And, had her stock been lefs, no doubt
She must have long ago run out.

Then who can think we 'll quit the place,
When Doll hangs out a newer face?
Or ftop and light at Chloe's head,
With feraps and leavings to be ted?

Then, Chloe, itill go on to prate
Of thirty-fix and thirty-eight;
Purfue your trade of fcandal-picking,
Your hints that Stella is no chicken;
Your innuendos, when you tell us,
That Stella loves to talk with fellows:
And let me warn you to believe

A truth, for which your foul fhould grieve;
That, fhould you live to fee the day
When Stella's locks muft all be grey,
When age muft print a furrow d trace
On every feature of her face;
Though you, and all your fenfeless tribe,
Could art, or time, or nature bribe,
To make you look like Beauty's Queen,
And hold for ever at fifteen;
No bloom of youth can ever blind

The cracks and wrinkles of your mind:

All men of fenfe will pafs your door,
And croud to Stella's at fourfcore.

TO STELLA,

Who collected and tranfcribed his POEMS.

1720.

AS, when a lofty pile is rais'd,

We never hear the wormen prais'd, Who bring the lime, or place the tones; But all admire Inigo Jones: So, if this pile of fcatter'd rhymes Should be approv'd in after-times; If it both pleafes and endures, The merit and the praife are yours. Thou, Stella, wert no longer young, When frit for thee my harp was itrung, Without one word of Cupid's darts, Of killing eyes, or bleeding hearts: With Friendship and Esteem pofleft, I never admitted Love a guest.

In all the habitudes of life,

The friend, the mitrefs, and the wife,
Variety we ftill purfue,

In pleasure feek for fomething new;
Or elfe, comparing with the reft,
Take comfort, that our own is beft;
'The best we value by the worst,

(As tradefmen fhew their trash at first):
But his purfuits were at an end,
Whom Stella chooses for a friend.
A poet ftarving in a garret,
Conning all topics like a parrot,
Invokes his Mistress and his Mufe,
And stays at home for want of fhoes :
Should but his Mufe defcending drop
A flice of bread and mutton-chop;

Or kindly, when his credit's out,
Surprize him with a pint of ftout;
Or patch his broken stocking-foals,
Or fend him in a peck of coals;
Exalted in his mighty mind,

He flies, and leaves the ftars behind;
Counts all his labours amply paid,
Adores her for the timely aid.

Or, fhould a porter make enquiries
For Chloe, Sylvia, Phyllis, Iris;
Be told the lodging, lane, and fign,
The bowers that hold thofe nymphs divine s
Fair (hloe would perhaps be found
With footmen tippling under ground;
The charming Sylvia beating flax,
Her fhoulders mark'd with bloody tracks;
Bright Phyllis mending ragged finocks;
And radiant Iris in the pox.

Thefe are the goddefies enroll❜d

In Curll's collection, new and old,

Whofe fcoundrel fathers would not know tea, If they should meet them in a poem.

True poets can depreís and raife,
Are lords of infamy and praife;
They are not fcurrilous in fatire,
Nor will in panegyrick flatter.
Unjustly poets we afperfe;

Truth fhines the brighter, clad in verfe;
And all the fictions they pursue,
Do but infinuate what is true.

Now, fhould my praifes owe their truth
To beauty, drefs, or paint, or youth,
What Stoics call without our tower,
They could not be infur'd an hour:
'Twere grafting on an annual flock,
That must our expectation mock,
And, making one luxuriant fhoot,
Die the next year for want of root:
Before I could my verfes bring,
Perhaps you 're quite another thing.

So Mevius, when he drain'd his skull
To celebrate fome fuburb trull,
His families in order fet,

And every crambo he could get,
Had gone through all the cominon-places
Worn out by wits, who rhyme on faces:
Before he could his poem clofe,
The lovely nymph had lot her nofe.

Your virtues fafely I commend;
They on no accidents depend:
Let malice look with all her eyes,
She dares not fay the poet lyes.

Stella, when you thefe lines tranfcribe,
Left you should take them for a bribe,
Refolv'd to mortify your pride,
I'll here expofe your weaker ide.

