If all my arts fhould fail, to arms I'll fly,
And fnatch by force what you my prayers deny :
I all thofe heroes' mighty acts applaud,
Who first have led me this illuftrious read.
I too but hold, death the reward will be;
Death be it then!-

For to lofe you is more than death to me.

Were you lefs fair, I'd use the vulgar way Of tedious courtship, and of dull delay. But thy bright form kindles more eager fires, And fomething wondrous as itself infpires: Thofe eyes that all the heavenly lights outfhine, (Which, oh! may'st thou behold and love in mine!)

Those snowy arms, which on my neck should fail,
If you the vows you made regard at all;

That modeft sweetnefs and becoming grace,
That paints with living red your blushing face;
Thofe feet, with which they only can compare,
That through the filver flood bright Thetis bear;
Do all confpire my madness to excite,
With all the reft that is deny'd to fight;
Which could I praife, alike I then were bleft,
And all the ftorms of my vex'd foul at reft;
No wonder then, if, with fuch beauty fir'd,
I of your love the facred pledge defir'd.
Rage now, and be as angry as you will,
Your very frowns all others' fmiles excel;
But give me leave that anger to appeafe,
By my fubmiffion that my love did raife.
Your pardon proftrate at your feet I'll crave,
The humble pofture of your guilty flave.
With falling tears your fiery rage I'll cool,
And lay the rising tempeft of your foul.
Why in my abfence are you thus fevere?
Summon'd at your tribunal to appear
For all my crimes, I'd gladly suffer there,
With pride whatever you inflict receive, [give.
And love the wounds thofe hands vouchsafe to
Your fetters too-but they, alas! are vain,
For Love has bound me, and I hug my chain :
Your hardeft laws with patience I'll obey,
Till you yourself at last relent, and say,
When all my sufferings you with pity see,
He that can love fo well, is worthy me!"
But, if all this fhould unfuccefsful prove,
Diana claims for me your promis'd love.
O may my fears be falfe! yet the deligh:s
In juft revenge of her abufed rites.

I dread to hide, what yet to fpeak I dread,
Left you should think that for myself I plead.
Yet out it must:-'Tis this, 'tis furely this,
That is the fuel to your hot disease:
When waiting Hymen at your porch attends,
Her fatal meffenger the goddess sends;
And when you would to his kind call confent,
This fever does your perjury prevent.
Forbear, forbear, thus to provoke her rage,
Which you fo eafily may yet affuage:
Forbear to make that lovely charming face
The prey to every envious disease :
Preferve thofe looks to be enjoy'd by me,
Which none should ever but with wonder fee:
Let that fresh colour to your cheeks return,
Whofe glowing flame did all beholders burn:

}

But let on him, th' unhappy caufe of all The ills that from Diana's anger fall,

No greater torments light than those I feel,
When you, my dearest, tendereft part, are ill:
For, oh! with what dire tortures am I rack'd,
Whom different griefs fucceffively distract!
Sometimes my grief from this does higher grow,
To think that I have caus'd fo much to you.
Then, great Diana's witnefs, how I pray
That all our crimes on me alone she'd lay!
Sometimes to your lov'd doors difguis'd I come,
And all around them up and down I roam;
Till I your woman coming from you spy,
With looks dejected, and a weeping eye.
With filent steps, like fome fad ghost, I steal
Close up to her, and urge her to reveal
More than new questions fuffer her to tell:
How you had flept, what diet you had us'd?
And oft the vain phyfician's art accus'd.
He every hour (oh, were I bleft as he !)
Does all the turns of your diftemper fee,
Why fit not I by your bed-fide all day,
My mournful head in your warm bosom lay,
Till with my tears the inward fires decay?
Why prefs not I your melting hand in mine,
And from your pulfe of my own health divine!
But, oh thefe wishes all are vain; and he
Whom mott I fear, may now fit close by thee,
Forgetful as thou art of heaven and me.
He that lov'd hand doth prefs, and oft doth feign
Some new excufe to feel thy beating vein.
Then his bold hand up to your arm doth flide,
And in your panting breaft itself does hide;
Kiffes fometimes he fnatches too from thee,
For his officious care too great a fee.

