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With well-timi'd oars, before the royal barge, Much Heywood, Shirley, Oyleby, there lay;
Streil'd with the pride of thy celestial charge ; But loads of Sh almost choak'd the way.
And, big with hym, commander of an host, Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood preparid,
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd. And H-” was captain of the guard.
Methinks I see the new Arion sail,

The hoary prince in majesty appeard,
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. High on ihe throne of his own labors reard,
At thy well shapen'd thumb, from shore to shore At his right hand our young Ascanius sat,
The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar: Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state.
Echoes fron. Pissing-Alley Sh- call, His broirs, thick fogs, instead of glories, grace,
And Sh- they resound from Aston-Hall. And lambent Dulness play'd around his face.
About thy boat the little fishes throng,

As Hannibal did to the aliars come, As at the morning toast that foats along: Sworn by his fire a inortal foe to Rome; Souietimes, as prince of thy harmonious band, Su Shaswore, nor should his vow le rain, Thou wielist thy papers in thy threshing hand. That he, till death, true dulness would maintain, St. Andre's feet nie'er kept more eqnal time, And, in his father's right and realni's defence, Not e'en the feet of thy own Psyche's rlıyme: Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. Though they in number as in sense excel ; The king himself the sacred unction made, So just, so like Tautology they fell,

As king by office, and as a priest by trade. That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore In his sinister hand, instead of ball, The luie and sword which he in triumph bore, He plac'd a mighty muug, of potent ale ; And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more. Love's kingdom to his right he did convey,

Here stopt the good old sire, and wept for joy, At once his sceptre and his rule of sway; In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. Whose righteous lore the prince had practisid All arguinents, but most his plays, persuade,

young, That for anointed dulness he was made. And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprungs Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind His temples last with poppies were' o'erspread, (The fair Augnsta, much to fears incliu'd) That, nodding, seem'd to consecrate his head. An anrient fabric, rais'd t'inform the sight, Just at the point of time, if fame not lye, There stood of yore and Barbican it hight: On his right hand twelve rev'rend owls did fly. A watch-tow'r once : but now, so fate ordains, So Romulas, 'tis sung by Tiber's brook, Of all the pile an empty name remains : Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. From its old ruins brothel-houses rise, Th'admiring throng loud acclamations make, Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys, And onens of his future empire take. Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets 'The fire then shook the honors of his head, keep,

And from his brows damps of oblivion shed And undisturbid by watch, in silence sleep, Full on the filial dulness : long he stood, Near these a nursery erects its head, (bred: Repelling from his breast the raging god; Where queens are form’d, and future heroes At length burst out in this prophetic mood. Where unfledy'dactors learn to laugh and cry, • Heavens hless my son, from Ireland let himn Where infant punks their tender voices try, To far Barbadoes on the western main ; [reign And little Maximins the gods defy.

Of his doininion may no end be known, Great Fletcher never treads the buskins here, And greater than his father's be his throne; Nor greater Johnson dares in socks appear; Beyond Love's kingdom let him stretch his pen.' But gentle Simpkin just reception finds He paus'd, and all the people cried, Amen. Amidst this monument of vanish'd ininds : Then thus continued he: My son, advance Pure clinches the suburbian Musc affords, Still in new impudence, new ignorance. And Panion waging harmless war with words. Success let others teach ; learn thou, from me, Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Ambitiously design d'his Sh's throne : Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; For antient Decker prophesied, long since, Yet not one thought accuse tlıy toil of wit. That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage ; Born for a scourge of wit,

and fail of sense : Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage; Towhom true dulness should soine Psyche's owc, Lot Cully Cockwood, Fopling, charu the pit; But worlds of Misers from his pen should fowi And, in their folly, show the writer's wit. Humorists and Hypocrites it should produce, Yet still thy fools' shall stand in thy defence, Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce, And justify their author's want of sense. Now einpress Faine had publish'd the renown Let 'em bé all by thy own model made Of Sh's coronation thro' the town. Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid ; Rous'd by report of Fame, the nations meet, That they to future ages may be known, From near Bun-hill and distant Watling-street; Not copies drawn, but issue of my own. No Persian carpets spread th' imperial ways Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, But scatter'd limbs of inangled poets lay: All full of thee, and diff'ring, but in name. From dusty shops neglected authors come, But let no alien S-01-y interpose, Martyrs of pyos, and relios of the bum. To lurd with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.


