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TO FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 245 And cannot go asunder:

For all those pretty knacks you compose, But while the wicked starve, indeed

Alas, what are they but poems in prose ? The saints have ready at their need

And between those and ours there's no difference, God's providence, and plunder.

But that yours want the ryme, the wit, and the

sense : Princes we are if we prevail,

But for lying (the most noble part of a poet) And gallant villains if we fail :

You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it : When to our fame 'tis told,

And though you are modest and seem to abhor it, It will not be our least of praise,

'T has done you good service, and thank Hell Since a new state we could not raise.

for it: To have destroy'd the old.

Although the old maxim remains still in force,

That a sanctify'd cause must have a sanctify'd Then let us stay and fight, and vote,

If poverty be a part of our trade, [course, Till London is not worth a groat;

So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, Oh'tis a patient beast!.

Nay even so far as undoing will do it, When we have gallid and tir'd the mule,

You have made king Charles himself a poct : And can no longer have the rule,

But provoke not his Muse, for all the world We'll have the spoil at least.

knows,

Already you have had too much of his prose.
TO THE FIVE MEMBERS
OF THE

A WESTEᎡᎳ Ꮃ0ᎳDᎬᎡ.
HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS, | Do you not know not a fortnight ago,
TAE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS. How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder ?

When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men, After so many concurring petitions

| With the help of lightning and thunder?
From all ages and sexes, and all conditions,
We come in the rear to present our follies | There Hopton was slain again and again,
To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden, and Or else my author did lye ;

[living, Holles.

With a new Thanksgiving, for the dead who are Though set form of prayer be an abomination, To God, and his servant Chidleigh. Set forms of petitions find great approbation : Therefore, as others from th’ bottom of their But now on which side was this miracle try'd, souls,

I hope we at last are even ;

(graves, So we from the depth and bottom of our bowls, For sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their According unto the bless'd form you havetaught! To cudgel the clowns of Devon.

us, Wethank you first for the ills you have broughtus: | And there Stamford came, for his honour was For the good we receive we thank him that gave Of the gout three months together ; [lame And you for the confidence only to crave it. Sit, But it prov'd when they fought, but a running Next in course, we complain of the great viola

For his heels were lighter than ever. (gout Of privilege (like the rest of our nation); [tion But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken,

For now he outruns his arms and his guns, Which never had being until they were broken ;

And leaves all his money behind him ; But ours is a privilege ancient and native,

But they follow after; unless he takes water,
Hangs not on an ordinance, or power legislative.

At Plymouth again they will find him.
And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please,
Without fear of a prison or pursuivant's fees.

| What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hatń Next, that we only may lye by authority;

Goes deep in the sequestrations ! [lost, But in that also you have got the priority.

These wounds will not heal, with your new great Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it

Nor Jepson's declarations.

(seal.
Poetical licence, and always did claim it. Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace
By this we have power to change age into youth, Remember the new Thanksgiving;
Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth; Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life,
In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty;

Or shortly you'll dig for your living.
This art some poet, or the Devil, has taught ye:
And this our property you have invaded,
And a privilege of both houses have made it.

A SECOND WESTERN WONDER.
But that trust above all in poets reposed,
That kings by them only are made and deposed, You heard of that wonder, of the lightning and
This though you cannot do, yet you are willing :

thunder, But when we undertake deposing or killing,

Which made the lye so much the louder : They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the Now list to another, that miracle's brother, poet

Which was done with a firkin of powder.
Takes full revenge on the villains that do it :
And when we resume a sceptre or crown,

0.what a damp it struck through the camp !
We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. But as for honest sir Ralph,
But is 't not presumption to write verses to you, It blew him to the Vies, without beard or eyes,
Who make better poems by far of the two? ' But at least three heads and a half

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When out came the book wbich the news-monger | But, alas ! he had been feasted

From the preaching ladies letter, Ttook | With a spiritual collation, Where, in the first place, stood the Conqueror's By our frugal mayor, Which made it show much the better. [face, Who can dine on a prayer,

And sup on an exhortation. But now without lying, you may paint him flying,

At Bristol they say you may find him, 'Twas mere impulse of spirit, Great William the Con, so fast he did run, Though he us’d the weapon carnal: That he left half his name behind him.