}

Robber, who gave thee leave to taste that lip,
And the ripe harveft of my kiffes reap?
For they are mine, fo is that besom too,
Which falfe as 'tis, fhall never harbour you:
Take, take away thofe thy adulterous hands,
For know, another lord that breast commands.
'Tis true, her father promis'd her to thee,
But heaven and the first gave herself to me :
And you in justice therefore fhould decline
Your claim to that which is already mine.
This is the man, Cydippe, that excites
Diana's rage, to vindicate her rites.
Command him then not to approach thy door;
This done, the danger of your death is o'er.
For fear not, beauteous maid, but keep thy vow,
Which great Diana heard, and did allow.
And the who took it, will thy health restore,
And be propitious as fhe was before.

""Tis not the steam of a flain heifer's blood "That can allay the anger of a God: "'Tis truth, and juftice to your vows, appeafc "Their angry deities; and without these "No flaughter'd beast their fury can divert, "For that's a facrifice without a heart."

[cure:

Some, bitter potions patiently endure, And kifs the wounding lance that works their You have no need thefe cruel cures to feel, Shun being perjur'd only, and be well. Why let you fill your pious parents weep. Whom you in ignorance of your promise keep

Oh to your mother all our ftory tell,
And the whole progrefs of our love reveal:
Tell her how first, at great Diana's fhrine,
I fix'd my eyes, my wondering eyes, on thine :
How like the statues there 1 flood amaz'd,
Whilft on thy face intemperately I gaz'd.
She will herself, when you my tale repeat,
Smile, and approve the amorous deceit.
Marry, the fay, whom heaven commends to
thee,

He, who has pleas'd Diana, pleases me.

But fhould she ask from what descent I came,
My country, and my parents, and my name;
Tell her, that none of these deferve my fhame.
Had you not fworn, you fuch a one might choose;
But, were he worfe, now fworn, you can't refuse.
This in my dreams Diana bad me write,
And when I wak'd, fent Cupid to indite.
Obey them both, for one has wounded me,
Which wound if you with eyes of pity fee,
She too will foon relent that wounded thee.
Then to our joys with eager hafte we'll move,
As full of beauty you, as I of love :
To the great temple we'll in triumph go,
And with our offerings at the altar bow.
A golden image there I'll confecrate,
Of the falfe Apple's innocent deceit;
And write below the happy verse that came
The meffenger of my fuccefsful flame.

The Argument.

The Poet in this fatire first brings Crifpinus, whom he had a lash at in his firft fatire, and whom he promises here not to be forgetful of for the future. He expofes his monstrous prodigality and luxury, in giving the price of an eftate for a barbel: and from thence takes occafion to introduce the principal subject and true defign of this fatire, which is grounded upon a ridiculous ftory of a turbot prefented to Domitian, of fo vaft a bignefs, that all the Emperor's fcullery had not a dish large enough to hold it: Upon which the fenate in all hafte is fummoned, 10 confult in this exigency, what is fittest to be done. The Poet gives us a particular of the ferators' names, their diftinct characters, and fpeeches, and advice; and, after much and wife confultation, an expedient being found out and agreed upon, he difmiffes the fenate, and concludes the fatire.

ONCE more Crifpinus call'd upon the stage
(Nor fhall once more fuffice) provokes my rage:
A monster, to whom every vice lays claim,
Without one virtue to redeem his fame.

Feeble and fick, yet strong in luft alone,
The rank adulterer preys on all the town,
All but the widows' naufeous charms go down.
What matter then how stately is the arch
Where his tir'd mules flow with their burden
march?

What matter then how thick and long the shade
Through which he is by sweating flaves convey'd?
How many acres near the city walls
Or new-built palaces, his own he calls?
No ill man's happy; least of all is he
Whofe ftudy 'tis to corrupt chastity;
Th' inceftuous brute, who the veil'd veftal maid
But lately to his impious bed betray'd,
Who for his crime, if laws their courte might have,
Ought to defcend alive into the grave *.