Your fpirits kindle to a Same,
Mov'd with the lighteft touch of blame;
And, when a friend in kinduefs tries
To fhew you where your error lies,
Conviction does but more incenfe;
Perverfenefs is your whole defence;
Truth, judgment, wit, give place to fpight,
Regardless both of wrong and right;

Your virtues all fufpended wait
Till time hath open'd reafon's gate;
And, what is worse, your paffion bends
Its force against your nearest friends,
Which manners, decency, and pride,
Have taught you from the world to hide;

In vain; for, fee, your friend hath brought
To public light your only fault;
And yet a fault we often and
Mix'd in a noble generous mind;
And may compare to Ætna's fire,

Which, though with trembling, all admire;
The heat, that makes the fummit glow,
Friching all the vales below.

Those who in warmer climes complain
From Ph bus' rays they fuffer pain,
Must own that pain is largely paid
By generous wines beneath a fade.
Yet, when I find your pa bons rife,
And anger fparkling in your eyes,
I grieve thofe fpirits fhould be fpent,
For nobler ends by nature meant.
One paffion with a diferent turn
Makes wit inflame, or anger burn :
So the fun's heat with different powers
Ripens the grape, the liquor fours:
Thus Ajax, when with rage poffeft
By Pallas breath'd into his breath,
His valour would no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer'd Troy;
But, blinded by refentment, feeks
For vengeance on his friends the Greeks,
You think this turbulence of blood
From ftagnating preferves the flood,
Which thus ferimenting by degrees
Exalts the fpirits, finks the lees.

Stella, for once you reafon wrong;
For, fhould this ferment laft too long,
By time fubfiding, you may find
Nothing but acid left behind;
From paffion you may then be freed,
When peevithness and spleen fucceed,
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep ftrictly to the text?
Dare you let thefe reproaches ftand,
And to your failing fet your hand?
Cr, it thefe lines your anger fire,
Shall they in bafer Hames expire?
Whene'er they burn, if burn they muft,
They'll prove my accusation just.

TO STELLA, VISITING ME IN MY SICKNESS, 1720*.

PALLAS, obferving Stella's wit

Was more than for her fex was fit,
And that her beauty, foon or late,
Might breed confusion in the ftate,
In high concern for human-kind,
Fix'd hercur in her infant mind.

* See the verses on her Birth-day, 1723-4.

But (not in wranglings to engage
With fuch a ftupid vicious age)
If honour I would here define,
It anfwers faith in things divine.
As natural life the body warms,
And, fcholars teach, the foul informs;
So honour animates the whole,
And is the fpirit of the foul.

Thofe numerous virtues which the tribe-
Of tedious moralifts defcribe,
And by fuch various titles call,
True honour comprehends them all.
Let melancholy rule fupreme,
Choler prefide, or blood, or phlegm,
It makes no difference in the cafe,
Nor is complexion honour's place.

But, left we should for honour take
The drunken quarrels of a rake ;
Or think it feated in a fear,
Or on a proud triumphal car,
Or in the payment of a debt
We lofe with farpers at picquet;
Or when a whore in her vocation
Keeps punctual to an affignation;
Or that on which his lord ip fwears,
When vulgar knaves would lofe their ears;
Let Stella's fair example preach
A leffon fhe alone can teach.

In points of honour to be try'd,
All paffions must be laid asde:
Afk no advice, but think alone;
Suppofe the question not your own.
How fhall I act? is not the cafe ;
But how would Brutus in my place?
In fuch a cafe would Cato bleed?
And how would Socrates proceed?

Drive all objections from your mind,
Elfe you relapfe to human-kind:
Ambition, avarice, and luft,
And factious rage, and breach of truft,
And flattery tipt with nauseous fleer,
And guilty fhame, and fervile fear,
Envy, and cruelty, and pride,
Will in your tainted heart prefide.

Heroes and heroines of old
By honour only were inroll'd
Among their brethren in the skies,
To which (though late) fhall Stella rife,
Ten thousand oaths upon record
Are not fo facred as her word:
The world thall in its atoms end,
Ere Stella can deceive a friend.
By honour feated in her breast
She ftill determines what is beft:
What indignation in her mind
Againft inflavers of mankind!
Bafe kings, and ministers of ftato,
Eternal obje&s of her hate!