“Filly foal,” quoth he,

“ My bride thou shalt be, And now came the post, save all that was lost, | And how this is lawful, learn all.

But alas, we are past deceiving
By a trick so stale, or else such a tale

“ For if no respect of persons Might amount to a new Thanksgiving.

Be due 'mongst sons of Adam,

In a large extent,
This made Mr. Case, with a pitiful face,

Thereby may be meant
In the pulpit to fall a weeping,

That a mare 's as good as a madam.”,
Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell froin his
Which kept the lord-mayor from sleeping:

Then without more ceremony,

Not bonnet vail'd, nor kiss'd her, Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops,

But took her by force,

For better for worse, For the laws, not your cause, you that loath

| And us'd her like a sister. Lest Essex should start, and play the second part Now when in such a saddle Of the worshipful sir John Hotham.

A saint will needs be riding,

Though we dare not say

"l'is a falling away, NEWS FROM COLCHESTER :

May there be not some back-sliding? Or, A proper New Ballad of certain Carnal Pas

“No surely," quoth James Naylor, sages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsly,

“ 'Twas but an insurrection near Colchester, in Essex.

Of the carnal part,

For a Quaker in heart
To the tune of Tom of Bedlam.

| Can never lose perfection. All in the land of Essex,

For (as our masters' teach us) Near Colchester the zealous,

The intent being well directed,
On the side of a bank,

Though the Devil trepan
Was play'd such a prank,

The Adamical man,
As would make a stone-horse jealous.

The saint stands uninfected." Help Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,

But alas ! a Pagan jury
For brother Green 's a stallion :

Ne'er judges what's intended;
Now, alas, what hope

Then say what we can,
Of converting the Pope,

Brother Green's outward man
When a Quaker turns Italian:

I fear will be suspended. Even to our whole profession

And our adopted sister
A scandal 'twill be counted,

Will find no better quarter,
When 'tis talk'd with disdain,

But when him we enrol
Amongst the profane,

for a saint, Filly Foal How brother Green was inounted.

Shall pass herself for a martyr.
And in the good time of Christmas,
Which though our saints have damn'd all, Rome, that spiritual Sodom,
Yet when did they hear

No longer is thy debtor,
That a damn'd cavalier

O Colchester, now
E’er play'd such a Christmas gambal!

Who's Sodom but thou,

Even according to the letter?
Had thy flesh, () Green, been pamper'd
With any cates unhallow'd,

Bacist thou sweeten'd thy gums
With pottage of plums,

A SONG
Or profane minc'd pye hadst swallow'd : | Morpheus, the humble god, that dwells

In cottages and smoaky cells, Roll'd up in wanton swine's flesh,

Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; The fiend might have crep into thee;

And though he fears no prince's frown, Then fullness of gut

Flies from the circle of a crown.
Might bave caus'd thee to rut,
And the Devil have so rid through thee.

s The Jesuits.

fire,

Come, I say, thou powerful god,

| But what in them is want of art or voice, And thy leaden charming rod,

In thee is either modesty or choice. Dipt in the Lethéan lake,

While this great piece, restor'd by thee, doth O'er his wakeful temples shake,

stand Lest he should sleep, and never wake.

Free from the blemish of an artless hand,

Secure of fame, thou justly dost esteem Nature (alas !) why art thou so

Less honour to create, than to redeem. Obliged to thy greatest foe?

Nor ought a genius less than his that writ, Sleep that is thy best repast,

Attempt translation ; for transplanted wit, Yet of death it bears a taste,

All the defects of air and soil doth share,
And both are the same thing at last.

And colder brains like colder climates are ;
In vain they toil, since nothing can beget

A vital spirit but a vital heat.
ON

That servile path thou nobly dost decline MR. JOHN FLETCHER'S WORKS. Of tracing word by word, and line by line.

