If one must be your choice, which d'ye approve,
The curtain-lecture, or the curtain-love?
Would ye be godly with perpetual strife,
Still drudging on with homely Joan your wife :
Or take your pleasure in a wicked way.
Like honest whoring Harry in the play?
I guess your minds : the mistress would be taken,
And nauseous Matrimony sent a-packing.
The devil's in you all ; mankind's a rogue ;
You love the bride, but you detest the clog.
After a year, poor spouse is left i'the' lurch,
And you, like Haynes, return to mother-church.
EPILOGUES. 113
Or, if the name of Church comes cross your mind,
Chapels of Ease behind our scenes you find.
The playhouse is a kind of market-place ;
One chaffers for a voice, another for a face :
Nay, some of you, I dare not say how many,
Would buy of me a pen'worth for your penny.
E'en this poor face, which with my fan I hide, "^
Would make a shift my portion to provide, >
With some small perquisites I have beside. -^
Though for your love, perhaps, I should not care,
I could not hate a man that bids me fair.
What might ensue 'tis hard for me to tell ; ")
But I vvas drench'd to-day for loving well.
And fear the poison that would make me swell
i
EPILOGUE.
J
You saw our wife was chaste, yet throughly tried,
And, without doubt, you're hugely edified ;
For, like our hero, whom we show'd to-day.
You think no woman true, but in a play.
Love once did make a pretty kind of show ;
Esteem and kindness in one breast would grow
But 'twas — Heaven knows how many years ago
Now some small chat, and guinea-expectation,
Gets all the pretty creatures in the nation.
In comedy your little selves you meet;
'Tis Covent-Garden drawn in Bridges-Street.
Smile on our author then, if he has shown
A jolly nut-brown bastard of your own.
Ah ! happy you, with ease and with delight.
Who act those follies poets toil to write!
114 EPILOGUES.
The sweating Muse does almost leave the chase ;
She puffs, and hardly keeps your Protean vices pace.
Pinch you but in one vice, away you fly
To some new frisk of contrariety.
Yon roll like snow-balls, gathering as you run,
And get seven devils when dispossess'd of one.
Your Venus once w as a Platonic queen ;
Nothing of love beside the face was seenj
But every inch of her you now uncase,
And clap a vizard-mask upon the face.
For sins like these the zealous of the land,
With little hair and little or no band,
Declare h(»w circulating pestilences
Watch, every twenty years, to snap offences.
Saturn e'en now takes doctoral degrees,
He'll do your work this summer without fee$.
Let all the boxes, Phoebus, find thy grace,
And, ah! preserve the eighteen-penny place!
But for the jiit-confounders, let them go,
And find as little mercy as they show :
The actors thns, and thus thy poets pray ;
For every critic sav'd, thou damn'st a play.
TO THE
HUSBAND HIS OTVN CUCKOLD.
Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit,
So trembles a young poet at a full pit.
Umis' i to crowds, the parson quakes for fear.
And wonders how the devil he durst come there ;
Wanting three talents needful for the place,
Some beard, some learning, and some little grace.
J
J
EPILOGUES. 115
Nor is the puny Poet void of care ;
For authors, such as our new authors are,
Have not much learning nor much wit to spare
And as for grace, to tell the truth, there's scarce one
But has as little as the very Parson :
Both say they preach and write for your instruction ;
But 'tis for a third-day, and for induction.
The difference is, that though you like the play,
The Poet's gain is ne'er beyond his day: ^
But with the Parson 'tis another case.
He, without holiness, may rise to grace.
The Poet has one disadvantage more,
That if his play be dull, he's damn'd all o'er
Not only a damn'd blockhead, but damn'd poor
But dulness well becomes the sable garment ;
I warrant that ne'er spoil'd a Priest's preferment :
Wit's not his business, and as wit now goes, ^
Sirs, 'tis not so much yours as you suppose, ?
For you like nothing now — but nauseous beaux. 3
You laugh not. Gallants, as by proof appears, ^
At what his Beauship says, but what he wears; >
So 'tis your eyes are tickled, not your ears. 3
The tailor and the furrier find the stuff.
The wit lies in the dress and monstrous muff.
The truth on't is, the payment of the pit
Is like for like, dipt money for dipt wit.
You cannot from our absent author hope
He should equip the stage with such a fop :
Fools change in England, and new fools arise; "1
For though the' immortal species never dies, ^
Yet every year new maggots make new flies. 3
But where he lives abroad, he scarce can find
One fool for njiliions that he left behind.
116" EPILOGUES.
TO
THE PILGRIM.
Perhaps the parson' stretch'd a point too far,
When with our Theatres he wag'd a war.
He tells you that this very moral age
Receiv'd the first infection from the stage :
But, sure, a banish'd court, with lewdness fraught,
The seeds of open vice, returning, brought.
