Affected truth, much modesty and grace,

And (like a worn-out suburb trull) past there for a
Thither all her lovers flock'd,
[new face.
And there for her support she found

A wight, of whom Fame's trumpet much does
sound,

With all ingredients for his business stock'd,
Not unlike him whose story has a place

In th' annals of sir Hudibras.

Of all her business he took care,

And every knave or fool that to her did repair,
Had by him admittance there.
By his contrivance to her did resort
All who had been disgusted at the court.

Those whose ambition had been crost,

Or by ill manners had preferments lost,
Were those on whom she practis'd most her charms,
Lay nearest to her heart, and oftenest in her arms.
Interest in every faction, every sect, she sought;

And to her lure, flattering their hopes, she brought
All those who use religion for a fashion.

All such as practise forms, and take great pains
To make their godliness their gains,
And thrive by the distractions of a nation,
She by her art ensnar'd, and fetter'd in her chains.
Through her the Atheist hop'd to purchase toleration,
The rebel power, the beggar'd spendthrift lands,
Out of the king's or bishops' hands.
Nay, to her side at last she drew in all the rude,
Ungovernable, headlong multitude:
Promis'd strange liberties, and sure redress
Of never-felt, unheard-of grievances :
Pamper'd their follies, and indulg'd their hopes,
With May-day routs, November squibs, and burning
pasteboard popes.

"With her in common lust did mingle all the crew,
Till at the last she pregnant grew,

And from her womb, in little time, brought forth
This monstrous, most detested birth.
Of children born with teeth we 've heard,
And some like comets with a beard;
Which seem'd to be forerunners of dire change:
But never hitherto was seen,

Born from a Wapping drab, or Shoreditch quean,
A form like this, so hideous and so strange.
To help whose mother in her pains, there came
Many a well-known dame.

The bawd Hypocrisy was there,
And madam Impudence the fair:

Dame Scandal with her squinting eyes,
That loves to set good neighbours at debate,
And raise commotions in a jealous state,
Was there, and Malice, queen of far-spread lies,
With all their train of frauds and forgeries.
But midwife Mutiny, that busy drab,

That 's always talking, always loud,
Was she that first took up the babe,
And of the office most was proud.

Behold its head of horrid form appears:
To spite the pillory, it had no ears.

When straight the bawd cry'd out, 'twas surely kin

To the blest family of Pryn,

But Scandal offer'd to depose her word,
Or oath, the father was a lord.
The nose was ugly, long, and big,
Broad, and snouty like a pig;

Which show'd he would in dunghills love to dig;
Love to cast stinking satires up in ill-pil'd rhymes,
And live by the corruptions of unhappy times.

A cell she kept.

Hell she ador'd, and Satan was her god;
And many an ugly loathsome toad
Crawl'd round her walls, and croak'd.
Under her roof all dismal, black, and smok'd,
Harbour'd beetles, and unwholesome bats,
Sprawling nests of little cats;

All which were imps she cherish'd with her blood,
To make her spells succeed and good.

Still at her shrivell'd breasts they hung, whene'er
mankind she curst,

And with these foster-brethren was our monster
In little time the hell-bred brat [nurs'd.
Grew plump and fat,

Without his leading strings could walk,
And (as the sorceress taught him) talk.
At seven years old he went to school,
Where first he grew a foe to rule.
Never would he learn as taught,
But still new ways affected, and new methods sought.
Not that he wanted parts

T' improve in letters, and proceed in arts;
But, as negligent as sly,

Of all perverseness brutishly was full,
(By nature idle) lov'd to shift and lie,

And was obstinately dull.

Till, spite of Nature, through great pains, the sot
(And th' influence of th' ill genius of our land)
At last in part began to understand.

Some insight in the Latin tongue he got;
Could smatter pretty well, and write too a plain hand.
For which his guardians all thought fit,

In compliment to his most hopeful wit,

He should be sent to learn the laws,
And out of the good old to raise a damn'd new cause.