Those are the labour'd births of slavish brains, So shall we joy, when all whom beasts and worms Not the effect of poetry, but pains ; Have turn'd to their own substances and forms: Cheap vulgar arts, whose narrowness affords Whom earth to earth, or fire hath chang'd to No flight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at

words. We shall behold more than at first entire ; | A new and nobler way thou dost pursue As now we do, to see all thine thy own

To make translations and translators too. In this my Muse's resurrection,

They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame, Whose scatter'd parts from thy own race, more True to his sense, but truer to his fame. wounds

Fording his current, where thou find'st it low, Hath suffer'd, than Acteon from his hounds; Let'st in thine own to make it rise and Row ; Which first their brains, and then their belly | Wisely restoring whatsoever grace fed,

It lost by change of !imes, or tongues, or place, And from their excrements new poets bred. Nor fetter'd to bis numbers and his times, But now thy Muse enraged, from her urn, Betray'st his music to unhappy rhymes. Like ghosts of murder'd bodies, does return Nor are the nerves of his compacted strength T'accuse the murderers, to right the stage, Stretch'd and dissolv'd into unsinew'd length: And undeceive the long-abused age,

Yet after all, (lest we should think it thine) Which casts thy praise on them, to whom thy Thy spirit to his circle dost confine. wit

New names, new dressings, and the modern cast, Gives not more gold than they give dross to it: Some scenes, some persons alter'd, and out. Who, not content, like felons, to purloin,

fac'd

(known Add treason to it, and debase the coin.

The world, it were thy work: for we have But whither am I stray'd ? I need not raise Some thank'd and prais'd for what was less their Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise;

own. Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built,

That master's hand which to the life can trace Nor need thy juster title the foul guilt

The airs, the lines, and features of the face,
Of eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, May with a free and bolder stroke express
Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain. | A varv'd posture or a flattering dress :
Then was Wit's empire at the fatal height, | He could have made those like, who made the
When labouring and sinking with its weight,

rest,
From thence a thousand lesser poets sprung, But that he knew his own design was best.
Like petty princes from the fall of Rome;
When Jonson, Shakespeare, and thyself did sit,
And sway'd in the triumvirate of wii-
Yet what from Jonson's oil and sweat did flow,

A DIALOGUE
Or what more easy Nature did bestow
On Shakespeare's gentler Muse, in thee full

BETWEEN
; grown

SIR JOIN POOLEY
Their graces both appear, yet so that none
Can say, here Nature ends, and Art begins,

AND
But mixt like th' elements, and born like twins,

MR. THOMAS KILLIGREW. So interwove, so like, so much the same, None, this mere Nature, that mere Art can name:

POOL To thee dear Tom, myself addressing, 'Twas this the ancients meant ; Nature and Skill Are the two tops of their Parnassus' hill.

Most queremoniously confessing,
That I of late have been compressing.

TO SIR RICHARD FANSHAW,
UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF

PASTOR FIDO.
Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate,
That few but such as cannot write, translate,

Destitute of my wonted gravity,
I perpetrated arts of pravity,
In a contagions concavity.
Making efforts with all my puissance,
For some venereal rejouissance,
I got (as once may say) a nuysance.

ner th

KIL. Come leare this fooling, cousin Pooley, Two kings like Saul, much taller than the rest,
And in plain English tell us truly

Their equal armies draw into the field:
Why under th' eyes you look so bluely? | Till one ta

ney contest:

Courage and fortune must to conduct yield.
'Tis not vour hard words will avail you, | This game the Persian Magi did invent,
Your Latin and your Greek will fail | The force of Eastern wisdom to express;
you,

From thence to busy Europeans sent,
Till you speak plainly what doth ail you.

And styl'd by modern Lombards pensive Chess.

Yet some that fled from Troy to Rome report, When young, you led a life monastic,

| Penthesilea Priam did oblige ; And wore a vest ecclesiastic;

Her Amazons, his Trojans taught this sport, Now in your age you grow fantastic.

