for their extravagance, &c. All I can fay for "thofe paffages, which are, I hope, not many, is, "that I knew they were bad enough to please, even when I wrote them; but I repent of them among my fins: And if any of their fellows in"trude by chance into my prefent writings, I "draw a ftroke over thofe Dalilahs of the theatre, " and am refolved I will fettle myself no reputa"tion by the applaufe of fools: 'Tis not that I am mortified to all ambition, but I fcorn as "much to take it from half-witted judges, as I "should to raise an estate by cheating of bubbles : "Neither do I difcommend the lofty ftyle in tragedy, which is pompous and magnificent; but nothing is truly fublime, that is not just and " proper.

This may ftand as an unanswerable apology for Mr. Dryden, against his critics; and likewife for an unquestionable authority to confirm those principles which the foregoing poem pretends to lay down, for nothing can be just and proper but what is built upon truth.

Guess, and I'll frankly own her name
Whofe eyes have kindled fuch a flame;
The Spartan or the Cyprian queen
Had ne'er been fung had the been seen,
Who fet the very gods at war,
Were but faint images of her.
Believe me, for by Heav'ns 'tis true!
The fun in all his ample view
Sees nothing half so fair or bright,
Not even his own reflected light.

So fweet a face fuch graceful mien!
Who can this be?-'Tis Howard—or Ballewden,

CLEORA.

CLEORA has her wifh, the weds a peer,
Her weighty train two pages fcarce can bear;
Perfia, and both the Indies must provide,
To grace her pomp, and gratify her pride;
Of rich brocade a fhining robe she wears,
And gems furround her lovely neck, like ftare
Drawn by fix grays, of the proud Belgian kind
With a long train of livery beaux behind,
She charms the park, and fets all hearts on fire,
The lady's envy, and the mens defire.
Beholding thus, O happy as a queen!
We cry; but fhift the gaudy flattering scene;
View her at home, in her domeftic light;
For thither she must come, at least at night;
What has the there? A furly ill-bred lord,
Who chides, and fnaps her up at every word:
A brutal fot, who while fhe holds his head,
With drunken filth bedawbs the nuptial bed;
Sick to the heart, fhe breathes the nauseous fume
Of odious fteams, that poifon all the room;
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when the may rife:
But most she fears, left waking she should find,
To make amends, the monster would be kind;
Thofe matchlefs beauties, worthy of a god,
Must bear, though much averse, the loathfome
load:

What then may be the chance that next enfues?
Some vile disease, fresh reeking from the fews;

The fecret venom circling in her veins, [ftains;
Works through her fkin, and burfts in blotting
Her cheeks their freshness lose, and wonted grace,
And an unusual palenefs fpreads her face;
Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath
Tainting her gums, infects her iv'ry teeth!
Of sharp nocturnal anguish the complains,
And, guiltless of the cause, relates her pains.
The conscious husband, whom like symptoms feize,
Charges on her the guilt of their disease;
Affecting fury acts a madman's part,
He'll rip the fatal fecret from her heart;
Bids her confefs, calls her ten thousand names;
In vain she kneels, fhe weeps, protests, exclaims;
Scarce with her life the 'fcapes, expos'd to

fhame,

In body tortur'd, murder'd in her fame,
Rots with a vile adultrefs's name.
Abandon'd by her friends, without defence,
And happy only in her innocence.

Such is the vengeauce the juft gods provide
For those who barter liberty for pride,
Who impiously invoke the powers above
To witness to falfe vows of mutual love.
Thousands of poor Cleora's may be found,
Such hufbands, and fuch wretched wives abound.
Ye guardian powers! the arbiters of blifs,
Preferve Clarinda from a fate like this;
You form'd her fair, not any grace deny'd,
But gave, alas! a fpark too much of pride.
Reform that failing, and protect her ftill;
O fave her from the curfe of choosing ill!
Deem it not envy, or a jealous care,
That moves thefe wishes, or provokes this prayer;
Though worse than death I dread to fee those
Allotted to fome happier mortal's arms, [charms
Tormenting thought! yet could I bear that pain,
Or any ill, but hearing her complain;
Intent on her, my love forgets his own,
Nor frames one wish, but for her sake alone;
Whome'er the gods have deftin'd to prefer,
They cannot make me wretched, bleffing her.

CLOE.

IMPATIENT with defire, at last

I ventur'd to lay forms afide;
'Twas I was modeft, not she chaste,
Cloe, fo gently prefs'd, comply'd.
With idle awe, an amorous fool,

I gaz'd upon her eyes with fear;
Say, love, how came your flave so dull,
To read no better there?

Thus to ourselves the greatest foes,
Although the nymph be well inclin'd;
For want of courage to propofe,
By our own folly fhe's unkind.

