Not so when diadem'd with rays divine,
Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's shrine,
Her priestess muse forbids the good to die,
And opes the temple of eternity.
There other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than such as Anstis casts into the grave;
Far other stars than * and **
And may descend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unsullied mitre shine,"
Or beam, good Digby! from a heart like thine.)
Let envy howl, while heav'n's whole chorus sings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings:
Let flattery sickening, see the incense rise.
Sweet to the world, and rateful to the skies;
Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.
Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw,
When truth stands trembling on the edge of law.
Here, last of Britons! let your names be read:
Are none, none living? let me praise the dead;
And for that cause which made your fathers shine,
Fall by the votes of their degenerate line.
F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,
And write next winter more Essays on Man.
WOMEN ben full of ragerie, Yet swinken nat sans secresie. Thilke moral shall ye understond, From schoole-boy's tale of fayre Irelond; Which to the fennes hath him betake, To filche the grey ducke fro the lake. Right then there passen by the way, His aunt, and eke her daughters tway. Ducke in his trowses hath he hent, Not to be spy'd of ladies gent. "But ho! our nephew," crieth one; "Ho!" quoth another, "Cozen John!" And stoppen, and lough, and callen out This sely clerke full low doth lout: They asken that, and talken this, "Lo, here is coz, and here is miss." But as he glozeth with speeces soote, The ducke sore tickleth his erse roote: Fore-piece and buttons all-to-breast Forth thrust a white neck and red crest. "Te-hee," cry'd ladies; clerke nought spake; Miss star'd, and grey ducke crieth "quake." "Omoder, moder!" quoth the daughter, "Be thilke same thing maids longen a'ter? Bette is to pine on coals and chalke, Then trust on mon whose yerde can talke."
IN every town where Thamis rolls his tyde, A narrow pass there is, with houses low,
Where ever and anoǹ the stream is eyed,
And many a boat soft gliding to and fro;
There oft are heard the notes of infant woe,
The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall:
How can ye, mothers, vex your children so?
Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;
A brandy and tobacco shot is neare,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by;
And here a sailor's jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are sun-burnt matrons seen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between;
Scolds answer foul-mouth'd scolds; bad neighbour-
hood I ween.
The snappish cur (the passengers annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
The whimpering girl, and hoarser screaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries;
The scolding quean to louder notes doth rise,
And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies:
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and scolds, in the deep base
are drown'd.
Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Ŏbloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oysters, mack'rel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn'd the speech from tongues that never
Slander beside her like a magpie chatters,
With envy (spitting cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd cur, malice before her clatters,
And, vexing every wight, tears clothes and all to
Her dugs were mark'd by every collier's hand;
Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
She scratch'd and bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay even the parts of shame by name would call:
Yea, when she pass'd by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn'd him to the wall,
And by his hand obscene the porter took,
Nor ever did askance like modest virgin look.
Such place hath Deptford, navy building-town,
Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twickenham such, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, urn, and Jo-a's dog and bitch;
Ne village is without on either side,
All up the silver Thames, or all adown;
Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are eyed Vales, spires, meandering streams, and Windsor's towery pride.
On a Lady singing to her Lute.
FAIR charmer! cease; not make your voice's prize
A heart resign'd the conquest of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too blest with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heavenly when an angel plays;
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Lest heavenly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees: but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he.
A poet make the silent wood pursue ;
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.
On a Fan of the author's Design, in which was painted the story of Cephalus and Procris, with the motto 'aura veni.'
COME, gentle air! th' Æolion shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo! the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play;
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too the bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she
gives;
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris while her lover dies.
FAIN would my Muse the flowery treasures sing, And humble glories of the youthful spring; Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse, And soft carnations show'r their balmy dews; Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white, The thin undress of superficial light; And varied tulips show so dazzling gay, Blushing in bright diversities of day. Each painted flow'ret in the lake below Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; And pale Narcissus on the bank in vain Transform'd, he gazes on himself again. Here aged trees cathedral walks compose, And mount the hill in venerable rows; There the green infants in their beds are laid, The garden's hope, and its expected shade.
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