To pass the tedious hours of ten years' siege. Pool. Without more preface or formality, There she presents herself, whilst kings and A female of inalignant quality

peers Set fire on label of mortality.

Look gravely on whilst flerce Bellona fights;

Yet maiden modesty her motion steers,
The fieces of which ulceration

Nor rudely skips o'er bishops' heads like
Brought o’er the helm a distillation,

knights.
Through th' instrument of propagation.
KIL Then, consin, (as I guess the matter)
You have been an old fornicator,

THE
And now are shot 'twixt wind and water. | PASSION OF DIDO FOR ANEAS.
Your style has such an ill complexion, I

Having at large declar'd Jove's embassy,
That from your breath I fear infection,

Cyllenius from Æneas straight doth fly :
That even your mouth needs an injec-

He loth to disobey the god's command,
t.on.

Nor willing to forsake this pleasant land,
You that were once so economic,

Asham'd the kind Eliza to deceive,
Quitting the thritir style laconic,

But more afraid to take a solemn leave;
Turn prodigal in makeronic.

He many ways his labouring thoughts revolves,

But fear o'ercoming shame at last resolves
Yet be of comfort, I shall send-a

(Instructed by the god of thieves 1) to steal Person of knowledge, who can mend-a Himself away, and his esca pe conceal. Disaster in your wether end-a

He calls his captains, bids them rig the fleet,

| That at the port they privately should meet; Hut vou that are a man of learning, And some disembled colour to project, So read in Virgil, so discerning, | That Dido should not their design suspect : Methinks towards fifty should take But all in vain he did his plot disguise; warning.

No art a watchful lover can surprise.

She the first motion finds; love though most Once in a pit, rou did ' miscarry,

Yet always to itself seems unsecure. [sure, That danger might have made one wary That wicked fame which their first love proThis pit is deeper than the quarry.

claim'd, 'Pool. Give me not such disconsolation,

Foretells the end; the queen with rage inflam'd Having now cur'd my inflammation,

Thus greets him: “Thou dissembler, would'st thou To ulcerate my reputation.

Out of my arms by stealth perfidiously? (dy

Could not the hand I plighted, nor the love,
Though it may gain the ladies' favour, Nor thee the fate of dying Dido move ?
Yet it may raise an evil savour

And in the depth of winter, in the night,
l'pon all grave and staid behav'our. Dark as thy black designs to take thy flight,

To plow the raging seas to coasts unknown, And I will rub my mater pia,

The kingdom thou pretend'st to, not thy own ! To find a rhyme to gonorrheia,

Were Troy restor'd thou should'st mistrust a Aud put it in my Litania.

wind False as thy vows, and as thy heart unkind.

Fly'st thou from me ? By these dear drops of AN OCCASIONAL IMITATION

brine OF A MODERN AUTHOR UPON THE

I thee adjure, by that right hand of thine,

By our espousals, by our marriage-bed,
GAME OF CHESS.

If all my kindness aught have merited;
A TABLET stood of that abstersive tree, [nest,

If ever I stood fair in thy esteem, There Æthiop's swarthy biru did build her

From ruin me and my lost house redeem, Inlaid it was with Lybian ivory,

Cannot my prayers a free acceptance find, Drawn from the jaws of Afric's prudent

Nor my tears soften an obdurate mind? beast.

My fame of chastity, by which the skies

I reach'd before, by thee extinguish'd dies, 1 Hunting near Paris, he and his horse fell into a quarry.

1 Mercury

Into my horders now Iarbus falls,

Dl follow thee in funeral flames, when dead And my revengeful brother scales my walls; My ghost shall thee attend at board and bed, The wild Numidians will advantage take, | And when the gods on thee their vengeance For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake.

show, Hadst thou before thy flight but left with me That welcome news shall comfort me below." A young Æneas, who, resembling thee,

This saying, from his hated sight she tied, Might in my sight have sported, I had then Conducted by her dainsels to her bed ; Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been;

Yet restless she arose, and, looking out, By thee, no more my husband, but my guest, Beholds the fleet and hears the seamen shout, Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death's the When great Æneas pass'd before the guard, least.