MRS. CLAVERING *, SINGING. WHEN we behold her angel face; Or when the fings with heavenly grace, Afterwards Lady Cowper,

In what we hear, or what we fee,
So ravishing's the harmony,

The melting foul in rapture loft,

Knows not which charm enchants it most.
Sounds that made hills and rocks rejoice,
Amphion's lute, the fyren's voice,
Wonders with pain receiv'd for true,
At once find credit, and renew;

No charms like Clavering's voice furprise,
Except the magic of her eyes.

SONG.

THE happiest mortals once were we,

I lov'd Myra, Myra me;

Each defirous of the bleffing, Nothing wanting but poffeffing; I lov'd Myra, Myra me, The happiest mortals once were wc. But fince cruel fates diffever, Torn from love, and torn for ever, Tortures end me,

Death befriend me;

Of all pains, the greatest pain,
Is to love, and love in vain.

THE WILD BOAR'S DEFENCE.

A BOAR who had enjoy'd a happy reign
For many a year, and fed on many a man,
Call'd to account, foftening his favage eyes,
Thus fuppliant, pleads his caufe before he dies.

For what am I condemn'd? My crimes no more
To eat a man, than yours to eat a boar :
We feek not you, but take what chance provides,
Nature, and mere neceffity our guides.
You murder us in sport, then dish us up
For drunken feafts, a relish for the cup:
We lengthen not our meals; but you must feast,
Gorge till your bellies burft-pray who's the beast?
With your humanity you keep a fufs,

But are in truth worse brutes than all of us :
We prey not on our kind, but you, dear brother,
Most beastly of all beats, devour each other:
Kings worry kings, neighbour with neighbour
ftrives,

Fathers and fons, friends, brothers, hufbands, wives,
By fraud or force, by poifon, fword, or gun,
Destroy each other, every mother's fon.

FOR LIBERALITY.

THOUGH fafe thou think'ft thy treasure lies,
Hidden in chefts from human eyes,
A fire may comë, and it may be
Bury'd, my friend, as far from thee.
Thy veffel that yon ocean ftems,
Loaded with golden duft, and gems,
Purchas'd with fo much pains and coft,
Yet in a tempeft may be loft.

CORINNA, in the bloom of youth
Was coy to every lover,
Regardless of the tenderest truth,

No foft complaint could move her. Mankind was hers, all at her feet

Lay proftrate and adoring ; The witty, handsome, rich, and great, In vain alike imploring.

But now grown old, fhe would repair

Her lofs of time, and pleasure; With willing eyes, and wanton air, Inviting every gazer.

But love's a fummer flower, that dies With the first weather's changing, The lover, like the fwallow, flies From fun to sun still ranging.

Myra, let this example move

Your foolish heart to reafon ; Youth is the proper time for love, And age is virtue's season.

CLOE.

BRIGHT as the day, and like the morning, fair, Such Cloe is-and common as the air.

Madam, faid he-with that the door's made close.
He gives deliciously the healing dofe.
Alas! fhe cries: ah me! O cruel cure!
Did ever woman yet like me endure?
The work perform'd, up rifing gay and light,
Old Cornus is call'd in to fee the fight;

A fprightly red vermilion's all her face,
And her eyes languish with unusual grace:
With tears of joy fresh gushing from his eyes,
O wond'rous power of art! old Cornus cries;
Amazing change! astonishing fuccefs!
Thrice happy I! what a brave doctor's this!
Maids, wives, and widows, with fuch whims op-

preft,

May thus find certain ease—Probatum ef?.

ON AN ILL-FAVOURED LORD.

THAT Macro's looks are good, let no man doubt,
Which I, his friend and fervant-thus make out.
In every line of his perfidious face,

The fecret malice of his heart we trace;
So fair the warning, and so plainly writ,
Let none condemn the light that shows a pit.
Cocles, whose face finds credit for his heart,
Who can escape fo fmooth a villain's art?
Adorn'd with every grace that can perfuade,
Seeing we truft, though fure to be betray'd;
His looks are fnares: but Macro's, cry beware,
Believe not, though ten thoufand oaths he
fwear;

If thou'rt deceiv'd, obferving well this rule,
Not Macro is the knave, but thou the fool.
In this one point, he and his looks agree;
As they betray their mafter-fo did he.

1

A RECEIPT FOR VAPOURS.

WHY pines my dear? to Fulvia his young bride,
Who weeping fat, thus aged Cornus cry'd.
Alas faid fhe, fuch vifions break my reft,
The strangest thoughts! I think I am poffeft:
My fmptoms I have told to men of skill,
And if I would-they fay-I might be well.

Take their advice, faid he, my poor dear wife,
I'll buy at any rate thy precious life.
Blushing, she would excufe, but all in vain,
A doctor must be fetch'd to ease her pain.
Hard prefs'd, fhe yields: from White's, or Will's,

or Tom's,

No matter which, he's fummon'd, and he comes.
The careful husband, with a kind embrace
Entreats his care: then bows, and quits the place:
For little ailments oft attend the fair,
Not decent for a husband's eye, or car.
Something the dame would fay: the ready knight
Prevents her speech-Here's that shall set you
right,

CLOE.

