THERE is a gate, we know full well,
That stands 'twixt heav'n, and earth, and hell,
Where many for a passage venture,
But very few are fond to enter;
Altho' 'tis open night and day,
They for that reason shun this way:
Both dukes and lords abhor its wood;
They can't come near it for the blood:
What other way they take to go,
Another time I'll let you know.
Yet commoners, with greatest ease,
Can find an entrance when they please.
The poorest hither march in state,
(Or they can never pass the gate)
Like Roman generals triumphant,
And then they take a turn and jump on't.
If gravest parsons here advance,
They cannot pass before they dance;
There's not a soul that does resort here,
But strips himself to pay the porter.
FROM heav'n I fall, tho' from earth I begin,
No lady alive can shew such a skin.
I'm bright as an angel and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark when you squeeze me together.
Tho' candour and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare.
Tho' so much of heav'n appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.
I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out;
Tho' hundreds have employ'd their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almost in ev'ry garden,
Nay, in the compass of a farthing.
There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch except I will.
I AM jet-black, as you may see,
The son of Pitch and gloomy Night,
Yet all that know me will agree
I'm dead except I live in light.
Sometimes in panegyric high,
Like lofty Pindar, I can soar,
And raise a virgin to the sky,
Or sink her to a pocky whore.
My blood this day is very sweet,
To-morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk 'tis cry'd about the street,
And so apply'd to diffèrent use.
Most wondrous is my magic pow'r;
For with one colour I can paint;
I'll make the devil a saint this hour,
Next make a devil of a saint.
Thro' distant regions I can fly,
Provide me but with paper wings,
And fairly shew a reason why
There should be quarrels among kings.
And after all you'll think it odd,
When learned doctors will dispute,
That I should point the word of God,
And shew where they can best confute.
Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats,
'Tis I that must the lands convey,
And strip the clients to their coats,
Nay, give their very souls away.
ANOTHER.
EVER eating, never cloying,
All devouring, all destroying,
Never finding full repast
Till I eat the world at last.
WE are little airy creatures,
All of different voice and features;
One of us in glass is set,
One of us you'll find in jet,
T'other you may see in tin,
And the fourth a box within;
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from you.
ALL of us in one you'll find,
Brethren of a wondrous kind;
Yet among us all no brother
Knows one tittle of the other.
We in frequent councils are,
And our marks of things declare,
Where, to us unknown, a clerk
Sits and takes them in the dark :
He's the register of all
In our ken, both great and small;
By us forms his laws and rules;
He's our master, we his tools;
Yet we can with greatest ease
Turn and wind him where we please.
One of us alone can sleep,
Yet no watch the rest will keep,
But the moment that he closes,
Ev'ry brother else reposes.
If wine's bought or victuals drest,
One enjoys them for the rest.
Pierce us all with wounding steel,
One for all of us will feel.
Tho' ten thousand cannons roar,
Add to them ten thousand more,
Yet but one of us is found
Who regards the dreadful sound.
Do what is not fit to tell,
There's but one of us can smell.
ANOTHER.
FONTINELLA TO FLORINDA.
WHEN on my bosom thy bright eyes,
Florinda! dart their heav'nly beams,
|