But now of fighter faults; and yet the fame
By others done, the cenfor's juftice claim.
For what good men ignoble count and base,
Is virtue here, and does Crifpinus grace:
In this he's fafe, whate'er we write of him,
The perfon is more odious than the crime.
And fo all fatire's loft. The lavish flave
Six thousand pieces † for a barbel gave:

A fefterce for each pound it weigh'd, as they Gave out, that hear great things, but greater

fay.

If, by this bribe well plac'd, he would enfnare
Some fapless usurer that wants an i eir,
Or if this prefent the fly courtier meant
Should to fome punk of quality be sent,'
That in her eafy chair in ftate does ride,
The glaffes all drawn up on every fide,
I'd praife his cunning; but expect not this,
For his own gut he bought the stately fish.
Now even Apicius || frugal feems, and poor,
Outvy'd'in luxury unknown before.

Gave you, Crifpinus, you this mighty fum;
You that, for want of other rags, did come
In your own country paper wrapp'd, to Rome?,
Do fcales and fins bear price to this excefs?
You might have bought the fisherman for less.
For lefs fome provinces whole acres fell;
Nay, in Apulia, if you bargain well,
A manor would coft less than fuch a meal.

What think we then of this luxurious lord¶? What banquets loaded that imperial board? When, in one dish, that, taken from the reft, His conftant table would have hardly mifs'd, So many fefterces were fwallow'd down, To ftuff one fcarlet-coated court buffoon, Whom Rome of all her knights now chiefeft greets, From crying flinking fish about her streets.

Begin, Calliope, but not to fing: Plain, honest truth we for our subject bring. Help then, ye young Pierian maids, to tell A downright narrative of what befell. Afford me willingly your facred aids, Me that have call'd you young, me that have tyl'd you maids.

Crifpinus had feduced a veftal virgin; and, by the law of Numa, fhould have been buried alive. + Roman Settertii.

Famous for gluttony, even to a proverb,
Where land was remarkably cheap.
Domitian

When he, with whom the Flavian race decay'd*, ́) The groaning world with iron fceptre fway'd, When a bald Nero† reign'd, and fervile Rome ( obey'd,

RomeS

Where Venus' fhrine does fair Ancona grace,
A turbot taken, of prodigious fpace,
Fi'd the extended net, not less than thofe
That dull Mæotis does with ice cnclofe;
Till, conquer'd by the fun's prevailing ray,
It opens to the Pontic Sea their way;

And throws them out unwieldy with their growth,
Fat with long cafe, and a whole winter's floth:
The wife commander of the boat and lines,
For our high priest § the ftately prey defigns;
For who that lordly fish durft fell or buy,
So many fpies and court-informers nigh:
No fhore but of this vermin fwarms does bear,
Searchers of mud and fea-weed! that would fwear
The fifh had long in Cæfar's ponds been fed,
And from its lord undutifully fled;
So, justly ought to be again reflor'd:"
Nay, if you credit fage Palphurius'¶ word,
Or dare rely on Armillatus'¶fkill,
Whatever fill the vulgar fry excel
Belong to Cæfar, where foe'er they fwim,
By their own worth confifcated to him.
The boatman then fhall a wife prefent make,
And give the fish before the feizers take.

Now fickly Autumn to dry frofts gave way,
Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preferv'd the prey;
Yet with fuch hafte the bufy fifhes flew,
As if a hot fouth-wind corruption blew :
And now he reach'd the lake, where what remains
Of Alba ftill her ancient rites retains,
Still worthips Vefta, though an humbler way,
Ner lets the hallow'd Trojan fire decay.

[refort,

The wondering crowd, that to ftrange fights And chok'd a while his paffage to the court, At length gives way; ope flies the palace-gate, The turbot enters in, without the Fathers** wait; The boatman ftraight does to Atrides prefs, And thus prefents his fifh, and his address: Accept, dread Sir, this tribute from the main, Too great for private kitchens to contain. To your glad genius facrifice this day, Let common meats refpectfully give way. - Hafte to unload your ftomachs, to receive This turbot, that for you did only live. So long preferv'd to be imperial food, Glad of the net, and to be taken proud.