Thus lodg'd, (as vice by great example thrives)
It first debauch'd the daughters and the wives.
London, a fruitful soil, yet never bore
So plentiful a crop of horns before.
The poets, who must live by courts, or starve.
Were proud so good a government to serve ;
And, mixing with butfoons and pimps profane.
Tainted the stage for some small snip of gain.
For they, like harlots, under bawds profest,
Took all the' ungodly pains, and got the least.
Thus did the thriving malady prevail,
The court its head, the poets but the tail.
The sin was of our native growth, 'tis true ;
The scandal of the sin was wholly new.
Misses they were, but modestly conceal'd ;
Whitehall the naked Venus first reveal'd.
Who standing, as at Cyprus, in her shrine.
The strumpet was ador'd with rites divine.
Ere this, if saints had any secret motion,
'Twas chamber-practice all, and close devotion.
1 Probably the Rev. Jeremy Collier ; with whom Dryden
had carried on an offensive and defensive paper-war.
EPILOGUES. 117
I pass the peccadillos of their time ;
Nothing but open lewdness was a crime.
A monarch's blood was venial to the nation,
Compar'd with one foul act of fornication.
Now they would silence us, and shut the door,
That let in all the bare-fac'd vice before.
As for reforming us, which some pretend, ^
That work in England is without an end : 5-
Well may we change, but we shall never mend. J
Yet if you can but bear the present stage,
We hope much better of the coming age.
What would you say, if we should first begin ^
To stop the trade of love behind the scene, S
Where actresses make bold with married men ? J
For while abroad so prodigal the dolt is.
Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is.
In short we'll grow as moral as we can.
Save here and there a woman or a man :
But neither you nor we, with all our pains, -x
Can make clean work : there will be some remains, /
While you have still your Oates, aud we our /
Haynes. )
SONGS
THE FAIR STRANGER.
Happy and free, securely blest,
No beauty could ^disturb my restj
My amorous heart was in despair,
To find a new victorious fair :
Till you, descending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains ;
"Where now you rule without control.
The mighty sovereign of my soul.
Your smiles have more of conquering charm*
Than all your native country arms :
Their troops we can expel with ease.
Who vanquish only when we please.
But in your eyes ; oh ! there's the spell ;
Who can see them, and not rebel?
You make us captives by your stay.
Yet kill us if you go away.
SONGS. 119
ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN.
1680.
Clarendon had law and sense,
Clifford was fierce and brave ;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence
Help'd to support the knave.
But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear such chits in story,
'Twill turn all politics to jests,
To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts.
Protect us, mighty Providence !
What would these madmen have?
First they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common sense,
And without power enslave.
Shall free-born men, in humble awe,
Submit to servile shame,
Who from consent and custom draw
The same right to be rul'd by law.
Which kings pretend to reign?
The Duke shall wield his conquering sword,
The Chancellor make a speech,
The King shall pass his h.^nest word.
The pawn'd revenue sums afford.
And then — Come kiss my breech.
120 SO\GS.
So have I seen a king on chess
(His rooks and knights withdrawn,
His queen and bishops in distress)
ifhirting about, grow less and less.
With here and there a pawn.
FOR ST. CECILIA'S DA Y.
1687.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony.
This universal frame l)egan :
When Nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
' Arise, ye more than dead !'
Then cold and hot, and moist and dry.
In orJer to their stations leap.
And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
Tills universal frame began :
From harmony to harmony,
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell !
When Jnbal struck the chorded shell.
His listeiiifig brethren stood around.
And, wonderin-, on their faces fell.
To worship that celestial sound.
SONGS. 321
Less than a god they thought there could not dw^Il
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell !
The Trumpet's loud clangor
Excites us to arms ;
With shrill notes of anger,
And mortal alanns ;
The double, double, double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries, Hark ! the foe's come;
Cliarge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.
The soft complaining Flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling Lute.
Sharp Violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs, and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation.
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.
But, oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach.
The sacred Organ's praise ?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.
Orpheus could lead the savage race,
And trees, uprooted, left their place,
VOL. III. I
122 SONGS,
Sequacious of the Lyre ;
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher,
When to her Organ vocal breath was given ;
An angel heard, and straight appear'd,
Mistaking earth for Heaven.
GRAND CHORUS.
As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above ;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour.
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.
TEARS OF AMYNTA,
FOR THE DEATH OF DAMON.
On a bank, beside a willow,
Heaven her covering, earth her pillow,
Sad Amynta sigh'd alone :
From the cheerless dawn of morning,
Till the dews of night returning,
Sighing, thus she made her moan :
* Hope is banish'd,
Joys are vanish'd,
Damon, my belov'd, is gone!
123
* Time, I dare thee to discover
Such a youth, and such a lover ;
Oh ! so tnie, so kind was he !