She thinks that nature ne'er defign'd
Courage to man alone confin'd.
Can cowardice her fex adorn,
Which oft expofes ours to fcorn?
She wonders where the charm appears
In Florimel's affected fears;
For Stella never learn'd the art
At proper times to scream and start;

Nor calls up all the house at night,
And fwears the faw a thing in white.
Doll never flies to cut her lace,
Or throw cold water in her face,
Because he heard a fudden drum,
Cr found an earwig in a plum,

Her hearers are amaz d from whence
Proceeds that fund of wit and sense;
Which, though her modesty would fr.roud,
Breaks like the fun behind a cloud;
While gracefulness its art conceals,
And yet through every motion iteals.

Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And, forming you, minook your kind?
No; was for you alone he tole
The fre that forms a manly foul;
Then, to complete it every way,
He moulded it with female clay :
To that you owe the nobler flame,
To this the beauty of your frame.

How would ingratitude delight,
And how would cenfure glut her spight,
If I fhould Stella's kindncfs hide
Ja tlce, or forget with pride!
When on my fickly couch I lay,
Impatient both of night and day,
Lamenting in unmanly ftrains,
Call'd every power to eafe my pains;
Then Stella ran to my relief
With cheerful face and inward grief;
And, though by Heaven's fevere decree
She fuffers hourly more than me,
No cruel mafter could require,
From faves employ'd for daily hire,
What Stella, by her friendhip warm'd,
With vigour and delight perforar'd:
My Linking spirits now fupplies
With cordials in her hands and eyes;
Now with a foft and filent tread
Unheard the moves about my bed.
I fee her tafte each naufeous draught;
And fo obligingly am caught,

I blefs the hand from whence they came,
Nor dare distort my face for fhame.

Bet pattern of true friends! beware:
You pay too dearly for your care,
1, while your tenderness fecures

ly life, it must endanger yours; For fuch a fool was never found, Who pulled a palace to the ground, Cely to have the ruins made Materials for an houfe decay'd.

His heirs might well, of all his wealth poffefs'à, Beftow to bury him one iron chest.

Plutus the god of wealth will joy to know

His faithful reward in the fhades below.

He walk'd the fireets, and wore a threadbare cloak;

He din'd and fupp'd at charge of other folk:
And by his looks, had he held out his palms,
He might be thought an object 1.t for alms.
So, to the poor i he refus d his pel,
He us'd them full as kindly as limfelf.

Where er he we: t, he never faw his betters; Lerds, knights, and fuires, were all his humble. debtors;

And under herd and sea' the Irish nation
Were forc'd to own to him their obligatten.

He that could once have balia ingdom bought
In Lal a minute is et worth a groat.
His teffers from the cafculd not fave,
Nor all his intere keep him from the grave.
A golden monument would not be right,
Because we win the earth upon him light.

Oh London tavern*! thou haft loft a friend, Though in thy walls he n 'er did farthing spend: He touch'd the pence, when others touch'd the fat; The hand that gu'd the mortgage paid the frot, Old as he was, no vulgar know, difeafe On him could ever boad a power to frize; "† But, as he weigh'd his gold, grim Death is spight

"Caft-in his dart, which made three moidores light;

"And, as be faw his darling money fail,

"Blew his last breath, took the lighter fcale.* He who fo long was current, would be frange If he thould now be cry door face his charge.

The fexton fhall green fods on thee beltow;
Alas, the fextor is thy hunker now!
A difinal banker must that banker be,
Who gives no bills but of mortality.

EPITAPH ON A MISER.

BENEATH this verdant hilleck lies

Demar, the wealthy and the wife.
His heirs, that he might fafely reft,
Have put his carcufe in a che;
The very cher in which, they fay,
His other felf, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear felf he left behind,
I dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better ha falive.

Sure, the fates have decreed they by halves fhould be treated.

In the days of good * john, if you came here to dine,

You had choice of goed meat, but no choice of good wine.

In Jonathan's reign, if you come here to eat,

You have choice of good wine, but no choice of good meat.

Oh, Jove! then how fully might all fides be bleft,

Would't thou but agree to this humble request! Put both deans in one; or, if that's too much trouble,

Inftead of the deans, make the deanry double.