[well,
How fulfome this how grofs yet this takes
And the vain Prince with empty pride does fwell.
Nothing fo monitrous can be said or feign'd,
But with belief and joy is entertain'd,
When to his face the worthlefs wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile court-flattery to a god has rais'd.

But oh, hard fate! the palace ftores no dish
Afford, capacious of the mighty fish.
To fage debate are fummon'd all the peers,
His truly and much-hated counsellors,

* Domitian was the laft and worft of that family.

+ Domitian from his cruelty, was called a second Ne

ro; and, from his baldness, Calvus.

A title often affumed by the Emperors.

Both of confular degree, yet fpies and informers.
The Senate, or Fatres Confcripti

In whofe pale looks that ghaftly terror fat,
That haunts the dangerous friendships of the great.
The loud Liburnian, that the fenate call'd,
"Run, run; he's fet, he's fet!" no fooner bawl'd,
But, with his robe fnatcht up in hafte, does come
Pegafus t, bailiff of affrighted Rome.

What more were præfects then? The best he was,
And faithfulleft expounder of the laws.
Yet in ill times thought all things manag'd beft,
When Juftice exercis'd her fword the least.

Old Crifpus next, pleasant though old, ap-
pears,

His wit nor humour yielding to his years.
His temper mild, good-nature join'd with sense,
And manners charming as his eloquence.
Who fitter for a ufeful friend than he,
To the great Ruler of the earth and sea,
If, as his thoughts were juft, his tongue were free?
If it were fafe to vent his generous mind
To Rome's dire plague, and terror of mankind;
If cruel Power could foftening counsel bear.
But what's fo tender as a tyrant's ear;
With whom whoever, though a favourite, fpake,
At every fentence fet his life at stake,
Though the difcourfe were of no weightier things,
Than fultry fummers, or unhealthful springs?
This well he knew, and therefore never try'd,
With his weak arms to ftem the stronger tide.
Nor did all Rome, grown fpiritlefs, fupply
A man that for bold truth durft bravely die.
So, fafe by wife complying filence, he
Ev'n in that court did fourfcore fuinmers fee.

Next him Acilius, though his age the fame,
With eager hafte to the grand council came:
With him a youth, unworthy of the fate
That did too near his growing virtues wait,
Urg'd by the tyrant's envy, fear, or hate.
(But 'tis long fince old age began to be
In noble blood no lets than prodigy,
When 'tis I'd rather be of giants' birth,
A pigmy brother to thofe fons of earth.)
Unhappy youth whom from his deftin'd end,
No well diffembled madnefs could defend;
When naked in the Alban theatre,

In Libyan bears he fixt his hunting spear.
Who fees not now through the Lord's thin dif-

guife,

That long feem'd fool to prove at last more wife?
That ftale court trick is now too open laid:
Who now admires the part old Brutus play'd¶?
Thofe honeft times might fwallow this pretence,'
When the King's beard was deeper than his fenfe.

Next Rubrius came, though not of noble race,
With equal marks of terror in his face.
Pale with the gnawing guilt and inward fhame
Of an old crime that is not fit to name.
Werfe, yet in fcandal taking more delight,
Than the vile pathick that durft fatire write.
Montanus' belly next, advancing flow
Before the fweating fenator, did go.

The Roman criers were ufually of this country.

A learned lawyer, and praetect of Rome.

Who made the jett on Domitian's killing flies.
Of an obfcure and unknown family.

la counterfeiting madness.

* Nero, who charged his own crimes on Quintianus

Crifpinus after, but much sweeter comes, Scented with coftly oils and eaftern gums, More than would ferve two funerals for perfumes.

Then Pompey, none more skill'd in the courtgame

Of cutting throats with a foft whisper, came.
Next Fufcus, he who many a peaceful day
Fer Dacian vultures was referv'd a prey,
Till, having study'd war enough at home,
He led abroad th' unhappy arms of Rome.
Cunning Vejento next, and by his fide
Bloody Catullus leaning on his guide,
Decrepit, yet a furious lover he,

And deeply fmit with charms he could not fee.
A monfler, that ev'n this worst age outvics,
Confpicuous, and above the common fize.

