They gave me generous Education, high They ftrove to raise my Mind, and with it grew their Joy. The Sages that inftructed me in Arts And Knowledge, oft would praise my Parts, My Fellow Pupils oft ftood mute: Their hearts from me, nor Pride diftemper mine. Nor any bitter cup did taft: But, oh! a deadly Potion came at last. [Head, A thousand pleasant thoughts triumphing in my } Was with my felf, I faw not who was nigh) (dead. Pierc'd through my Ears; Arife, thy good Senander's It fhook my Brain, and from their Feaft my frighted Senfes fled. IV. From thence fad Difcontent, uneafie Fears, The World was wide, but whither should I go? Where Fortune's general Game is play'd; A Converse equal to my Mind: But by raw Judgment eafily mif-led, (As giddy callow Boys Are very fond of Toys) I miss'd the brave and wife, and in their stead Gay Coxcombs,Cowards, Knaves, and pratingFools, Because to their lewd understandings fit) I grew in love with a deceitful Mufe. V. No fair Deceiver ever us'd fuch Charms, I fancy'd, or I dream'd, (as Poets always do) [Air, Upon her Head a Crown fhe bore Of Laurel, which fhe told me fhould be mine: And round her Ivory Neck fhe wore A Rope of largest Pearl. Each part of her did fhine With Jewels and with Gold, Numberless to be told; Which in Imagination as I did behold, And lov'd, and wonder'd more and more, } Said fhe, Thefe Riches all, my Darling, fhall be thine, Riches which never Poet had before. She promis'd me to raise my fortune and my name, By Royal Favour, and by endless Fame; But never told How hard they were to get, how difficult to hold. To her bewitching Bondage brought. Eternal Conftancy we swore, A thousand times our Vows were doubled o'er, And as we did in our Entrancements lie, I thought no Pleafure e'er was wrought fo high, VI. Ne'er was young Lover half fo fond You might the marks of our Endearments fee. You might on every Rind behold, and fwear Nay, by my Mufe too I was bleft } With Off-fprings of the choiceft kinds, Whence I look'd down and laugh'd at Fate, I round me look'd, and found my self alone: The more I ftrove, the more I fail'd. Ichaf'd,Ibit my Pen, curft my dullScull,and rail'd, Refolv'd to force m'untoward Thought, and at the laft prevail'd. A Line came forth, but fuch a one, No trav❜ling Matron in her Child-birth pains, Then I was at the hideous Iffue of my Brains. I tore my Paper, ftabb'd my Pen,And fwore I'd never write again, Refolv'd to be a doating Fool no more. But when my reck’ning I began to make, I found too long I'd flept, and was too late awake; I found m'ungrateful Muse, for whose false fake I did my felf undo, Had robb'd me of my deareft Store, My precious Time, my Friends, and Reputation too; And left me helpless, friendless, very proud, and poor. VII. Reason, which in base Bonds my Folly had enthrall'd, Like fome old faithful Friend, whom long ago How much himself he did abuse, Who credited a flattering, false, deftru&tive, treacheI ask'd the Caufes why. He faid, [rous Mufe. 'Twas never known a Mufe e'er ftaid When Fortune fled; for Fortune is a Bawd Keeps his choice Seraglio. So whilft our Fortune smiles, our Thoughts afpire, A promptness in the Mind, The Muse is always ready, always kind. But if th' old Harlot Fortune once denies Her favour, all our Pleasure and rich Fancy dies, And then th' young,flippery Jilt,theMufe too from us flies. } VIII. To the whole Tale I gave Attention due Was very honeft, very true. Oh how I hugg'd my welcome Friend! And much my Mufe I could not discommend; For I ne'er liv'd in Fortune's Grace, She always turn'd her back,and fled from me apace, And never once vouchfaf'd to let me fee her Face. Then to confirm me more, He drew the veil of Dotage from my Eyes: See here, my Son, (faid he) the valu'd Prize; Thy fulfome Mufe behold, be happy, and be wife. I look'd, and saw the rampant, tawdry Quean, With a more horrid Train Than ever yet to Satyr lent a Tale, Or haunted Chloris in the Mall. The first was he who ftunk of that rank Verfe Who a late Seffion of the Poets wrotę. And only in the dark he ftrays; [his days, Still Wretch enough to live,with worse Fools spends And for old Shoes and Scraps repeats dull Plays. Then next there follow'd, to make up the Throng, Lord Lampoon, and Monfieur Song, Who fought her love, and promis'd for't |