"In which the better to improve his mind,
As by Nature he was bent

To search in hidden paths, and things long bury'd find,
A wretch's converse much he did frequent:
One who this world, as that did him, disown'd,
And in an unfrequented corner, where
Nothing was pleasant, hardly healthful found,
He led his hated life.

Needy, and ev'n of necessaries bare,

No servant had he, children, friend, or wife:
But of a little remnant, got by fraud,

(For all ill turns he lov'd, all good detested, and be

liev'd no God)

Thrice in a week he chang'd a hoarded groat,
With which of beggar's scraps he bought.
Then from a neighbouring fountain water got,
Not to be clean, but slake his thirst.
He never blest himself, and all things else he curst,
The cell in which he (though but seldom) slept,
Lay like a den, uncleans'd, unswept:
And there those jewels which he lov'd he kept;
Old worn-out statutes, and records
Of common privileges, and the rights of lords.
But bound up by themselves with care were laid
All the acts, resolves, and orders, made

They bluster'd out the day with show of Th' impatient Tides knock'd at the shore, and bid fight,

PHÆDKA TO HIPPOLYTUS.

TRANSLATED OUT OF OVID.

THE ARGUMENT.

Theseus, the son of Ægeus, having slain the Minotaur, promised to Ariadne, the daughter of Minos and Pasiphae, for the assistance which she gave him, to carry her home with him, and make her his wife; so together with her sister Phædra they went on board and sailed to Chios, where, being warned by Bacchus, he left Ariadne, and married her sister Phædra, who afterwards, in Theseus her husband's absence, fell in love with Hippolytus her son-in-law, who had vowed celibacy, and was a hunter; wherefore, since she could not conveniently otherwise, she chose by this epistle to give him an account of her passion.

If thou 'rt unkind I ne'er shall health enjoy,
Yet much I wish to thee, my lovely boy:
Read this, and reading how my soul is seiz'd,
Rather than not, be with my ruin pleas'd:
Thus secrets safe to furthest shores may move;
By letters foes converse, and learn to love.
Thrice my sad tale, as I to tell it try'd,
Upon my faltering tongue abortive dy'd;
Long Shame prevail'd, nor could be conquer'd quite,
But what I blush'd to speak, Love made me write.
'Tis dangerous to resist the power of Love,
The gods obey him, and he 's king above;

He clear'd the doubts that did my mind confound,
And promis'd me to bring thee hither bound:
Oh may he come, and in that breast of thine
Fix a kind dart, and make it flame like mine!
Yet of my wedlock vows I'll lose no care,
Search back through all my fame, thou 'It find it fair.
But Love long breeding to worst pain does turn;
Outward unharm'd, within, within I burn!
As the young bull or courser yet untam'd,
When yok'd or bridled first, are pinch'd and maim'd;
So my unpractis'd heart in love can find
No rest, th' unwonted weight so toils my mind:
When young, Love's pangs by arts we may remove,
But in our riper years with rage we love.
To thee I yield then all my dear renown,
And pr'ythee let 's together be undone.
Who would not pluck the new-blown blushing rose,
Or the ripe fruit that courts him as it grows?
But if my virtue hitherto has gain'd
Esteem for spotless, shall it now be stain'd?
Oh, in thy love I shall no hazard run;
"Tis not a sin, but when 'tis coarsely done.
And now should Juno leave her Jove to me,
I'd quit that Jove, Hippolytus, for thee:
Believe me too, with strange desires I change,
Among wild beasts I long with thee to range.
To thy delights and Delia I incline,
Make her my goddess too, because she 's thine:
I long to know the woods, to drive the deer,
And o'er the mountain's tops my hounds to cheer,
Shaking my dart; then, the chase ended, lie
Stretch'd on the grass; and would'st not thou be by?
Oft in light chariots I with pleasure ride,
And love myself the furious steeds to guide.