A blind bafe flatterer, from fome bridge or gate †,
Rais'd to a murdering minifter of fate.
Deferving ftill to beg upon the road,
And blefs each paffing waggon and its load.
None more admir'd the fith; he in its praise

With zeal his voice, with zeal his hands did raise;
But to the left all his fine things did fay,
Whilft on his right the unfcen turbot lay.
So he the fam'd Cilician fencer prais'd,
And at each hit with wonder feem'd amaz'd:
So did the fcenes and flage machines admire,
And boys that flew through canvas clouds in wire.
Nor came Vejento fhort; but, as infpir'd
By thee, Bellona, by thy fury fir'd,
Turns prophet. See the mighty omen, fee,
He cries of fome illuftrious victory!
Some captive king thee his new lord fhall own;
Or from his British chariot headlong thrown
The proud Arviragas come tumbling down!
'The monster's foreign. Mark the pointed fpears
That from thy hand on his pierc'd back he wears!
Who nobler could, or plainer things prefage?
Yet one thing 'fcap'd him, the prophetic rage
Shew'd not the turbot's country, nor its age.
At length by Cæfar the grand queftion's put:
My lords, your judgment; fhall the fish be cut?
Far be it, far from us, Montanus crics;
Let's not difhonour thus the noble prize!
A pot of finest earth, thin, deep, and wide,
Some fkilful quick Prometheus must provide.
Clay and the forming wheel prepare with speed.
But, Cafar, be it from henceforth decreed,
That potters on the royal progrefs wait,
Taffift in thefe emergencies of state.

}

This counfel pleas'd; nor could it fail to take, So fit, fo worthy of the man that fpake. 'The old court riots he remember'd well; Could tales of Nero's midnight fuppers tell, When Falern wires the labouring lungs did fire, And to new dainties kindled falfe defire. In arts of eating, none more early train'd, None in my time had equal skill attain'd. He, whether Circe's rock his oyflers bore, Or Lucrine lake, or the Rutupian fhore, Knew at first tafte, nay at first fight could tell A crab or lobster's country by its thell,

* Cornelius Fufcus, who was flain in Dacia. †The common lands for begge«i».

They rife; and straight all, with respectfulave, At the word given, obfequiously withdraw, Whom, full of eager hafte, surprise, and fear, Our mighty prince had fummon'd to appear; As it fome news he'd of the Catti tell, Or that the fierce Sicambrians did rebel: As if expreffes from all parts had come With fresh alarms threatening the fate of Rome.

What folly this! But oh that all the reft Of his dire reign had thus been spent in jeft; And all that time fuch trifles had employ'd In which fo many nobles he destroy'd; He fafe, they unreveng'd, to the disgrace Of the furviving, tame, Patrician race! But, when he dreadful to the rabble grew, Him, whom fo many lords had flain, they few.

DAMON AND ALEXIS.

DAMON.

TELL me, Alexis, whence these forrows grow! From what hid fpring do thefe falt torrents dow Why hangs the head of my afflicted fwain; like bending lilies overcharg'd with rain?

ALEXIS.

Ah, Damon, if what you already fee, Cat move thy gentle breaft to pity me; How would thy fighs with mine in concert jen How would thy tears fwell up the tide of muc? Couldst thou but fee (but, oh, no light is there, But blackeft clouds of darkness and despair) Could It thou but fee the torments that within Lie deeply lodg'd, aud view the horrid fccne, View all the wounds, and every fatal dart That sticks and rankles in my bleeding heart! No more, ye fwains, Love's harmless anger fear For he has empty'd all his quiver here. Not thou, kind Damon, afk me why I grieve, But rather wonder, wonder that I live.

DAMON.

Unhappy youth! too well, alas! I know The pangs defpairing lovers undergo! [Imperfect.]

