff hat and band,
(Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his hand,)
Dominion and wealth are the aim of all thiree,
Tho' about ways and means they may'all disagree;
Then prithee be wise, goʻthe quakers by-way,
'Tis plain, without turnpikes, fo nothing to pay.
HESE sheets primæval do&rines yield,
Where revelation is reveal'd:
Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred, :'
Systems lethargiek to the head')
They purgè, and yield a diet thin, nii?
That turns to gospel-chyle within. į
'Truth sublimate may here be seen
Extracted from the parts terrene.
In these is shewn, how men obtain :)!!!
What of Prometheus poets feign :
To fcripture-plainness dress is brought,
And speech, apparel to the thought.
They hiss from instinct at red coats,
And war, whose work is cutting throats,
Forbid, and press the law of love :
Breathing the spirit of the dove.
Lucrative doctrines they deteft,
As manufactur'd by the priest;
And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
For ftuff, which never mends the way ;
And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And frank the gospel for our use.
They fable standing armies break;
But the militia ufeful make :
Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Taught by thefe rules as well as they ;
Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
Bid us to follow what we feel.
The world can't hear the small still voice,
Such is its bustle and its noise ;
Reason the proclamation reads,
But not one riot passion heeds.
Wealth, honour, power the graces are,
Which here below our homage share :
They, if one votary they find
To mistress more divine inclin'd,
In truth's pursuit to cause delay
Throw golden apples in his way.