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And, when false sow'rs of Rhetoric thou would'st | Poets alone found the delightful way,
Trust Nature, do not labor 10 be dell: [cull, Mysterious morals gently to convey
But write thy best, and top; and, in cach line, In charming numbers ; so that, as men grew
Sir Formal's oratory will be thine :

Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wiser too.
Sir Formal, tho' uvsought, attends thy quill, Sarire has always slione among ihe rest,
And does thy Northern Dedications fill. And is the boldlest way, if not the best,
Nor let falsé friends aduce thy mind to fame, To tell anen frecly of ibeir foulest faulis ;
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.

To laugh at their vaindeeds, and vainer thoughts. Les father Freck noe fire thy mind with praise, In satire too the wise took diff'rent ways, And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise.

To each deserving its peculiar praise. Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part; Some did all folly with just sharpness blame, What share have we in nature or in art? Whilst others laugh'd, and scorn'd them into Where did his wit on leaming tix a brand,

shame. And rail at arts he did not understand? But of these two, the last succeeded best, Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein, As men aim rightest when they shoot in jest. Or swepi the dust in Psvrhe's humble strain? Yet if we may presume to blame our guides, Where sold he bargains, whip-stich, kiss myare; And censure ihose who censure all besides, Promis'i'a play, and dwindled to a farce? In other things they justly are preferr'd:. Whendid his inuse from Fletcher scenes purloin, In this alone methinks the antients erid: As thou whole Eth'ridge dost transfuse to thinc? Aguinst the grossest follies they declaim ; But so transfus'd, as oil and water flow; llard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game, His always floats above, thine sinks below. Nothing is easier than such blors to hit, This is thy province, this thy wond'rous way,

And 'tis a talent of cach vulgar wit: New humors to invent for each new play; Besides, 'tis labor lost ; for who would preach This is that boasted bius of thy mind,

Vorals to Armstrong, or dull Aston teach? By which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclind : "Tis being devout at play, wise at a ball, Which niake thy writings lean on one side still, or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall

. And in all changes, that way tends thy will. But with sharp eyes those nicer faults to find, Nor let thy niountain-belly inake protence

Which lic obscurely in the wisest mind; Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense. That little speck which all the rest does spoil, A tun of man in thy large buik is writ; . To wash off thai, would be a noble toil; But sure thou 'rt but a kilderkin of wit. Beyond the loose-writ libels of this age, Like nine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;

Or'ihe forc'd scenes of our declining stage ; Thy tragic Múse gives smiles; thy cornic, sleep. Above all censure too, each little wit With whate'er gall thou sett'st tliyself to write, will be so glad to see the greater hit; Thy inoffensive satires never bite.

Who judging better though concern'd the most, In thy felonious heart though venom lics

Or such correction will have cause to boasi. It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. In such a satire all would seek a share, Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame And ev'ry fool will fancy he is there. In keen lambics, but mild Anagram.

Old story-tellers too must pine and die, Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command To sce their antiquated wit laid by; Sume peaceful province in Acrostic land.

Like her, who miss'd her name in a lampoon, There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, and griev'd to find herself decay'd so soon. And torture one poor word ten ihousand ways. No common coxcomb must be mention'd here ; Or, if thou would'st thy diff'reni talents suit,

Not the dull train of dancing sparks appear ; Set thy own songs, and sing thein to thy lute. Nor Auti'ring officers who never fight : He said ; but his last words were scarcely Of such a wretched rabble who would write ?

Miuch less half wits: that's more againstour rules, For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepard, For they are tops, the other are but fuols. And down the sent the yel declaiming bård, Who would not be as silly as Dunbar? Sinkiny, he left his drugget robe liehind, is dull as Monmouth, raiher than Sir Carr? Berne upwards by a subterrancan wind. The curning courtier should be slighted 100, The mantle fell to the young proplıcı's past, \Tho with dull knav'ry makes so much ado; With double portion of his father's art.

Till the shrewd fool, by thriving 100, too fast,

Like Esop's fox, becoines a prey at last. § 31. An Essay upon Satire.

Vor shall the royal mistresses be namd, Dryden and Buckingham. With whom each rhyming fool kceps such a

Too ugly, or too easy, to be blam'd; How dull and how insensible a brast

pother, Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the rest! They are as common that way as the other : Philosophers and poets vainly strove

Yet saunt'ring Charles, between his beastly In ev'ry age the lumpisha mass to move: [these, brace, Put those were pedants, when compar'd with Nieets with dissembling still in either place, Who know not only to instruct but please. Affeared humor, or a painted face.


heard ;

