Imatges de pÓgina

Too noble for Revenge! which still we find
The weakest Frailty of a feeble Mind..
Degenerous Passion, and for Man too base,
It feats its Empire in the female Race;
There rages, and to make its Blow secure,
Puts Flatt'ry on until its Aim be fore.

Cree. Suu.
What tho' his mighty Soul his Grief contains,
He meditates Revenge who least complains:
And like a Lion, slumb'ring in his Way,
Or Sleep dissembling while

he waits his Prey,
His fearless Foes within his Distance draws,
Constrains his Roaring, and contracts his Paws;
Till at the last, his Time for Fury found,
He shoots with suddain Vengeance from the Ground;
The proftrate Vulgar passes o'er and spares,
But with a lordly Rage his Hunters tears. Dryd. Abs. Achit,

Revenge is but a Frailty incident
To craz'd and sickly Minds ; the poor Content
Of little Souls, unable to surmount
An Injury, too weak to bear Affront.

Now might I do it; now he is praying,
And now I'll do it, and fo he goes to Heav'n!
And so I am reveng'd? That would be scann'd.
A Villain kills my Father, and for that
I his foul Son do this same Villain send
To Heav'n! O this is Hire and Sallary, not Revenge.
He took my Father grofly, full of Bread,
With all his Crimes broad blown, and fresh as May;
And how his Audit stands, who knows fave Heav'n?
But in our Circumstance and Course of Thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the Purging of his Soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his Passage ?
No! up Sword, and know thou a more horrid Bent:
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his Rage,
Or in th’incestuous Pleasure of his Bed,
At gaming, swearing, or about some Act
That has no Relish of Salvation in it;
Then trip him that his Heels may kick at Heav'n,
And that his Soul may be as damn'd and black
As Hell, whereto it goes. Then I with Wings as swift
As Meditation, or the Thoughts of Love,
Will fweep to my Revenge.

Shak. Haml. A base Revenge is Vengeance on my self. Dryd. Don Seb.

Revenge, at first tho' sweet, Bitter e'er long back on it self recoils.



For Rhetorick, he could not ope
His Mouth, but out there flew a Trope:
And when he happen’d to break off
l'th Middle of his Speech, or cough,
Had Words ready to shew why,
And tell what Rules he did it by.
Else when with greatest Art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd like other Folk.
For all a Rhetorician's Rules,
Teach nothing but to name his Tools.

Rhyme the Rudder is of Verfes,
With which, like Ships, they steer their Courses. Hud.

And those who write in Rhyme, still make
The one Verse for the other's fake;
For one for Sense and one for Rhyme,
I think's sufficient for one time.

Greatness of Mind and Fortune too,
Both their several Parts must do,

In the noble Chace of Fame ;
This without that is blind, that without this is láme.
Nor is fair Virtue's Picture seen aright,

But in Fortune's golden Light.
Riches alone are of uncertain Date ;

And on shore Man long cannot wait.

The Virtuous make of them the best, And put them out to Fame for Interest ;

With a frail Good they wisely buy The folid Purchase of Eternity.

'Tis Madness fure Treasures to hoard,
And make them useless as in Mines remain,
To lose th'Occafion Fortune does afford,

Fame and publick Love to gain.
Of all the Vows the first and chief Request
Of each, is to be richer than the reft:
And yet no Doubts the poor Man's Draught controul,
He dreads no Poyfon in his homely Bowl :
Then fear the deadly Drug, when Gems divine
Enchase the Cup, and sparkle in the Wine.
The fearful Pallenger who travels late,
Charg'd with the Carriage of a paltry Plate,
Shakijat the Moon-fhine Shadow of a Rush,
And lene a Red-Coat rise from ev'ry Bush.
The Beggar fings, ev'n when he sees the Place
Beset with Thieves, and never mends his Pace.

Cowl. Pind.

Cowl. Pird.

Dryd. Jur).


Fond Men, by Passions wilfully betray'd,
Adore those Idols which their Fancy made :
Purchasing Riches with our Time and Care,
We lose our Freedom in a gilded Snare ;
And having all, all to our selves refuse,
Oppress’d with Blessings which we fear to lose.
In vain our Fields and Flocks increase our Score,
If our Abundance makes us wish for more.

