Written in the year 1731.
TWO college-fophs of Cambridge growth,
Both fpecial wits, and lovers both,
Conferring as they us'd to meet
On love, and books, in rapture fweet;
(Mufe, find me names to fit my metre,
Caffinus this, and t'other Peter).
Friend Peter to Caffinus goes,
To chat a while, and warm his nose.
But fuch a fight was never feen,
The lad lay fwallow'd up in fpleen.
He feem'd as juft crept out of bed;
One greafy stocking round his head,
The other he fat down to darn
With threads of diff'rent-colour'd yarn ;
His breeches torn, expofing wide
A ragged fhirt and tawny hide.
Scorch'd were his thins, his legs were bare,
But well embrown'd with dirt and hair.
A rug was o'er his fhoulders thrown;
A rug; for nightgown he had none.
His jordan ftood in manner fitting
Between his legs to fpue or fpit in,
His ancient pipe in fable dy'd,
And half unfmok'd lay by his fide.
Him thus accoutred Peter found,
With eyes in fmoke and weeping drown'd :
The leavings of his laft night's pot
On embers place'd to drink it hot.
Why, Caffy, thou wilt dofe thy pate :
What makes thee lie abed fo late?
The finch, the linnet, and the thrush,
Their mattins chant in ev'ry bush :
And I have heard thee oft falute
Aurora with thy early flute.
Heav'n fend thou haft not got the hyps!
How! not a word come from thy lips?
Then gave him fome familiar thumps; A college-joke to cure the dumps.
The fwain at laft, with grief oppreft, Cry'd "Celia!" thrice, and figh'd the reft.
Dear Caffy, though to afk I dread,
Yet afk I muft: Is Celia dead?
How happy I, were that the worst? But I was fated to be curft.
Come, tell us, has the play'd the whore?
Oh Peter, would it were no more!
Why, plague confound her fandy locks:
Say, has the fmall or greater pox
Sunk down her nofe, or feam'd her face?
Be eafy, 'tis a common case.
O Peter! beauty's but a varnish,
Which time and accidents will tarnish:
But Celia has contriv'd to blast
Those beauties that might ever laft.
Nor can imagination guefs,
Nor eloquence divine exprefs,
How that ungrateful charming maid
My pureft paffion has betray'd.
Conceive the most invenom'd dart
To pierce an injur'd lover's heart.
Why, hang her; though fhe feem'd fo coy, I know fhe loves the barber's boy.
Friend Peter, this I could excufe;
For ev'ry nymph has leave to chufe;
Nor have I reafon to complain,
She loves a more deferving fwain.
But oh! how ill haft thou divin'd
A crime, that fhocks all human kind;
A deed unknown to female race,
At which the fun fhould hide his face;
Advice in vain you would apply-
Then leave me to despair and die.
Ye kind Arcadians, on my urn
Thefe elegies and fonnets burn;
And on the marble grave these rhymes,
A monument to after times :
"Here Caffy lies, by Celia flain,
"And dying never told his pain."
Vain empty world, farewell. But hark,
The loud Cerberian triple bark.
And there-behold Alecto ftand,
A whip of fcorpions in her hand.
Lo, Charon from his leaky wherry
Beck'ning to waft me o'er the ferry.
I come, I come,- Medufa! fee,
Her ferpents hifs direct at me.
Begone; unhand me, hellish fry :
Avaunt -ye cannot say 'tis I.
Dear Caffy, thou must purge and bleed; I fear thou wilt be mad indeed.
But now, by friendship's facred laws
I here conjure thee, tell the caufe;
And Celia's horrid fact relate:
Thy friend would gladly fhare thy fate.
To force it out my heart muft rend :
Yet when conjur'd by fuch a friend —
Think, Peter, how my foul is rackt!
Thefe eyes, thefe eyes beheld the fact.
Now bend thine ear fince out it must;
But when thou feeft me laid in dust,
The fecret thou fhalt ne'er impart,
Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart;
(How would her virgin-foul bemoan
A crime to all her fex unknown!)
Nor whisper to the tattling reeds
The blackeft of all female deeds;
Nor blab it on the lonely rocks,
Where Echo fits, and lift'ning mocks;
Nor let the zephyrs' treach'rous gale
Thro' Cambridge waft the direful tale;
Nor to the chatt'ring feather'd race
Difcover Celia's foul difgrace.
But if you fail, my spectre dread
Attending nightly round your bed:
And yet I dare confide in you;
So take my fecret, and adieu.
See the lady's dreffing room, above, p. 147. v. 118.
To a friend who had been much abused in many inveterate libels +.
THE greateft monarch may be ftabb'd by night,
And fortune help the murd'rer in his flight
The vileft ruffian may commit a rape,
Yet fafe from injur'd innocence escape:
And calumny, by working under ground,
Can, unreveng'd, the greatcft merit wound.
What's to be done? fhall wit and learning chufe
To live obfcure, and have no fame to lofe?
By cenfure frighted out of Honour's road,
Nor dare to use the gifts by heav'n bestow'd;
Or fearless enter in through Virtue's gate,
And buy distinction at the dearest rate?
The LOGICIANS refuted.
Ogicians have but ill defin'd,
As rational, the human kind; Reason, they fay, belongs to man; But let them prove it if they can. Wife Ariftotle and Smiglefius,
By ratiocinations fpecious,
Have ftrove to prove with great precision,
With definition and divifion,
Homo eft ratione præditum ;
But for my foul I cannot credit 'em ;
This and the following poem, both unqueftior ably genuine, were
never inferted in any former edition of the Dean's works.
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