In rayal libels we have often told him

But is there any other beast that lives, How one has jilted him, the other sold him; Who his own harmı so wittingly contrives? How that affects to laugh, how this to weep : Will auy dog, that has his teeth and stones, But who can rail so long as he can sleep? Refindly leave his bitches and his bones Was ever prince by two at once misled, Tour a wheel? and lark to be employd, False, foolish, old, ill.natur'd, and ill-bred? While Venus is by rival dogs enjoy'd? Earncly and Aylesbury, with all that race Yet this fond man, to get a statesinan's name, Of busy blockleads, shall have here no place; Forfeits his friends, his freedom, and his fame. At council sat as foils on Dorset's score, Though salire nicely writ no humor stings To make the great false jewel shine the more ; | By those who merit praise in other things : Who all that while was thought exceeding wise: Yet we must neeels this one exception make, Ouly for taking pains and telling lies. And break our rules for folly Tropos' sake, But there's no ineddling with such nauseous men; Who was too much despis’d to be accus'd, Their very names have tir'd ny lazy pen : And therefore scarce deserves to be abus'd; 'Tis tine to quit their company, and choose Rais'd only by bis mercenary tongue, Sonne fitter subject for a sharper Muse. For railing smoothly, and for reas'ning wrong,

First let's behold the merriest man alive As boys on holidays let loose to play, Against his careless genius vainly strive ; Lay wagyish traps for girls that pass that way, Quit liis deur case, swine deep design to lar, Then shout to see in dirt and deep distress Gainst a set tinie; and then forget the day: Some silly cit in her flower'd foolish dress; Yet he will laugh at his best friends : and be So have I mighty satisfaction found, Just as good company as Nokes and Lec. To see his tinsel reason on the ground; But when he ainis at reason or at rule, To see the florid fool despis’d, and know it, [it; He turns himself the best to ridicule.

By some who scarce have words enough to show Let him at business nc'er so earnest sit, För sense sits silent, and condemns for weaker Show him but mirth,and baitthat mirth with wit; The finer may sometimes the wittest speaker: That sladdow of a jest shall be enjoy'd, But 'lis prodigious so much eloquence Though he left all mankind to be destroy’d. Should be acquir'd by such little sense; So cai transformed sat gravely and deinure, For words and wit did antiently agree; Till mouse appeard, and thought hinself sccurc; And Tully was no fool though this man be: But soon the lady had hiin in her eye,

At bar abusive, on the bench unable, And froin her friend did just as oddly Av. Knave on the woolsack, top at council-table. Reaching above our nature (loes no good: These are the grievances of such fools as would We must fall back to our vid flesh and blood : Be rather wise than honest, great than good. As, by our little Machiaval, we find

Some other kind of wits must be made known, That nimblest creature of the busy kind, Il'hose haruiless errors hurt themselves alone ; His limbs are crippled, and his body shikes, Excess of luxury they think can please, Yet his hard mind, with all this bustle inakes, Aud laziness call loving of their ease ; No pity of its pour companion takes.

To live dissolvidl in pleasure still they feign, What gravity can hold from laughing out, Though their whole lite's but intermitting pain: To see liim drag his feeble legs about, So much of surfeits, head-achs, claps, are seen, Like hounds ill-coupled? Jowler lugs him still We scarce perceive the little tine between s Thru' hedges, ditches, and thro' all that's ill. Well-ineaning men who make this gross mistake, "Twere crime in any inan but him alone, And pleasure lose only for pleasure's sake ; To use a body so, tho''ris one's own : Pacla pleasure has its price; and when we pay Yet this false comfort never gives him o'er, Too much of pain, we squander life away. That whilsthecreepshisvig'rousthoughts can soar : Thus Dorset, pirring like a thoughtful cat, Alas! that soaring to those few that know, Married; but wiser puss ne'er thought of that ; Is bat a busy grov'ling here below.

And first he worried her with railing rhyme; So men in rapiure think they mount the sky, Like Pembroke's mastiffs at his kindest iime; Whilst on the ground th'entrancedwretcheslie: Then for one night sold all his slavish life, So modern fops have fancied they could Ay. S A teeming widow, but a barren wife ; As the new earl with parts deserving praise, (well'd by contact of such a fulsome toad, And wit enough to laugh at his own ways; He Inggd about the matrimonial load; Yet loses all soft days and sensual nights, I bill fortune, blindly kind as well as he, Kind nature checks, and kinder fortune slights; Has ill restor'd him to his liberty ! Siriving against his quiet all he he cani, Which he would use in his old sneaking way, For the finé motion of a busy man.

Drinking all night, and dozing all the day ; And what is that, at best, but one whose inind Dull as Ned Howard, whom his brisker times Is made to tire hiinself and all mankind ? Ilad famu'd for duluess in malicious rhymes. For Ireland he would go ; ?faith, let him reign; Muigrave had much do to 'scape the snare, For if sonje odri fantastic lord would faiu Tholaru'd in all those arts that cheat the fair ; Carry jo trunks, and all my drudg'ry do, For afier all fris vulgui marriage-mocks, Bill not only pay lıiın, but admire him tog. Witli beauty cluzzled. Numps was in the stocks;

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Deluded my wit.