Now like a Bacchanal more wild I stray,
Or old Cybele's priests, as mad as they
When under Ida's hills they offerings pay:
Ev'n mad as those the deities of night
And water, Fauns and Dryads, do affright.
But still each little interval I gain,
Easily find 'tis love breeds all my pain.
Sure on our race love like a fate does fall,
And Venus will have tribute of us all.
Jove lov'd Europa, whence my father came,
And, to a bull transform'd, enjoy'd the dame:
She, like my mother, languish'd to obtain,
And fill'd her womb with shame as well as pain.
The faithless Theseus by my sister's aid
The monster slew, and a safe conquest made:
Now, in that family my right to save,
I am at last on the same terms a slave:
'Twas fatal to my sister and to me,
She lov'd thy father, but my choice was thee.
Let monuments of triumph then be shown
For two unhappy nymphs by you undone.
When first our vows were to Eleusis paid,
Would I had in a Cretan grave been laid!
'Twas there thou didst a perfect conquest gain,
Whilst love's fierce fever rag'd in every vein:
White was thy robe, a garland deck'd thy head,
A modest blush thy comely face o'erspread:
That face, which may be terrible in arms,
But graceful seem'd to me, and full of charms:
I love the man whose fashion 's least his care,
And hate my sex's coxcombs fine and fair;
For whilst thus plain thy careless locks let fly,
Th' unpolish'd form is beauty in my eye.
If thou but ride, or shake the trembling dart,
I fix my eyes, and wonder at thy art:
To see thee poise the javelin moves delight,
And all thou dost is lovely in my sight:
But to the woods thy cruelty resign,
Nor treat it with so poor a life as mine.
Must cold Diana be ador'd alone,
Must she have all thy vows, and Venus none?
That pleasure palls, if 'tis enjoy'd too long;
Love makes the weary firm, the feeble strong.
For Cynthia's sake unbend and ease thy bow,
Else to thy arm 'twill weak and useless grow.
Famous was Cephalus in wood and plain,
And by him many a boar and pard was slain,
Yet to Aurora's love he did incline,
Who wisely left old age for youth like thine.
Under the spreading shades her amorous boy,
The fair Adonis, Venus could enjoy;
Atalanta's love too Meleager sought,
And to her tribute paid of all he caught:
Be thou and I the next blest silvan pair;
Where Love's a stranger, woods but deserts are.
With thee, through dangerous ways unknown before,
I'll rove, and fearless face the dreadful boar.
Between two seas a little isthmus lies,
Where on each side the beating billows rise,
There in Trazena I thy love will meet,
More blest and pleas'd than in my native Crete.
As we could wish, old Theseus is away
At Thessaly, where always let him stay
With his Perithous, whom well I see
Preferr'd above Hippolytus or me.
Nor has he only thus exprest his hate;
We both have suffer'd wrongs of mighty weight:
My brother first he cruelly did slay,
Then from my sister falsely ran away,
And left expos'd to every beast a prey:

A warlike queen to thee thy being gave,
A mother worthy of a son so brave,
From cruel Theseus yet her death did find,

Nor, though she gave him thee, could make him kind.
Unwedded too he murder'd her in spight,
To bastardize, and rob thee of thy right:
And if, to wrong thee more, two sons I've brought,
Believe it his, and none of Phædra's fault:
Rather, thou fairest thing the Earth contains,
I wish at first I'd dy'd of mother's pains.

How canst thou reverence then thy father's bed,
From which himself so abjectly is fled?

;

The thought affrights not me, but me inflames;
Mother and son are notions, very names
Of worn-out piety, in fashion then
When old dull Saturn rul'd the race of men
But braver Jove taught pleasure was no sin,
And with his sister did himself begin.
Nearness of blood and kindred best we prove,
When we express it in the closest love.

Nor need we fear our fault should be reveal'd;
Twill under near relation be conceal'd,

And all who hear our loves, with praise shall crown

A mother's kindness to a grateful son.