CELIA AND DORINDA. WHEN first the young Alexis faw Calia to all the plain give law, The haughty Calia, in whofe face Love dwelt with Fear, and Pride with Grace; When every fwain he faw fubmit To her commanding eyes and wit, How could th' ambitious youth afpire To perish by a nobler fire? With all the power of verfe he strove The lovely fhepherdefs to move: Verfe, in which the Gods delight, That makes nymphs love, and heroes fight; Verfe, that once rul'd all the plain, Verfe, the wishes of a fwain.

How oft has Thyrfis' pipe prevail'd,
Where Egon's flocks and herds have fail'd?
Fair Amaryllis, was thy mind
Ever to Damon's wealth inclin'd;
Whilft Lycidas's gentle breaft,
With Love, and with a Mufe poffeft,
Breath'd forth in verfe his foft defire,
Kindling in thee his gentle fire?

TO A

ROMAN CATHOLIC UPON MARRIAGE.

CENSURE and pennances, excommunication,
Are bug-bear words to fright a bigot nation;
But 'tis the Church's more fubftantial curse,
To damn us all for better and for worse.
Falfely your Church feven facraments does frame;
Pennance and Matrimony are the fame.

A FRAGMENT..

-AND yet he fears to use them, and be free; Yet fome have ventur'd, and why fhould not all? Let villains, perjur'd, envious, and malicious, The wretched mifer and the midnight murderer Betrayers of their country, or their friend, (And every guilty breaft) fear endless torment, Blue lakes of brimstone, unextinguish'd fires, Scorpions and whips, and all that guilt deferves; Let these, and only thefe, thus plague themselves. For though they fear what neither fhall nor can be, 'Tis punishment enough it makes them live, Of death, to them fo dreadful; but why dreadful, Live, to endure the dreadful apprehenfion At least to virtuous minds?- -To be at reft, To fleep, and never hear of trouble more, Say, is this dreadful? Heart, wouldft thou be at quiet?

Doft thou thus beat for reft, and long for cafe, And not command thy friendly hand to help thee? What hand can be fo eafy as thy own,

To apply the medicine that cures all diseases!

то

SOME DISBANDED OFFICERS, Upon the late Vote of the House of Commons.

}

HAVE we for this ferv'd full nine hard campaigns?
Is this the recompence for all our pains?
Have we to the remoteft parts been fent,
Bravely expos'd our lives, our fortunes spent,
To be undone at last by Parliament ?
Muft colonels and corporals now be equal made,
And flaming fword turn'd pruning knife and
Spade?

T-b, S, F—, and thousands more,
Muft now return to what they were before.
No more in glittering coaches fhail they ride,
No more the feather's fhew the coxcombs' pride.
For thee, poor
- my Mufe does kindly weep,
To fee difbanded colonels grown fo cheap.
So younger brothers with fat jointures fed,
Go defpicable, once their widows dead.
No fhip, by tempeft from her anchor torn,
Is half fo loft a thing, and fo forlorn.
Qq every stall, in every broker's fhop,
Hang up the plumes of the difmantled fop;
Trophies like these we read not of in story,
By other ways the Romans got their glory.
But in this, as in all things, there's a doom,
Some die i' th' field, and others ftarve at home.

AN EPISTLE TO MR. OTWAY.

DEAR TOм, how melancholy I am grown
Since thou hast left this learned dirty town †,
To thee by this dull letter be it known.
Whilft all my comfort, under all this care,
Are duns, and puns, and logic, and small beer.
Thou feeft I'm dull as Shadwell's men of wit,
Or the top scene that Settle ever writ:
The sprightly Court that wander up and down
From gudgeons to a race, from town to town,
All, all are fled; but them I well can spare,
For I'm fo dull I have no business there.

}

I have forgot whatever there I knew,
Why men one stocking tye with ribbon blue:
Why others medals wear, a fine gilt thing,
That at their breafts hang dangling by a string;
(Yet ftay, I think that I to mind recal,
For once a fquirt was rais'd by Windfor wall).
I know no officer of court; nay more,
No dog of court, their favourite before.
Should Veny fawn, I should not understand her,
Nor who committed inceft for Legander.

In answer to one in Otway's Poems, + Mr. Duke was then at Cambridge, Sir Samuel Moreland,