Deluded parents dried their weeping eyes, Who, for the wretched remnants of a fise,

To see him catch a lartar for his prize; Must toil all day in ashes and in mire.
Th’impatient town waited the wish'd-for change Se lewdly dull his idle works appear,
And cuckolds smil'd in hopes of sweet revenge; The wretched texts deserve no con mepts here;
Till Petworth plot made us with sorrow see, Where onc poor thought sometimes,left all alone,
As his estate, his person too was free:

For a whole page of dulness must atone.
Hin no soft thoughts, no gratitude could move; How rain a thing is nian, and how inwise;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love; Ev'n he who would himself the most despise !
Yet failing there he keeps his freedom still, I, who so wise and humble seem to be,
Fore'd to live happily against liis will: Now iny own ranity and pride can't see.
'Tis not his fauli, if too much wealth and pow'r While the world's nonsense is so sharply shown,
Break not his boasted quiet ev'ry hour.

We pull down others but to raise our own: And litile Sidd, for simile renowuid, Tnai we may angels seem, we paint them elves, Pleasure has always sought, but never found ; And are but satires to set up ourselves. Though all his thoughts on wine and women 1 (who have all this while been finding fault, His are so bad, sure he ne'er thinks at all. [fall, Ev'n with my master, who first satire taught; The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong; And did by that describe the task so hard, His meat and mistresses are kept too long. It seem'd stupendous and above reward) But sure we all nistake this pious man, Now labor with anequal force to climb Who mortifies his person all he can:

That lofty hill, unreach'd by former time; What we uncharitably take for sin,

"Tis just that I should to the bottom fall; Are only rules of this odil capuchin:

Learn to write well, or not to write at all. For never hermit, under grave pretence, Has liv'd more contrary to common sense ; $32. Cymon and Iphigenia. Dryden. And 'tis a miracle, we may suppose, No nastiness oflends his skilful nose ;

Poeta loquitur. Which frqun all stink can with peculiar art OLD as I am, for ladies' love unfit, Extract perfume, and essence from a f-t: The pow'r of beauty I remember yet, Expecting supper is his great delight; Which once infiam'd mysoul, and still inspires He toils all day but to be drunk at night: Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping sits, If love be folly, the severe divine Till be takes liewit and Jack llall for wils. Has felt that folly, though he censures mine; Rochester I de-pise for want of wit,

Pollutes the pleasures of a 'chasic embrace, Though thought to have a tail and cloven feet; Acts what I write, and propagates in grace, For, while he mischief means to all niankind, With riotous excess, a priestly race. Himself alone the ill effects doth find: Suppose him free, and that I forge th' offence, And so like witches justly suffer shame, He show'd the way, perverting first my sense;' Whose harmless malice is so much the same. In malice witty, and with venom fraught, False are his worils, affected is his vit; He makes me speak the things I never thought; So often he does aim, so seldom hit:

Compute the gains of bis ungovern'd zcal; To ev'ry face he cringes while he speaks, III suits his cloth the praise of railing well. But when the back is turn'd the head he breaks: The world will think ihat what we loosely write, Mean in each action, lewd in ev'ry limb, Tho' now arrang'd, he read with some delight; Manners themselves are mischievous in himn : Because he seems to chew the cud again, A proof that chance alone niakes ev'ry creature When his broad comment makes the text too A very Killigrew, without good nature.

plain : For what a Bessus has he always liv'd, And tcaching more in one explaining page And his own kickings notably contriv'd! Than all the double-meanings of the stage. For there's the folly that's still mix'd with fear, What needs he paraphrase on what we mean? Cowards more blows than any hero hear ; We were at njost but wanton ; he's obscepe. Of lighting sparks some may their pleasures say, I not my fellows nor myself excuse ; But 'tis a bolder thing to run away:

But love's the subjeet of the comic Muse; The world may well forgive him all his ill, Nor can we write without it, nor would you For ev'ry fault does prove his penance still : 11 A tale of only dry instruction view; Falsely he falls into some daug'rous noose, :) Nor love is always of a vicious kind, And then as mçanly labors to get loose : But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind; A life so infamous is better quitting,

Awakes the sleepy vigor of the soul, Spent in base injury and low submitting, And; brushing, er, adds motion to the pool. I'd like to have left out his poetry;

Love, studious how to please; improves our parts Forgot by all almost as well as ine.