No need at midnight in the dark to stray,

Night, kinder night, 's the much more welcome guest,
For though it bring small ease, it hides at least ;
Or if e'er slumbers and my eyes agree, [thee.
'Tis when they 're crown'd with pleasing dreams of
Last night methought (Heaven make the next as
Free as first innocence, and unconfin'd [kind!)
As our first parents in their Eden were,
Ere yet condemn'd to eat their bread with care;
We two together wander'd through a grove,
'Twas green beneath us, and all shade above,
Mild as our friendship, springing as our love;
Hundreds of cheerful birds fill'd every tree,
And sung their joyful songs of liberty;
While through the gladsome choir well pleas'd we
walk'd,

And of our present valued state thus talk'd:
How happy are we in this sweet retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who 'd labour to be great?
Who for preferments at a court would wait,
Where every gudgeon 's nibbling at the bait?
What fish of sense would on that shallow lie,
Amongst the little starving wriggling fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd paste;
When the wide river he behind him sees,

Tunlock the gates, and cry, "My love, this way!" Where he may launch to liberty and ease?

No busy spies our pleasures to betray.
But in one house, as heretofore, we 'll live;
In public, kisses take; in public, give:
Though in my bed thou 'rt seen, 'twill gain applause
From all, whilst none have sense to guess the cause:
Only make haste, and let this league be sign'd;
So may my tyrant Love to thee be kind.
For this I am an humble suppliant grown;
Now where are all my boasts of greatness gone?
I swore I ne'er would yield, resolv'd to fight,
Deceiv'd by Love, that 's seldom in the right;
Now on my own I crawl, to clasp thy knees;
What 's decent no true lover cares or sees:
Shame, like a beaten soldier, leaves the place,
But beauty's blushes still are in my face.
Forgive this fond confession which I make,
And then some pity on my sufferings take.
What though 'midst seas my father's empire lies;
Though my great grandsire thunder from the skies;
What though my father's sire in beams drest gay
Drives round the burning chariot of the day;
Their honour all in me to Love 's a slave,
Then, though thou wilt not me, their honour save.
Jove's famous island, Crete, in dower I 'll bring,
And there shall my Hippolytus be king:

For Venus' sake then hear and grant my prayer,
So may'st thou never love a scornful fair;
In fields so may Diana grace thee still,
And every wood afford thee game to kill;
So may the mountain gods and satyrs all
Be kind, so may the boar before thee fall;

So
may the water-nymphs in heat of day,
Though thou their sex despise, thy thirst allay.
Millions of tears to these my prayers I join,
Which as thou read'st with those dear eyes of thine,
Think that thou see'st the streams that flow from
mine.

EPISTLE TO MR. DUKE'.

My much-lov'd friend, when thou art from my eyes,
How do I loath the day, and light despise!

See the Answer, in Duke's poems.

No cares or business here disturb our hours,
While, underneath these shady peaceful bowers,
In cool delight and innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand pleasures waste the day:
Sometimes upon a river's bank we lie,
Where skimming swallows o'er the surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his beams,
Kisses and gently warms the gliding streams;
Amidst whose current rising fishes play,
And roll in wanton liberty away.
Perhaps hard by there grows a little bush,
On which the linnet, nightingale, and thrush,
Nightly their solemn orgies meeting keep,
And sing their vespers ere they go to sleep:
There we two lie, between us may be 's spread
Some books, few understand, though many read
Sometimes we Virgil's sacred leaves turn o'er,
Still wondering, and still finding cause for more.
How Juno's rage did good Æncas vex,
Then how he had revenge upon her sex
In Dido's state, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal danger of her charms,
And scorn'd to melt his virtue in her arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle friendship, and their martial fire;
We praise their valour, 'cause yet match'd by none,
And love their friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our minds a feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our transports, or our longings tell,
To taste of pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With thoughts of love and wine by him we're fir'd,
Two things in sweet retirement much desir'd:
A generous bottle and a lovesome she,
Are th' only joys in nature next to thee:
To which retiring quietly at night,
If (as that only can) to add delight,
When to our little cottage we repair,
We find a friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverley, kind as parting lovers' tears,
Adderly, honest as the sword he wears,
Wilson, professing friendship get a friend,
Or Short, beyond what numbers can commend,