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Prologue Spoken before the University of Oxford.
7 Hen Greece o'erwhelm'd in the wide Deluge lay,
And all the Land was one continu'd Sea, The Muses Hill fecure, and lofty stood, Above the vain Attempts of th' insulting Flood There good Deucalion first faluted Land, Put in his Boat, and touch'd the happy Strand. So when wild Faction all our Land alarm'd, Our Land by the prevailing Jugglers charmid, when pregnant with dire Seeds the Clouds did rise, Presaging civil Tempests in our Skies, Here God-like Charles did a safe Harbour win, Here laugh'd at all the Threats of daring Sin, And shunn’d the popular Deluge as it came rolling in. With you no perjur'd Bog-trotters were found, With Meal-Tub-Plots and Armies under Ground, Rogues, that wou'd damn theinfelves for Half a Crown: Rogues, that for one poor Draught of Middling-Beer Wou'd hang a Parish, and for Tripe, a Shire. 'Tis true, some few you bad ; but Traytors come Here to receive, not to deserve their Doom. So Paradise the Serpent gain'd at first, Enter'd the blest Abodes, but ftrait he was accurft.
This is your Happiness. But we are still alarm'd with senseless Noise ; Guild-hall Elections, and leud frantick Cries. Tir'd with dull Managers of duller Plots, And frec-born Slaves, and Magne Charta Sots. Oh! wou'd the Town a Pattern take from you, Whom the worst Times still found to Cæfar true, Discords wou'd cease, ill-natur'd Jars retirė, And ev'ry Muse in Charles's Praife conspire. Peace, with her Train, wou'd guard out Halcyon Shore, And Britain envy Salern's Age no more.
OT with more Grief the Whiggish Herd beheld
Their Plots discover'd, their Intriegues reveal'd,
When to fome Town our strolling Troops repair,
Wit here, triumphant, bears an ample Sway,
Howe'er our Courtiers do their Fate dispose,
A Catch. By Mr. T. Brown.
Or die an old Maid, as grey as a Cary
II. Let her that sets Man, like a Beast, to le fold, And above metald Flesh loves a Lump of dead Gold, Look green when she's young, and be pox'd when she's old.
III. But let those that are wise contemn the dull Store; Wives chose by their Weight, will be weighty no more ; If for Gold chey will wed, for the same they will whore.
A Panegyrick upon Coll. George Walker.
After the Manner of the Irish. OS
UR Gracious King gave him five thousand Pound;
And out of the Rebels Lands, when they are found, He promises him a thousand Pounds by th' Year, Which, in short Time, will unquestionably appear. Likewise, he promises him the Dean'ry of Londonderry, When that the Dean of Londonderry will die; But if the Dean of Londonderry will not die, He promises him the Bishoprick of Londonderry. More of his valiant Deeds and Worth what need we then
[to cry-ah, Since Walter George hag made Amends for Walter Obadiah
To Mr. D'Urfey, upon his incomparable Ballads,
call'd by him Lyrick Odes.
Thou Mungrel of Parnasus,
Write Epigrams for Cutlers;
No Tears can wall thy Stains out ;
And Pindar bear thy Brains out.
On Flowers in a Lady's Bosom.
Ehold the promis'd Land, where Pleasure fows!
And beat the filken Skies!
Her Breath perfumes 'em too :
Has languish'd here more weary with the Sight,
Than vanquish'd quite,
Under a Flow'r Disguise,
The London Vintners Answer to Mr. Brown.
F what thou asserts, dear Thomas, be true,
To Mr. HENRY PURCEL.
Our Musick and our Poetry lay dead :