With polish'd manners, and adorns with arts. Sonjetimes he has some humor, never wit : Love first invented verse, and form'd the rhyme, And if it rarely, very rarely, hit,

The motion measur), harnioniz'd the chime; "ris under so much nasty rubbish laid, To lib'ral acts enlarg d the narrow soul'd, To find it qut's the cinderwoman's trade; Softeu'd thc berce, and made the coward bold;



The world, when waste, he peopled with increase, (Than by the charming features of her face, And warring nations reconcil'd in peace. And ev'n in slumber a superior grace : Ormond, the first, and all the fair

may find, 1 Her bonly Shaded with a slight cymarr;

Her comely limbs compos'd with decent cate, In this one legend, to their fine design'd, When beauty tires the bloot, how love exalts Her bosóm to the view was only bare the mind.

Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied, In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, For yet their places were but signified: And ev'ry grace, and all the loves, resort; The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, Where cither sex is form'd of softer earth, To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose : And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth: The fauning wind and purling streams, conThere liv'da Cyprian Tord, above the rest

tinue her repose. Wise, wealty, with a numu'rous issuc blest: The foot of nature stood with stupid eyes, But, as no gift of fortune is sincere,

And gaping mouth that testified surprise, Was only wanting in a worthy heir.

Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, His eldest born, a godly youth to view, New as he was to love, and novice to delight : Excell'd the rest in shape and outward shew; Long mute he stood, and, leaning on his staff, Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join'd, His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh ; But of a heavy, dull, degen'rate mind. Then would have spoke, but by his glimm'ring His soul belied the features of his face ; Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace : First found his wantof words, and fear'd offence; A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound, Doubted for what he was he should be known, And stupid eyes that ever lov’d the ground. By his clown accent, and his country tone. He look'd like nature's error; as the mind Thro' the rude chaos thus the ruining light And body were not of a piece design’d, (join'd. Shot the first ray that pierc'd the native light: But inade for twy, and by mistake in one were. Theu day and darkness in the mass were mix'd,

The ruling rod, the father's forming care, Till gather'd in a globe the beains were fix'd : Were exercis'd in vain on wit's despair ; Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere, The more inform'd, the less he understood ; Illumin'd heaven and earth, and rollid around And deeper sunk by found'ring in the mud. So reason in this brutal soul began, [the year. Now scorn'd of all,and grown the public shame, Love made him first suspect he was a man; The people from Galesus chang’d his name,

Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound; And Cynon callid, which signifies a brute ; By love his want of words and wit he found; So well his name did with his nature suit. That sense of want prepar'd the future way

His father, when he found his labor lost, To knowledge, and disclos'd the promise of a day, And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost, What not his father's care, nor tuior's art, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, Could plant with pains in his unpolished heart, And loatlıd to see what nature made him love; The best instructor, love, at once inspir’d, So to his country farm the fool confin’d: As barren grounds to fruitfulness are hrid: Rude work well suited to a rustic mind. Love taught him shame ; and shame, with love Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymnon went, Soon taught the sweet civilities of life; [at strife, A 'equire anyong the swains, and pleas'd with His gross material soul at once could find banishment.

Somewhat in her excelling all her kind : His corn and cattle were his only care, Exciting a desire till then mknown; And his supreme delight a country fair. Somewhat unfounil, or found in her alone :

It happen'd on a sunmmer's holiday, This made the first impression on his mind, That to the green-wood shade he took his way; Above, but just above, the brutal kind.: For Cymon shunn'd the church, and us'd not For beasts can like, but not distingnish too, much to pray..

Nor their own liking by reflection know;
His quarter-statt, which he could ne'er forsake, Nor why they like or this or t’other face,
Hung half before, and half behind his back, Or judge of this or that peculiar grace;
He trudg'd along, auknowing what he sought, But love in gross, and stupidly admire :
And whistled as he went for want of thought. As Aies allur'd by light, approach the fire.

By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd, Thus our man-beast, advancin:: by degrees,
The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd ; First likes the whole, then separates what he secs :
Where, in a plain defended by the wood, On sev'ral parts a sev'ral praise bestows :
Crept thro' the matted grass a crystal food, The ruby lips, the well proportion'd nose,
By which an alabaster fountain 'stood : The snowy skin and raven-glossy hair,
And on the margin of the fount was laid The dimpled cheek, and forehead rising fair,
(Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. And ev'n in sleep itself, a smiling air.
Like Dian and her nymphs, when tir’d with From thence his eyes descending view'd the rest,

Her plump round arms, white hands, and hearTo rest by cool Eurotas they resort:

ing breast. Toe dame herself the goddess well express'd, Long on the last he dwelt, though every part Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest, A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart.



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