CLOE's the wonder of her fex, 'Tis well her heart is tender, How might fuch killing eyes perplex,

With virtue to defend her? But nature gracioufly inclin'd

With liberal hand to please us, Has to her boundless beauty join'd A boundless bent to eafe us.

ON THE SAME.

Or injur❜d fame, and mighty wrongs receiv'd,
Cloe complains, and wondroufly's aggriev'd:
That free, and lavish of a beauteous face,
The faireft, and fouleft of her race;
She's mine, or thine, and ftrolling up and down,
Sucks in more filth, than any fink in town,
I not deny this I have faid, 'tis true;
What wrong to give fo bright a nymph her
due,

CORINNA,

So well Corinna likes the joy,
She vows fhe'll never more be coy,
She drinks eternal draughts of pleasure ;
Eternal draughts do not fuffice,

O give me, give me more, fhe cries,
Tis all too little, little meafure.

Thus wifely fhe makes up for time
Mifpent, while youth was in its prime:
So travellers who waste the day,
Careful and cautious of their way,
Noting at length the setting fun,
They mend their pace as night comes on,
Bouble their speed to reach their inn,
And whip and spur through thick and thin.

CLOE PERFUMING HERSELF.

BELIEVE me, Cloe, thofe perfumes that coft
Such fums to sweeten thee, is treasure loft;
Not all Arabia would fufficient be,

Thou fmell'st not of thy fweets, they ftink of thee

BELINDA.

BELINDA's pride's an arrant cheat

A foolish artifice to blind; Some honeft glance that fcorns deceit Does ftill reveal her native mind.

With look demure, and forc'd disdain, She idly acts the faint;

We fee through this disguise as plain As we distinguish paint.

So have I feen grave fools design, With formal looks to pafs for wife; But nature is a light will shine,

And break through all difguife.

IMPROMPTU.

Miffing their native fun, at best retain

But a faint odour, and furvive with pain:
Thus ancient wit, in modern numbers taught,
Wanting the warmth with which its author
wrote,

Is a dead image, and a senseless draught..
While we transfufe the nimble spirit flies,
Escapes unfeen, evaporates, and dies.
Who then to copy Roman wit defire,
Muft imitate with Roman force and fire,
In elegance of ftyle, and phrafe the fame,
And in the sparkling genius, and the flame;
Whence we conclude from thy tranflated fong,
So juft, so smooth, fo foft, and yet fo ftrong;
Celestial poet foul of harmony!

That every genius was reviv'd in thee.
Thy trumpet founds, the dead are rais'd to light,'
Never to die, and take to heaven their flight;
Deck'd in thy verfe, as clad with rays they fhine
All glorify'd, immortal, and divine.

As Britain in rich foil, abounding wide,
Furnish'd for use, for luxury, and pride,
Yet fpreads her wanton fails on every shore
For foreign wealth, infatiate ftill of more;
To her own wool the filks of Afia joins;
And to her plenteous harvests, Indian mines:
So Dryden, not contented with the fame
Of his own works, though an immortal name,
To lands remote, fends forth his learned mufe,
The noblest feeds of foreign wit to choose;
Feafting our sense so many various ways,
Say, is't thy bounty, or thy thirst of praise?
That by comparing others, all might fee,
Who most excell'd, are yet excell'd by thee,

A MORNING HYMN,

TO THE DUCHESS OF HAMILTON.

AWAKE, bright Hamilton, arise,
Goddess of love, and of the day
Awake, difclose thy radiant eyes,

And how the fun a brighter ray.
Phœbus in vain calls forth the blushing morn,

Drawn in Man's Habit.

WHEN Sandwich in her fex's garb we fee,
The queen of beauty then the feems to be:
she
Now fair Adonis in this male difguife,
Or little Cupid with his mother's eyes.
No style of empire chang'd by this remove,
Who feem'd the goddess, seems the god of love.

TO MY FRIEND

MR. JOHN DRYDEN,

ON HIS SEVERAL EXCELLENT TRANSLATIONS OF

THE ANCIENT POETS.

As flowers tranfplanted from a fouthern sy, But hardly bear, or in the railing die,

The lark, that wont with warbling throat
Early to falute the skies,

Or fleeps, or elfe fufpends his note,
Disclaiming day till you arife.

Goddess awake, thy beams display,
Reftore the universe to light,

When Hamilton appears, then dawns the days
And when she disappears, begins the night.

Lovers, who watchful vigils keep,
(For lovers never, never sleep)
Wait for the rising of the fair,

To offer fongs and hymns of prayer;
Like Perfians to the fun,

Even life, and death, and fate are there:

For in the rolls of ancient deftiny,

Th' inevitable book, 'twas noted down;