Page images
[ocr errors][ocr errors]

They were scarce enter'd upon the Spot, when Multitudes ran from all Hands to gaze and stare ac them; and as every Body was surpriz'd at so fantastick a Scene, they could not tell at first whethrer to admire it as extraordinary, or to ridicule it as extravagant.

In this Uncertainty of Thought, as they were going to determine it one way or ajiother, Mons. de Louvigni arriv'd in the Place, and put a Stop to their grave Contemplation. He wore a plain black Suit, and clean Linnen made up the rest ; but then he shew'd one of the finest Shapes and most agreeable Face that can be imagin’d : His modest Deportment filently insinuated the Merits of all his excellent Qualicies. Having thus describ°d his Charms to you, 'tis no difficult Matter to guess how the Company receiv'd him: The Ladies were touch'd, and the Men were infinitely pleas'd. In short, Madam, all the Spectators were as much affected, as the poor Count and his friends were mortify'd, to their great Difappointment.

People still remember at the Hague how triumphantly. Mons. de Louvigny came off, and still make Sport with telling the ill Success of the two aforesaid Gentlemen.

I need not give myself the Trouble, Madam, to make a formal Application of this story to you, who have a Judgment so exquisitely nice and discerning. Lec my

Advice meet with what Entertainment it will, none of your Subjects prays so heartily for your long and happy Reign over us, as,


Your most bumble Servant, &c.

Jo. Haines in Penance : Or, bis Recantation- Prologue, at his acting of

Poet Bays in the Duke of Buckingham's Play cal’d The Rehearsal. Spoken in a white Sheet, with a burning Taper in his Hand, upon his Admittance into the House after bis Return from the Church of Rome.

Written by T. Brown, for his Friend Jo. Haines. AS

s you difike the Converts of the Nation,

That went to Rome and left your Congregation, Ry the same Rule, pray kindly entertain Your penitent loft Sheep return'd again. For re-converted Haines, taught by the Age, Is now come back to his primitive Church, the Stage ; And own my Crime, of leaving in the Lurch My Mother Piayhouse; she's my Mother Church. As Penitents do go from you to Rome, A Penirent from Rome to you I come; Tho? I from Rome to you did never go As Runagade for her, buc Spy for you. For seeing the Bear and Banterers every Day Ev'n cir'd with themselves in ev'ry Play, I went to Rome, to seek for Fops more new, And more ridiculous than any of you ; A Miracle from Rome, I thought, might do. Besides, I left ye, all design'd for Rome; But seeing ye came not over, I came Home : For I, like you, finding myself mistaken, Did early tack about, to save my Bacon, Pox on't!




At Rome, a godly Parë they made me play ;
A damn'd unnatural one to me, you'll say :
They wou'd not let me roar, or rant, or swear,
But fobb’d me off with Penitence and Prayer,
Guess how that Penance relith'd with a Player.
That ever any Player should have the Face
Thus to pretend to such a thing as Grace!
'Tis very hard, indeed, th' Italian Nation
Should put this Phiz a little out of Fashion ;
But yielding Nature, and this tempting Face,
Confirms me Flesh and Blood in spite of Grace :
Therefore, dear loving Sisters of the Pit,
Again your Brother Runagade admit,
And don't despise me now because I've liv'd
Where fawcy Boys claim your Prerogative.

No, Sisters ; no,
I ne'er turn'd Heretick, in Love at least ;
'Twas decent Whoring kept my Thoughts still chaste :
But you, kind Sirs ! who here are daily knowng
To love all Whores but her of Babylon,
Will never damn Jo. Haines for his Religion.

Well, Sirs !
B’ing thus confess’d, and free from all Pollution,
I beg from your kind Hands my Absolution.


Tho. Brown's Recantation of his Satyr on the

French King. Suppos’d by some to be written by Mr. Brown, tho said by others to be written by a Nonjuring-Parfon.

Facit Recantatio Versum A

ND has this Bitch, my Mufe, trapan'd me?

Then I'm as much undone as can be ; I knew the Jule would never leave me 'Till to a Prison The'd deceive me :



Curst be the Wretch, and sure he's curst That taught the Trade of Rhyming first: Tis a dain's Trade, and who pursues it, I'll pass my Word, at last, he rues it: Homer and Virgil were but Tools, Fit only for the Use of Fools. And Horace too, with all his Art, To Men of Sense not worth a Fart : Even Canfabon for Satyr famous, Was but a jingling Ignoramus. And all the rest, tó Ben, and so forth, A Crew of uselefs Things of no Worth: But now I have no Time to rail, Alas! alas! I'm now in Jayl; My Wits are rather on the Wrack To save my own Poetick Back : Yet, by the way, 'tis very hard, Poets, of all Men, fhould-be barr'd From lab'ring in their proper Station ; Why, where's the Justice of the Nation ? Believe me, Sirs, as I am a Sinner, I writ that Satyr for a Dinner : And stampt it with a Parson's Nameg Not as I meant them any Shame; But since I must the Matter tell, I thought 'twould make the Paper fell : By all that's Good, and all that true is, I ever lov'd and honour'd Lewis : He's Great and Wife : more could I say, But fear again to disobey ; And for his Priests, I here protest, I value them like all the rest : And tho' I curft them all, what then ? The Men are honest harmless Men. Next for King James and Prince of Walesa I always with'd them happy Gales ; And for my fawcy naming Molly, I own 'twas Impudence and folly. Lally, for naming the Non-Furor, Why that was but Poetick furor,

I know I have ungrateful been ;
'Twas raging Hunger drew me in
T'abuse those very Friends that have
Almost preserv'd me from the Grave;
They're honest Men, mark what I say,
If I love any Priests, 'tis they.
I now confess 'tis highly base,
T' insult the Gown in such a Case :
And could the Thing be done againg
I'd starve before I'd wrong such Men.
What shall I say, I here recant,
And own myfelf a Sycophant :
But, oh! I fear that will not do,
A thousand disinal Thoughts persue.
l'in all in Pain, and let me tell ye,
My Back begins to curse my Belly:
I'm just as if at Cart's-Arse tý'd,
With Hangman grinning by my side,
And Mob of all sorts crowding round meg
Advising Kerch to swinge me foundly ;
And what torments me worst of all,
Methinks that some among them bawl,
'Tis he that for a Crow'n to fpend,'d Heads, betrays his Friend,
All this, 'tis true, I well deserve,
And yet 'ris very hard to starve ;
So that if Things were rightly stated,
Part of my Sentence might be bated :
I was of Puppin's. Alley Chief,
'Till forc'd from thence to seek Relief;
And to avoid some dang’rous Rogues,
Took Shelter among. Pedagogues,
'Twas then, like the Sicilian King,
Under strict Laws I Boys did bring;
And tho’I was but a Vice-Roy,
I cou'd command the chiefest Boy :
But here a little Time was spent,
Before I left my Government,
Was charg'd with Male-Administration,
And fo pull'd down from regal Station,

« PreviousContinue »