Damon was the pride of Nature,
Charming in his every feature ;
Damon liv'd alone for me -,
Melting kisses.
Murmuring blisses :
Who so liv'd and lov'd as we !
* Never shall we curse the morning,
Never bless the night returning,
Sweet embraces to restore :
Never shall we both lie dying,
Nature failing, love supplying
All the joys he drain'd before :
Death come end me
To befriend me ;
Love and Damon are no more.*
SONG.
Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green ;
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guest
By the towzing, and tumbling, and touching her
breast :
She saw the men eager, but was at a loss
What they meant by tlieir sighing, and kissing so
close:
J24 SONGS.
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing.
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
^ Ah!' she cried ; ^ah, for a languishing maid,
In a country of Christians, to die without aid!
Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least,
Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest.
To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss
What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so
close :
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining.
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing.
And sighing and kissing so close.'
Cupid in shape of a swain did appear ;
He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near;
Then show'd her his arrow, and bid her not fear.
For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear :
When the balm was infus'd, she was not at a loss,
What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so
close :
By their praying and whining.
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing.
And sighing and kissing so close.
liS
THE LADIES' SONG,
A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear,
To choose a May-lady to govern the year;
All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds
in green;
The garland was given, and Phillis was queen :
But Phillis refus'd it, and sighing, did say,
* I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.'
* While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore,
The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more;
The soft god of Pleasure, that warm'd our desires,
Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires;
And vows that himself and his mother will mourn,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.
* Forbear your addresses, and court us no more.
For we will perform what the deity swore;
But if you dare think of deserving our charms.
Away wi th y our sheephooks, and take to your arms :
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
When Pan and his son, and fair Syrinx, return.'
SONG.
Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserv'd for your victorious eyes :
From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
O pity, and distinguish me ;
As I, from thousand beauties more,
Distinguish you, and only you adore.
Your face for conquest was design'd ;
Your every motion charms my mindj
126 SONGS.
Angels, when you your silence break,
Forget their hymns to hear you speak;
But when, at once, they hear and view.
Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.
No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost unless you love ;
While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate.
For, after dying, all reprieve's too late.
SONG.
High state and honours to others impart.
But give me your heart:
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
So gentle a love, so fervent a tire.
My soul does inspire ;
I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave ;
Give me in possessing
So matchless a blessing ;
That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition ;
If e'er you discover
So faithful a lover,
So real a flame,
I'll die, I'll die ;
So give up my game.
SONGS. igr
nONDELA Y.
Chloe found Amyntas lying,
All in tears, upon the plain ;
Sighing to himself, and crying,
* Wretched I, to love in vain !
Kiss me, dear, before my dying ;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain I'
Sighing to himself, and crying,
* Wretched I, to love in vain !
Ever scorning, and denying
To reward your faithful swain :
Kiss me, dear, before my dying ;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain !*
* Ever scorning, and denying
To reward your faithful swain : *
Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him that * he lov'd in vain :'
Kiss me, dear, before my dying ;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain !
Chloe, laughing at his crying.
Told him that ' he lov'd in vain :'
But repenting and complying,
When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again:
Kiss'd him up, before his dying ;
Kiss'd him up, and eas'd his pain.
128 SONGS.
SONG.
Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief.
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.
A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live :
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid :
Tel! her my pains so fast increase,.
That soon they will be past redress ;
But, ah ! the wretch that speechless lies.
Attends but death to close his eyes.
y] FAIR YOUNG LADY,
GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRIN!
Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring
So long delavs her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing.
And winter-storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone, and Fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.
SONGS. 129
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair !
She cast not back a pitying eye ;
But left her lover in despair,
To sigh, to languish, and to die :
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure ?
Great god of Love ! why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all relieions can invade,
And change the laws of every land ?
Where thou hadst plac'd such power before.
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
When Chloris to the temple eomes,
Adoring crowds before her fall ;
She can restore the dead from tombs.
And every life but mine recal.
I only am by love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.
toO SONGS.
A SCHOLAR AND HIS 3IISTRESS,
WHO BEING CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL MAD
FOR ONE ANOTHER, AND NOW FIRST MEET IN
BEDLAM.
[Music tvithin.']
The lovers enter at opposite doors, each held by a
keeper.
Phil. Look, look, I see — I see my love appeaH
'Tis he — 'tis he alone.
For like him there is none :
'Tis the dear, dear man; 'tis thee, dear.
Amyxt. Hark! the winds war.
The foamy waves roar;
I see a ship afar,
Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore:
Bnt what's that I view,
So radiant of hue,
St. Hermo, St. Hermo, that sits upon the sails?
Ah! No, no, no.
St. Hermo never, never shone so bright ;
'Tis Phillis, only Phillis, can shoot so fair a light :
'Tis Phillis, 'tis Phillis, that saves the ship alone,
For all the winds are hushd, and the storm is over-
blown.
