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But, when 'tis fettled on the lee,
And from th' impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer ftill the older,
And proves the pleafanter the colder.

THE motions of the earth or fun, (The Lord knows which) that turn, or run, Are both perform'd by fits and starts, And fo are thole of lovers' hearts, Which, though they keep no even pace, Move true and conftant to one place.

LOVE is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to poffefs;
For, could it hold inviolate
Against thofe cruelties of Fate
Which all felicities below
By rigid laws are fubject to,
It would become a blifs too high
For perishing mortality,

Tranflate to earth the joys above;
For nothing goes to heaven but love.

ALL wild but generous creatures live, of courfe, As if they had ag eed for better or worse: The lion's conftant to his only mifs, And never leaves his faithful lionefs; And the as chafte and true to him again, As virtuous ladies ufe to be to men. The docile and ingenuous elephant, T'his own and only female is gallant; And the as true and conftant to his bed, That firft enjoy'd her fingle maidenhead; But paltry rams, and bulls, and goats, and boars, Are never fatisfy'd with new amours; As all poltroons with us delight to range, And, though but for the worst of all, to change.

THE fouls of women are fo fmall, That fome believe they 've none at all; Or if they have, like cripples, ftill They 've but one faculty, the will, The other two are quite laid by To make up one great tyranny; And, though their paffions have most power, They are, like Turks, but flaves the more To th' abfolute will, that with a breath Has fovereign power of life and death, And, as its little interefts move, Can turn them all to hate or love; For nothing, in a moment, turn To frantic love, difdain, and fcorn; And make that love degenerate T'as great extremity of hate, And hate again, and fcorn, and piques, To fames, and raptures, and love-tricks,

ALL forts of votaries, that profefs To bind themselves apprentices To Heaven, abjure, with folemn vows, Not Cut and long-tail, but a poufe, As th' worst of all impediments To hinder their devout inte

MOST virgins marry, just as nuns The fame thing the fame way renounce Before they 've wit to understand The bold attempt they take in hand; Or, having staid and lost their tides, Are out of feafon grown for brides.

THE credit of the marriage-bed Has been fo loosely husbanded, Men only deal for ready money, And women, feparate alimony; And ladies-errant, for debauching, Have better termis, and equal caution; And, for their journey-work and pains, The chair-women clear greater gains.

AS wine that with its own weight runs is beft, And counted much more noble than the preft;, So is that poetry whofe generous strains Flow without fervile ftudy, art, or pains.

SOME call it fury, fome a Mufe,

That, as poffefling devils ufe,
Haunts and for fakes a man by fits,
And when he's in, he's out of 's wits.

ALL writers, though of different fancies Do make all people in romances, That are diftrefs'd and discontent, Make fongs, and fing tau inftrument, And poets by their fufferings grow; As if there were no more to do, To make a poet excellent, But only want and difcontent.

IT is not poetry that makes men poor;
For few do write that were not fo before;
And thofe that have writ beft, had they been
rich,

Had ne'er been clapp'd with a poetic itch;
Had lov'd their eate too well to take the pains
To undergo that drudgery of brains;
But, being for all other trades unfit,
Only to avoid being idle, fet up wit.

THEY that do write in authors' praises,
And freely give their friends their voices,
Are not confin'd to what is true;
That's not to give, but pay a due;
For praife, that 's due, does gives no more
To worth than what it had before;
But to commend, without defert,
Requires a mastery of art,

That fets a glofs on what 's amifs,
And writes what fhould be, not what is

IN foreign universities,

When a king's born, or weds, or dies,
Straight other ftudies are laid by,
And all apply to poetry:

Some write in Hebrew, fome in Greek,
And fome, more wife, in Arabic,
T' avoid the critic, and th' expence
Of difficulter wit and fenfe;

And feem more learnedish thon those
That at a greater charge compose.
The doctors lead, the ftudents follow;
Some call him Mars, and fome Apollo,
Some Jupiter, and give him th' odds,
On even terms, of all the gods;
Then Cæfar he 's nicknam'd, as duly as
He that in Rome was chriften'd Julius,
And was addreis'd to, by a crow,
As pertinently, long ago;

And, as wit goes by colleges,

As well as ftanding and degrees,

He still writes better than the rest,

That 's of the house that 's counted beft.

FAR greater numbers have been loft by hopes,
Than all the magazines of daggers, ropes,
And other ammunitions of defpair,
Were ever able to dispatch by fear.

THERE's nothing our felicities endears

Like that which falls among our doubts and fears,

And in the miserablest of diftress
Improves attempts as defperate with fuccefs;
Succefs, that owns and juftifies all quarrels,
And vindicates deferts of hemp with laurels ;
Or, but mifcarrying in the bold attempt,
Turns wreaths of laurel back again to hemp.

THE people have as much a negative voice
To hinder making war without their choice,
As kings of making laws in parliament;
"No money" is as good as "No affent."

WHEN princes idly lead about,
Thofe of their party follow fuit,
Till others trump upon their play,
And turn the cards another way.

WHAT makes all fubjects difcontent
Against a prince's government,
And princes take as great offence
At fubjects' difobedience,

That neither th' other can abide,
But too much reafon on each fide?

AUTHORITY is a difeafe and cure,
Which men can neither want nor well endure.

DAME Juftice puts her fword into the fcales,
With which the 's faid to weigh out true and falfe,
With no design but, like the antique Gaul,
To get more money from the capital.

ALL that which law and equity mifcalls
By th' empty idle names of True and Falfe,
Is nothing else but maggots blown between
Falfe witneffes and falfer jurymen.

NO court allows those partial interlopers
Of Law and Equity, two fingle paupers,
T'encounter hand to hand at bars, and trounce
Bach other gratis in a fuit at ones;

For one at one time, and upon tree coft, is
Enough to play the knave and fool with justice
And, when the one fide bringeth custom in,
And th' other lays out half the reckoning,
The devil himself will rather chufe to play
At paltry small-game than fit out, they fay;
But when at all there's nothing to be got,
The old wife, Law and Juftice, will not trot

THE law that makes more knaves than e'er t
Little confiders right or wrong;
But, like authority, 's foon fatisfy'd
When 'tis to judge on its own fide.

THE law can take a purfe in open court,
Whilft it condemns a lefs delinquent for 't.

WHO can deserve, for breaking of the law
A greater penance than an honeft caufe?

ALL those that do but rob and steal enough,
And, need not fear, nor be concern'd a ftraw,
Are punishment and court of justice proof,
In all the idle bugbears of the law;
But confidently rob the gallows too,
As well as other fufferers, of their due.

OLD laws have not been suffer'd to be pointed
To leave the fenfe at large the more disjointed,
And furnish lawyers, with the greater eafe,
To turn and wind them any way they please.
The Statute Law 's their Scripture, and Reports
The ancient reverend fathers of their courts;
Records their general councils, and Decifions
Of judges on the bench their fole traditions,
For which, like Catholics, they 've greater aw
As th' arbitrary and unwritten law,
And ftrive perpetually to make the ftandard
Of right between the tenant and the landlord;
And, when two cafes at a trial meet,
That, like indentures, jump exactly fit,
And all the points, like Chequer-tallies, fuit,
The Court directs the obftinat'st dispute;
There's no decorum us'd of time, nor places
Nor quality, nor perfon, in the cafe.

A MAN of quick and active wit
For drudgery is more unfit,
Compar'd to those of duller parts,
Than running-nags to draw in carte..

TOO much or too little wit
Do only render th' owners fit
For nothing, but to be undone
Much easier than if they 'ad none.

AS those that are stark blind can trace
The nearest ways from place to place,
And find the right way eafier out,
Than thofe that hood-wink'd try to do 't
So tricks of itate are manag'd beft
By those that are fufpected least,
And greatest finesse brought abou
By engines molt unlike to de 't,

ALL

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ALL the politics of the great
Are like the cunning of a cheat,
That lets his falfe dice freely run,
And trufts them to themselves alone,
But never lets a true one stir

Without fome fingering trick or flur ;
And, when the gamesters doubt his play,
Conveys his falfe dice safe away,
And leaves the true ones in the lurch,
T'endure the torture of the search.

WHAT elfe does history use to tell us,
But tales of fubjects being rebellious;
The vain perfidiousness of lords,
And fatal breach of princes' words
To fottish pride and infolence

Of ftatefmen, and their want of fenfe;
Their treachery, that undoes, of custom,

Their own selves firft, next those who trust them!

BECAUSE a feeble limb 's careft,
And more indulg'd than all the rest,
So frail and tender confciences

Are humour'd to do what they please ;
When that which goes for weak and feeble
Is found the most incorrigible,
To outdo all the fiends in hell

With rapine, murther, blood, and zeal.

AS at th' approach of winter all
The leaves of great trees ufe to fall,
And leave them naked to engage
With ftorms and tempefts when they rage;
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the year:
So, when the glorious feafon 's gone
With great men, and hard times come on,
The great'ft calamities opprefs
The greatest still, and spare the lefs.

AS when a greedy raven fees
A fheep entangled by the fleece,
With hafty cruelty he flies
T'attack him, and pick out his eyes j
So do thofe vultures ufe, that keep
Poor prifoners faft like filly fheep,
As greedily to prey on all

THE Roman Mufti, with his triple crown, Does both the earth, and hell, and heaven, own, Befide th' imaginary territory,

That in their ravenous clutches fall: For thorns and brambles, that came in To wait upon the curfe for fin, And were no part o' th' first creation, But, for revenge, a new plantation, Are yet the fitt'ft materials T'enclose the earth with living walls. So jailors, that are most accurft, Are found most fit in being worst. THERE needs no other charm, nor conjurer, To raise infernal spirits up, but fear; That makes men pull their horns in like a snail, That's both a prifoner to itfelf, and jail; Draws more fantastic fhapes than in the grains Of knotted wood in fome men's crazy brains, When all the cocks they think they fee, and bulls, Are only in the infides of their fculls.

VOL. II,

He lays a title to in Purgatory;

Declares himself an abfolute free prince
In his dominions, only over fins;
But as for heaven, fince it lies fo far
Above him, is but only titular,

And, like his Crofs-keys badge upon a tavern,
Has nothing there to tempt, command, or go-

vern:

Yet, when he comes to the accompt, and thare The profit of his proftituted ware,

He finds his gains increase, by fin and women, Above his richest titular dominion.

A JUBILEE is but a fpiritual fair T'expofe to fale all forts of impious ware, In which his Holiness buys nothing in, To ftock his magazines, but deadly fin, And deals in extraordinary crimes, That are not vendible at other times; For, dealing both for Judas and th' high-prieft, He makes a plentifuller trade of Christ.

THAT fpiritual pattern of the church, the ark,

In which the ancient world did once imbark, Had ne'er a helm in 't to direct its way, Although bound through an universal sea; When all the modern church of Rome's concern Is nothing elfe but in the helm and ftern.

IN the church of Rome to go to thrift,
Is but to put the foul on a clean shift.

AN afs will with his long ears fray,
The flies, that tickle him, away;
But man delights to have his ears
Blown maggots in by flatterers.

ALL wit does but divert men from the road
In which things vulgarly are understood,
And force Miftake and Ignorance to own
A better fenfe than commonly is known.

IN little trades, more cheats and lying
Are us'd in felling than in buying;
But in the great, unjufter dealing
Is us'd in buying than in felling.

ALL fmatterers are more brisk and pert
Than those that understand an art;
As little sparkles fhine more bright
Than glowing coals, that give them light.

LAW does not put the least restraint
Upon our freedom, but maintain 't;

Or, if it does, 'tis for our good,
To give us freer latitude:

For wholefome laws preferve us free,
By ftinting of our liberty.

THE world has long endeavoured to reduce Those things to practice that are of no ule;

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And ftrives to practise things of speculation,
And bring the practical to contemplation;
And by that error renders both in vain,
By forcing Nature's course against the grain.

IN all the world there is no vice
Lefs prone t' excess than avarice;
It neither cares for food nor cloathing:
Nature's content with little, that with nothing.

IN Rome no temple was fo low As that of Honour, built to fhow How humble honour ought to be, Though there 'twas all authority.

IT is a harder thing for men to rate Their own parts at an equal estimate, Than, caft up fractions, in th' accompt of heaven Of time and motion, and adjust them even; For modeft perfons never had a true Particular of all that is their due.

Found that his fceptre never was fo aw'd,
As when it was tranflated to a rod;
And that his fubjects ne'er were so obedient,
As when he was inaugurated pedant:
For to inftruct is greater than to rule,
And no command's fo imperious as a school,

AS he whofe destiny does prove
To dangle in the air above,
Does lofe his life for want of air,
That only fell to be his fhare;
So he whom Fate at once defign'd
To plenty and a wretched mind,
Is but condemn'd t' a rich distress,
And starves with niggardly excess.

THE univerfal medicine is a trick,
That Nature never meant, to cure the fick,
Unless by death, the fingular receipt,
To root out all difeafes by the great:
For univerfals deal in no one part
Of Nature, nor particulars of Art;

SOME people's fortunes, like a weft or ftray And therefore that French quack that fet upph

Are only gain'd by lofing of their way.

AS he that makes his mark is understood
To write his name, and 'tis in law as good;
So he that cannot write one word of fenfe,
Believes he has as legal a pretence
To fcribble what he does not understand,
As idiots have a title to their land.

WERE Tully now aliye, he'd be to seek
In all our Latin terms of art and Greek;
Would never understand one word of fenfe
The moft irrefragable fchoolman means:
As if the fchools defign'd their terms of art
Not to advance a science, but divert;
As Hocus Pocus conjures, to amuse
The rabble from obferving what he does.

AS 'tis a greater mystery, in the art
Of painting, to forefhorten any part
Than draw it out; fo 'tis in books the chief
Of all perfections to be plain and brief.

THE man that for his profit 's bought t' obey,
Is only hir'd, on liking, to betray;
And, when he 's bid a liberaller price,
Will not be fluggish in the work, nor nice.

OPINIATORS naturally differ
From other men; as wooden legs are ftiffer
Than thofe of pliant joints, to yield and bow,
Which way foe'er they are defign'd to go.

NAVIGATION, that withstood
The mortal fury of the Flood,
And prov'd the only means to fave
All earthly creatures from the wave,
Has, for it, taught the fea and wind
To lay a tribute on mankind,
That, by degrees, has fwallow'd more
Than all it drown'd at once before.

THE prince of Syracufe, whofe deftin'd fate It was to keep a fchool and rule a state,

Call'd his receipt a General Specific,
For, though in mortal poifons every one
Is mortal universally alone,

Yet Nature never made an antidote
To cure them all as eafy as they're got;
Much lefs, among fo many variations.
Of different maladies and complications,
Make all the contrarieties in Nature
Submit themselves t' an equal moderator.

A CONVERT 's but a fly, that turns about After his head 's pull'd off, to find it out.

ALL mankind is but a rabble,

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As filly and unreasonable
As thofe that, crowding in the street,
To fee a fhow or monfter, meet;
Of whom no one is in the right,
Yet all fall out about the fight;
And, when they chance t' agree, the choice &
Still in the moft and worst of vices;
And all the reasons that prevail

Are measur'd, not by weight, but tale.

AS in all great and crowded fairs Monsters and puppet-plays are wares, Which in the lefs will not go off, Because they have not money enough; So men in princes' courts will país, That will not in another place.

LOGICIANS ufe to clap a propofition, As juftices do criminals, in prifon, And, in as learn'd authentic nonsense writ, The names of all their moods and figures fit: For a logician's one that has been broke To ride and pace his reason by the book, And by their rules, and precepts, and examples, To put his wits into a kind of trammels.

THOSE get the least that take the greatest pain But most of all i' th' drudgery of brains; A natural fign of weakness, as an ant s more laborious than an elephant

And children are more busy at their play
han thofe that wifely'ft pafs their time away.

ALL the inventions that the world contains,
Here not by reason first found out, nor brains;
at pafs for theirs who had the luck to light
pon them by mistake or oversight,

TRIPLETS UPON AVARICE,

S mifers their own laws enjoin, To wear no pockets in the mine, rfear they thould the ore purloin; he that toils and labours hard gain, and what he gets has fpar'd, rom the ufe of all debarr'd."

d, though he can produce more spankers

in all the ufurers and bankers,
after more and more he hankers;

d, after all his pains are done,
nothing he can call his own,
a mere livelihood alone.

DESCRIPTION OF HOLLAND,
COUNTRY that draws fifty foot of water,
In which men live as in the hold of Nature,
I, when the fea does in upon them break,
I drowns a province, does but spring a leak;
it always ply the pump, and never think
y can be fafe, but at the rate they ftink;
live as if they had been run aground,

, when they die, are caft away and drown'd;
dwell in fhips, like fwarms of rats, and prey
n the goods all nations' fleets convey;
, when their merchants are blown-up, and
crackt,

le towns are caft away in storms, and wreckt;
tfeed, like Cannibals, on other fishes,
ferve their coufin-germans up in dishes :
nd that rides at anchor, and is moor'd
hich they do not live, but go aboard.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

not unjustly blame

My guiltless breast,

venturing to difclofe a flame had fo long fuppreft.

own ashes it defign'd rever to have lain;

hat my fighs, like blasts of wind, ade it break out again.

TO THE SAME.

O not mine affection flight,

Caufe my locks with age are white:

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HUDIBRAS'S ELEGY*,
'N days of yore, when knight or squire
By rate were, whmaker retifqu
Some menial poet ftill was near,

To bear them to the hemifphere,

And there among the ftars to leave them,
Until the gods fent to relieve them :

And fure our Knight, whofe very fight wou'd
Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood,
Should he neglected lie, and rot,
Stink in his grave, and be forgot,
Would have just reason to complain,
If he should chance to rife again;
And therefore, to prevent his dudgeon,
In mournful doggrel thus we trudge on.
Oh me! what tongue, what pen, can tell
How this renowned champion fell,
But must reflect, alas! alas!

All human glory fades like grafs,
And that the strongest martial feats
Witnefs our Knight, who fure has done
Of errant knights are all but cheats!
More valiant actions, ten to one,
Than of More-Hall the mighty More,
Or him that made the Dragon roar;
Has knock'd more men and women down
Than Bevis of Southampton town,
To take them fingly man by man.
Or than our modern heroes can,

Has been to blame, and in an error,
No, fure, the grifly King of terror
To feize a knight of so much worth,
To iffue his dead-warrant forth,
Juft in the nick of all his glory,
I tremble when I tell the story.

39

Oh! help me, help me, fome kind Muse,
This furly tyrant to abuse,

35

Who, in his rage, has been fo cruel

To rob the world of fuch a jewel!

A knight, more learned, ftout, and good,
Sure ne'er was made of flesh and blood:
All his perfections were fo rare,
The wit of man could not declare

* Neither this Elegy, nor the following Epitaph, is to be found in The Genuine Remains of Butler, as published by Mr. Thyer. Both how ever having frequently been reprinted in The Poftbumous Works of Samuel Butler; and as they, befides, relate particularly to the hero of his prin cipal poen; there needs no apology for their being thus preferved. "Some other of the posthumous poems would not have difgraced their fuppofed,

breafts have now without, and fnow within,author; but, as they are fo pofitively rejected by

flames of fire in your bright eyes are feen.

Mr. Thyer, we have not ventured to admi them. N.

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