Yet their wine and their victuals thefe curmud geon lubbards

Lock up from my fight in cellars and cupboards..
That I have an ill eye, they wickedly thick,
And toint all their meat, and four all their drink,
But, thirdly and lastly, it must be allow'd,
I alone can infpire the poetical crowd ;
This is gratefully own'd by each boy in the
college,

Whom it I infpire, it is not to my knowledge.
This every pretender to rhyme will admit,
Without troubling his head about judgment or
wit.

Thefe gentlemen ufe me with kindness and freedom;

And as for their works, when I please I may read 'em:

They lie ope on purpose on counters and falls;
And the titles I view, when I fine on the walls.
But a comrade of yours, that traitor Delany,
Whom I for your fake love better than any,
And, of my mere motion nd special gol grace,
Intended in time to fucceed in your place,
On Tuesday the tenth feditiously came
With a certain falfe traitrefs, one Stella by name,
To the de ry houfe, and on the north glass,
Where for fear of the cold I never can pats,
Then and there, vi armis, with a certain
utenil,

Of value five trillings, in English a pencil,
Did malicioufy, falfely, and traiteroufly write,
Waila stella aforesaid ftood by with a light.
My titer had lately depos'd upon oath,
That the topt in her courfe to look at them both;
That Stella was helping, abetting, and aiding:
And till, as he writ, (tood failing and reading:
That her eyes were as bright as myfelf at noon-
day,

But her graceful black locks were all mingled with grey;

And by the defcription I certainly now, 'Tis the nymph that I courted fome ten years

1

If I light on a thought, he will certainly fteal it,
And, when he has got it, find ways to conceal it:
Of all the fine things he kept in the dark,
There's fcarce one iu ten but what has my
mark;

And let them be feen by the world if he dare,
I'll make it appear that they 're all ftolen ware.
But as for the poem he writ on your fash,
I think I have ow got him under my lah;
My fifter tranfcrib'd it last night to his forrow,
And the publick fhall fee 't, if I live till to-

He knows very well, I ne'er gave a refufal, When he ak d for my aid in the forms that are ufual:

But the fecret is this; I did lately interd
To write a few verfes on you, as my friend:
Í studied a fortnight, before I could find,
As I rode in my chariot, a thought to my mind,
And refolv'd the next winter (for that is my
time,

When the days are at shorteft) to get it in rhyme;
Till then it was lock'd in my box at Parnaffus;
When that fubtle companion, in hopes to furpafs

pentance,

We Phobus think fit to proceed to his fentence. Since Delany has dar'd, like Prometheus his fire,

To climb to our region, and thence to steal fire;
We order a vulture, in fhape of the spleen,
To prey on his liver, but not to be feen.
And we order our fubjects of every degree
To believe all his verfes were written by me;
And, under the pain of our higheft displeasure,
To call nothing his but the rhyme and the mea-
fure.

And lastly, for Stella, juft out of her prime,
I'm too much revenged already by time.
In return to her fcorn, Ifend her difeafes,
But will now be her friend whenever the
pleafes:

And the gifts I bestow'd her will find her a lover,
Though fe lives to be grey as a badger all over.

NEWS FROM PARNASSUS, BY DR. DELANY.

PAR

ARNASSUS, February the twenty-feventh The Poets affembled here on the eleventh, Conven'd by Apollo, who gave them to know, He 'd have a vicegerent in his empire below; But declar'd that no Eard fhould this honour inherit,

Till the rest had agreed he furpafs'd them in merit,

For each Bard believ'd he'd a right to the place ; Now this, you'll allow, was a difficult cafe, He put them in mind of his Phaëtol's fate: So finding th' affembly grow warm in debate, 'Twas urg'd to no purpose, difputes higher rofe, Scarce Phoebus himfelf could their quarrels compofe;

Till at length he determin'd that every Bard Should (each in his turn) be patiently heard. First, one who believ'd he excell'd in tranfa

tion,

Founds his claim on the doctrine of man's tranímigration:

"Since the foul of great Milton was given to me, "I hope the convention will quickly agree." "Agree!" quoth Apollo: "from whence is this fool?

"Is he just come from reading Pythagoras at fchool?

"Be gone! Sir, you've got your fubfcriptions in time,

"And given in return neither reafon nor rhyme."

To the next, fays the God, “ though now I "won't choose you,

"I'll tell you the reason for which I refufe you : "Love's goddess has oft' to her parents com

"plain'd