Phil. Let me go, let me run, let me fly to hisarms.
Amynt. If all the fates combine,
And all the furies join,
I'll force my way to Pliill's, and break through the
charm.
SONGS. 131
[Here they break from their keepers^ run to each
other, and embrace.
Phil. Shall I many the man I love?
And shall I conclude my pains ?
Now bless'd be the Powers above,
I feel the blood bound in my veins ;
With a lively leap it began to move,
And the vapours leave my brains.
Amynt. Body join'd to body, and heart join'd
to heart,
To make sure of the cure.
Go call the man in black to mumble o'er his part*
Phil. But suppose he should stay —
Amynt. At worst if he delay,
*Tis a work must be done.
We'll borrow but a day,
And the better, the sooner begun.
Chorus of both.] At worst if he delay, &c.
[They run out together hand in hatuL
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS.
VPON THE
DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS.
1649.
Must noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family ;
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding-sheet?
Must Virtue prove Death's harbinger? must she,
With him expiring, feel mortality?
Is death, sin s wages, grace's now ? shall art
Make us more learned, only to depart?
If merit be disease, if virtue death ;
To be good, not to be ; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline ? who'd not esteem
Labour, a crime ? study, self-murder deem?
Our noble youth now have {)retence to be
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguist ! whose worth speaks itself, whose
praise,
Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise ;
Than whom great Alexander may seem less,
"Who conquer'd men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations spake ; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 133
His native soil was the four parts o'the' earth;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.
A young apostle, and fwith reverence may
I speak't) inspir'd with gift of tongues, as they.
Nature gave him, a child, wliat men in vain
Oft strive, by art though furlher'd, to obtain.
His body was an orb, his sublime soul
Did move on virtue s and on learning's pole ;
Whose regular motions better to our view
Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did shew.
Graces and virtues, languages and arts,
Beauty and learning, fiU'd up all the parts.
Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear
Scatter'd in others, all, as in their sphere.
Were fix'd, conglobate in his soul , and thence
Shone through his body with sweet influence,
Letting their glories so on each limb fall,
The whole frame render'd was celestial.
Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make
If thou this hero's altitude canst take:
But that transcends thy skill ; thrice happy all,
Could we but prove thus astronomical.
Liv'd Tycho now, struck with this ray which shone,
More bright i'the' morn than others beam at noon,
He'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere.
Replenish'd then with such rare gifts as these,
Where was room left for such a foul disease ?
The nation's sin hath drawn that veil, whichshrouds
Our day-spring in so sad benighting clouds;
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge, but thus
Recall'd it, rapt its Ganymede from ns.
Was there no milder way but the small-pox,
The vjsry filthiness of Pandora's box ?
134 ELEGIES AXD EPITAPHS.
So many spots, like uaeves on Venus' soil,
One jewel set off with so many a foil ;
BlisterswithprideswelI'd,whichthroagh's flesh did
Like rose-buds, stuck i'the' lily-skin about, [sprout
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit ;
Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife,
Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life.
Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,
The cabinet of a richer soul within?
No comet need foretel his change drew on,
"Whose corpse might seem a constellation.
O ! had he died of old, how great a strife
Had been, who from his death should draw their life ?
Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er
Seneca, Cato, Nnma, Ccesar, were !
Leam'd, virtuous, pious, great ; and have by this
An universal metempsychosis.
Must all these aged sires in one funeral
Expire? all die in one so young, so small?
Who, had he liv'd his life out, his great fame
Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Roman name!
But hasty Winter, with one blast, hath brought
The hopes of Autumn, Summer, Spring, to nought.
Thus fades the oak i'the' sprig ; i'the' blade the com ;
Thus, without young, this phoenix dies, new-born.
Must then old three-leg'd grey-beards, with their
Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three ages out? [gout,
Time's offals, only fit for the' hospital !
Or to hang antiquaries' rooms withal !
Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live
With such helps as broths, possets, physic give?
None live but such as should die ? shall we meet
With none but ghostly Fathers in the street.'
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 135
Grief makes me rail; sorrow will force its way,
And showers of tears tempestuous sighs best lay.
The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lasting streams of elegies.
But thou, O Virgin-widow! left alone.
Now thy belov'd, heaven-ravish'd, spouse is gone,
Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply
Med'cines, when thy balm was no remedy,
With greater than Platonic love, O wed
His soul, though not his body, to thy bed :
Let that make thee a mother ; bring thou forth
The' ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth ;
Transcribe the' original in new copies; give
Hastings o'the' better part : so shall he live
In's nobler half; and the great grandsire be
Of an heroic, divine progeny;
An issue which to' eternity shall last,
Yet but the' irradiations which he cast.
Erect no mausoleums ; for his best
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.
TO THE
MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM.
OB. 1683.
Farewell, too little, and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call — my own :
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive;