Besides, it spews a filthy froth
(Whether through rage or love, or both)
Of matter purulent and white,
Which, happening on the skin to light,
And there corrupting to a wound,
Spreads leprosy and baldness round.
So have I seen a batter'd beau,
By age and claps grown cold as snow,
Whose breath or touch, where'er he came,
Blew out love's torch, or chill'd the flame:
And should some nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or fam'd Du-Ruel,
Receive the filth which he ejects,
She soon would find the same effects,
Her tainted carcase to pursue,
As from the salamander's spew ;
A dismal shedding of her locks,
And, if no leprosy, a pox,
"Then I'll appeal to each by-stander,
If this be not a Salamander ?"
TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH,
WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES
MORDANTO fills the trump of fame,
The Christian worlds his deeds proclaim,
And prints are crowded with his name,
In journies he outrides the post,
Sits till midnight with his host,
Talks politics, and gives the toast.
Knows every prince in Europe's face, Flies like a squib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.
From Paris gazette a-la-main, This day arriv'd, without his train, Mordanto in a week from Spain.
A messenger comes all a-reek Mordanto at Madrid to seek; He left the town above a week.
Next day the postboy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.
Mordanto gallops on alone,
The roads are with his followers strown,
This breaks a girth, and that a bone;
His body active as his mind,
Returning sound in limb and wind,
Except some leather lost behind.
A skeleton in outward figure,
His meagre corpse, though full of vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.
So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition.
Shines in all climates like a star;
In senates bold, and fierce in war;
A land commander, and a tar:
Heroic actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,
But by his namesake Charles of Sweden.
queen has lately lost a part
Of her ENTIRELY-ENGLISH* heart,
For want of which, by way of botch,
She piec'd it up again with scoTCH.
Blest revolution! which creates
Divided hearts, united states!
See how the double nation lies,
Like a rich coat, with skirts of frize:
As if a man, in making posies,
Should bundle thistles up with roses.
Who ever yet a union saw
Of kingdoms without faith or law?
Henceforward let no statesman dare
A kingdom to a ship compare;
Lest he should call our commonweal,
A vessel with a double-keel:
Which, just like ours, new rigg'd and mann'd,
And got about a league from land,
By change of wind to leeward side,
The pilot knew not how to guide.
So tossing faction will o'erwhelm
Our crazy double-bottom'd realm.
*The motto on queen Anne's coronation medal, N.
OR, THE RECEIPT TO FORM A BEAUTY,* 1708.
WHEN Cupid did his grandsire Jove intreat To form some Beauty by a new receipt,
Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene, Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene: From which ingredients first the dextrous boy Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
*The following elegant Latin version of this "Receipt" was first printed in the sixth volume of Dryden's Miscellanies:
Orabat precibus Cupido blandis,
Ut tandem omnipotens pater deorum
Formosam lege conderet recenti.
Arridens citò, ruris ad recessum
Almus misit avus, Fidemque nudam
Illic repperit, Innocentiamque,
Et vultum placidum, Indolemque suavem :
Dextrâ, quæ, facili Puer peritus
Oris à nimis pudore purgat,
Et morum ruditate ineleganti,
Ac nimis timidâ fugacitate.
Sacræ Pierides parant deinde
Ex aulâ ingenuam Institutionem,
Acumenque acre, Gratiamque formæ,
Cum se non nimis efferente Fastu.
Ab his flava Venus removit omnem
Procul molitiem, & malas dolosæ
Mentis Illecebras, Ineptiasque
Bonum pravè imitantium, levesque
Motus, Gloriolæque Inanitatem.
Miscet omnia Jupiter, lutoque
Temperat meliore, Lydiamque
Inde appellat opus, stupens, superbum.
The Graces, from the court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride:
These Venus cleans from every spurious grain
Of nice, coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD.
TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. FINCH,*
UNDER HER NAME OF ARDELIA,
PHOEBUS, now shortening every shade,
Up to the northern tropic came,
And thence beheld a lovely maid,
Attending on a royal dame.
The god laid down his feeble rays,
Then lighted from his glittering coach;
But fenc'd his head with his own bays,
Before he durst the nymph approach.
Under those sacred leaves, secure.
From common lightning of the skies,
He fondly thought he might endure
The flashes of Ardelia's eyes.
The nymph, who oft had read in books
Of that bright god whom bards invoke,
Soon knew Apollo by his looks,
And guess'd his business ere he spoke.
* Afterward countess of Winchelsea. N.
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