First, he that led the Cavalcade,
Wore a Sow-Gelder’s Flagellet,
On which he blew as strong a Levet,
As well-fee'd Lawyer on his Breviate,
When over one another's Heads
They charge, three Ranks at once, like Swedes.
Next Pans and Kettles of all Keys,
From Trebles down to double Base ;
And after them upon a Nag,
That might pass for a fore-hand Stag,
A Cornet rode, and on a Staff
A Smock display'd did proudly wave:
Then Bagpipes of the loudest Drones,
With snuffing broken-winded Tones,
Whose Blafts of Air in Pockets shut,
Look filthier than that from Gut;
And make a viler Noise than Swine,
In windy Weacher when they whine.
Next one upon a Pair of Panniers,
Full fraught with that which for good Manners
Shall here be nameless, mix'd with Grains,
Which he dispens'd among the Swains:
Then mounted on a horned Horse,
One bore a Gauntlet and gilt Spurs,
Ty'd to the Pummel of a long Sword,
He held revers’d, the Point turn'd downward.
Next after on a raw-bon'd Steed
The Conq'ror's Standard-bearer rid,
And bore aloft before the Champion
A Petticoat display'd and rampant.
Next whom the Amazon Triumphant
Bestrid her Beast, and on the Rump on't
Sate Face to Tail, and Bum to Bum,
The Warriour whilom overcome ;
Arm'd with a Spindle and a Distaff,
Which as he rode she made him twist off;
And when he loiter'd, o'er her Shoulder
Chaltis'd the Reformado Soldier.


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Before the Dame, and round about,
March'd Whifflers and Staffiers on Foot,
With Lacquays, Grooms, Valets, and Pages,
In fit and proper Equipages;
Of whom fome Torches bore, some Links,
Before the proud Virago Minx,
That was both Madam and a Don,
Like Nero's Sporus, or Pope Joan :
And at fit Periods the whole Rout
Set up their Throats with clam'rous Shout. Heh.

But Hudibras, who us'd to ponder
On such Sights with judicious Wonder,
Could hold no longer to impart
His Animadversions for his Heart:
Quoth he, in all my Life till now
I ne'er saw so prophane a Show:
It is a paganish Invention,
Which heathen Writers often mention;
And he who made ic had read Goodwin,
I warrant him, and understood him;
With all the Grecian Speeds and Stows,
That best describe those antient Shows.

O Love! thou sternly dost thy Pow'r maintain,
And wild not bear a Rival in thy Reign;
Tyrants and thou all Fellowship disdain. Dryd. Pal. Arc.

Love and a Crown no Rivalship can bear ; All precious things are still poffels'd with Fear. Dryd. Auren.

Lovers, like Misers, cannot bear the Stealth Of the least Trifle from their endless Wealth: Sed. Ant. Cle.

Great was their Strife, which hourly was renew'd, Till each with mortal Hate his Rival view'd ; Now Friends no more, nor walking Hand in Hand, But when they met they made a surly Stand ; And glar'd like angry Lions as they pass'd, And wilh'd that ev'ry Look might be their last. Dr. Pal. Art,

Roxana then enjoys my perjur'd Love! Roxana clasps my Monarch in her Arms! Doats on my Conqu'ror, my dear Lord, my King! Devours his Lips, eats him with hungry Kisses! She grasps him all! She, the curs'd happy the! By Heav'n, I cannot bear it ; 'tis too much! I'll die, or rid me of this burning Torture. I will have Remedy, I will, I will, Or grow distracted; Madness may throw off This mighty Load, and drown the flaming Paffion. Lee Alex,

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O I shall find Roxana in his Arms,
And taste her Kisses left upon his Lips:
Her curs d Embraces have defild his Body,
Nor hall I meet the wonted Sweetness there,
But artificial Smells and aking Odours.

Lee Alex.
My Life! my Soul! my All ! Octavia has him!
O fatal Name to Cleopatra's Love!
My Kisses my Embraces now are hers. Dryd. All for Love.

Methinks I see her yonder! O the Torment,
Busy for Bliss, and full of Expectation.
Sh’adorns her Head, and give her Eyes new Lustre,
Languishes in her Glass, tries all her Looks;
Steps to the Door, and listens for his Coming;
• Runs to the Bed, and kneels, and weeps, and wishes;
Then lays the Pillow easy for his Head,
Warms it with Sighs, and moulds it with her Kisses.
Oh I am lost! torn with Imagination!
Kill me, Cassander, kill me instantly,
That I may haunt her with a thousand Devils. Lee Alex.

RIVER. See Creation, Garden of Eden.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean's Sons
By his old Sire, to his Embraces runs ;
Hasting to pay his Tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal Life to meet Eternity.
Tho' with those Streams he no Resemblance hold,
Whose Foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold;
His genuine, and less guilty Wealth t'explore,
Search not the Bottom, but survey his Shore :
O'er which he kindly spreads his fpacious Wing,
And hatches Plenty for th'ensuing Spring;
Nor then destroys it with too fond a Stay,
Like Mothers who their Children overlay :
Nor with a suddain and impetuous Wave,
Like profufe Kings, resumes the Wealth he gave:
No unexpected Inundations fpoil
The Mower's Hopes, nor mock the Ploughman's Toil;
But, God-like, his unweary'd Bounty flows,
First loves to do, then loves the Good he does.
Nor are his Blessings to his Banks confin'd,
But free and common, as the Sea or Wind;
When he to boaft or to dispense his Stores,
Full of the Tribute of his grateful Shores,
Vifits the World, and in his flying Tow'rs,
Brings home to us, and makes boch Indies ours.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy Stream
My great Example, as it is my Theam!


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