To make a view how all things were prepard. With fixed looks he stands, and in his breast Ab, cruel Love, to what dost thou inforce By Jove's command, his struggling care sup- | Poor mortal breasts ! Again she bath recourse prest.

To tears and prayers, again she feels the smart “ Great queen, your favours and desert so great, Of a fresh wound from his tyrannic dart. Though numberless, I never shall forget;

That she no ways por means may leave untry'd, No time, until myself I have forgot,

Thus to her sister she herself apply'd;
Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot : “ Dear sister, iny resentment had no: been
But my unwilling flight the gods inforce,

So moving, if this fate I had foreseen ;
And that must justify our sad divorce.

Therefore to me this last kind office do, Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit, Thou hast some interest in our scornful foe, To my desires I might my fortune fit;

Ile trusts to thee the counsels of his mind, Troy to her ancient splendour I would raise, Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find; And where I first began, would end my days. Tell him I sent not to the Ilian coast But since the Lycian lots, and Delphic god My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father's ghost Hare destin'd Italy for our abode;

I never did disturb; ask him to lend Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) To this, the last request that I shall send, enjoy,

A gentle ear; I wish that he may finit Why should not Latium us receive from A happy passage, and a prosperous wind. Troy?

The contract I don't plead, which he betray'd, As for my son, my father's angry ghost

Nor that his promis'd conquest be delay'd; Tells me his hopes by my delays are crost,

All that I ask is but a short reprieve, And mighty Jove's ambassador appeard

Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve; With the same message, whom I saw and Some pause and respite only I require, heard ;

Till with my tears I shall have quench'd my fire, We both are griev'd when you or I complain, If thy address can but obtain one day But inuch the more when all complaints are Or two, my death that service shall repay.” vain:

Thus she entreats ; such messages with tears I call to witness all the gods, and thy .

Condoling Anne to him, and from him, bears, Beloved head, the coast of Italy

But him no prayers, nor arguments can move; Against my will I seek.”

seves, 1 The Fates resist, his ears are stopt by Jove. Whilst thus he speaks, she rolls her sparkling As when fierce northern blasts from th' Alps Surveys him round, and thus incens'd replies;

descend, “ Thy mother was no goddess, nor thy stock From his firm roots with struggling gusts to From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,

Anaged sturdy oak, the rattling sound [rend Perfidious wretch, rough Caucasus thee bred, Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the And with their milk Hyrcanian tigers fed. Is over-laid; yet he stands fixt, as high [ground Dissimulation I shall now forget, 1

As his proud head is rais'd towards the sky, And my reserves of rage in order set,

So low towards Hell his roots descend. With Could all my prayers and soft entreaties force

prayers Sighs from his breast, or from his look remorse. And tears the hero thus assail'd, great cares Where shall I first complain! can mighty Jove He smothers in his breast, yet keeps his post, Or Juno such impieties approve?

All their addresses and their labour lost. The just Astræa sure is fled to Hell ;

Then she deceives her sis: er with a smile: Nor more in Earth, nor Heaven itself will dwell. | “Anne, in the inner court erect a pile; Oh Faith! him on my coasts by tempest cast, | Thereon his arms and once-lov'd portrait lay. Receiving madly, on my throne I plac'd; | Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey ; His men from famine, and his fleet from fire | All cursed monuments of him with fire I rescued: Now the Lycian lots conspire

We must abolish (so the gods require.") With Phæbus; now Jove's envoy though the She gives her credit for no worse effect air

Than from Sichæus' death she did suspect, Brings dismal tidings; as if such low care

And her commands obers. Could reach their thoughts, or their repose dis Aurora now had left Titbonus' bed, turb!

And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread; Thou art a false impostor, and a fourbe;

The queen beheld, as soon as day appear'd, Go, go, pursue thy kingdom through the main, The navy under sail, the haven clear'd; I hope, if Heaven her justice still retain,

Thrice with her hand hor naked breast she Thou shalt be wreck'u, or cast upon some rock,

knocks, Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke: And from her forehead tears her golden locks.

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