A Funeral-Oration UPON FAVORITE, My Lady Lap-Dog.

By a Person of Quality.

Immodicis brevis est oetas, & rara Senectus.
Durum; sed levius fit patientiâ Quicquid corrigere est nefas.

LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1699.

Epistle Dedicatory TO URANIA.

IT is your Command, Madam, that I should make public the ensuing Oration on Favo­rite, and your Commands can be no more re­sisted than your Eyes. But besides, that it is not in the power of your Slave to disobey you, I can pay no less a Tribute to the Manes of our deceas'd Brother in servitude, than to give this public Testimony of the respect I have for his Virtues.

Other Lovers not so disinteressed as my self, might perhaps triumph at the death of so considerable a Rival as was Favorite. But I, Madam, who take share in all your Affli­ctions, am so far from rejoicing at it, and e­recting a Trophy on his untimely Destiny, [Page] that I profess all the Consolation I can fetch From Philosophy, from the Lyceum, the Porti­cus, or the Tusculanum, is not able to support me under the deep sense I have of your unspeak­able Loss.

Nor can we condemn, or think unwarrant­able your Grief. Were not the World suffici­ently acquainted with the deserts of Favorite, yet even those who were altogether strangers to his good Qualities wou'd deduce a reasona­ble consequence, that there was something most emphatically, most conspicuously shin­ing in him, which should prefer hint to Urania's favour. For certainly a Woman of your Dis­cernment, a Woman so nice a Judge, and so bountiful a Rewarder of Merit, whether in Man or Brute, cou'd never bestow so plen­tiful a portion of your Kindness on a Dogg, whose Endowment did not give him a title to it. In fine, you fed, you cherished, you caress'd him. By your Favour you rais'd him more above the Animals of his own Species, than Animals themselves are exalted above the in­ferior Vegetables.

[Page] 'Tis true, he created some private Jealousies, some Discontents in the Breasts of your Ad­miters: But to do publick justice to his ashes, I must say that of Favorite, which cannot, without manifest injury to truth, be affirm'd of all the other Favorites of Princes, of the Richelieus, of the Mazarins, of the Wolseys, of the Buckinghams, of the Lerma's, and of the Olivares, that in the Universal corruption of a most degenerate Age, he preserv'd an un­blemish'd, an inviolable Integrity to his Mi­striss; that he did not give Intelligence to a Forreign Court, of the private Resolutions of State that were taken in the Cabinet at home; that when Affairs of Importance called her Abroad, he did not stay be­hind her, nor sleep ingloriously upon the Couch; that he stood unmov'd, stood un­shaken, against all the Attacks of Bribes; that he did not crush calamitous Merit be­neath him, nor supplant the Obstacle in his way above him; that he never Smiled where he intended to ruine. In shore, that he de­spised the little Artifices of the Great, as the [Page] Politick Nod, the slavish Cringe, the deceit­ful Bow, the betraying Hugg, and the mur­dering Whisper.

But I will enlarge no farther on his Prai­ses, since I am sensible that by my want of Ability he has suffer'd too much already in the ensuing Oration. Expect not then that after I have injur'd your Dog, I should be so hardy as to attempt your Panegyric, that is, to injure you. For, Madam, should I employ all the Tragical forces of Rhetorick, should I lavish all the magnificence of Ex­pression, and all the splendid pomp of Me­tephors, I should fall infinitely short of my Divine Argument. Eloquence here loses its use, the gaudy Train of Tropes and Figures are but vain and empty Ostentation. We cannot speak Figuratively of you, we cannot speak of you with exaggeration. You tran­scend all Hyperboles, your Merit rises above the sublimest flights of Fancy. I shall on­ly say, that all Virtues unite to make a bright Constellation in you, and that if there were a general shipwrack of your Sex, [Page] we should find the scatter'd Perfections ofWomankind collected in your self.

Other Ladies, if they have their Graces have their Defects withal. Angelica talks a­way the merit of her Face, and what she gains by her Eyes, she loses by her Tongue. Horatia overwhelms us by the splendor, and leads us Captives by the Arts of her Dress, who were she to be seen in dishabillee in the ruelle, would sigh to see her self no longer the Object of Adoration. Melanissa appears with advantage in the simplicity of an un­artful Attire, who cannot suppress the pomp and Ornament of Dress. Sempronia treads on every Heart when she Dances, but gains no Triumph when she Sings. Belinda charms us with her Voice, but is disagreeable at a Ball. Oriana, with her melancholy Air, gives us sad Cause of Melancholy, but ex­cites our Laughter with her own. Aurelia has Wit, has Youth, has Beauty to fix the most roving Heart, but cannot fix her own. Lindamira woul'd make the most con­stant Lover in the Universe, but wants the [Page] Charms to make us so. Aemilia speaks fa­vourably of all the World, but gives all the World just occasion not to speak fa­vourably of her. Cassandra's Innocence is a­bove the Censure of others, but the Inno­cence of others cannot defend themselves from the Censure of Cassandra. But in you, Madam, we find united all the Advantages of the happiest of your Sex, without any of their Defects. What the most celebrated Wit of this Age has said, of the most cele­brated Beauty of a neighbouring Kingdom, may with equal Justice be applied to you. One may be constant to you, with all the pleasure of inconstancy. We change every moment for your Graces, but are still con­stant to your Person. But, Madam, as I shall not offer Incense to you that has been presented at other. Altars, so neither will I attempt your Comparison with the most il­lustrious Beauties of the former, or present Ages. When ever we think or talk of you, Madam, the Dispute is not with other, but with your self, which Part, which Feature, which Posture is most agreeable; whether [Page] you charm us most when you Move or Sit, Stand or Walk; Whether, you throw the Lover down more with your hand, than you trample on him with your foot; whether is most powerful, the Eloquence of your Eyes, [...] that of your Tongue; whether is most delicate, your Tread in the Conduct of your Life, or that of your Gate: In short, whe­ther your Thoughts are brighter than your Looks, and whether is most boundless your Fancy, to the Empire of your Beauty. Thus it is with you, Madam, as with Kings or Princes, whom we dare not bring in com­petition with their Inferiours, but measure them by themselves, and compare one part of their Life by the other.

Thus, Madam, by the common Fate of all Dedicators I have suffer'd my self to be carried into the stream of Panegyric, even after I had protested against it; but I shall prosecute this Argument no farther, which I am not able to sustain; the dreadful fate of Salmoneus ought to deterr me, who died by the Bolts he endeavour'd to imitate. By observing this conduct, I shall not only con­sult [Page] my own Reputation, but the Interest too and Repose of Mankind: For should I persist to draw your fair Picture, should I descend into the detail of your innumerable Excellencies and Perfections, there would fall ten thousand Victims at your Feet, and this Epistle Dedicatory might prove perhaps, in some sense, a Funeral Oration on the Reader.

I see, Madam, your Breast is capable of tender Impressions. You can be mov'd at the Fate of Favorite, (no wonder he out-ran Us in your Affection, since four Legs will al­ways be too many for two) take pitty then of his Orator. You can weep to see him dead, pay then a Teat to the Funerals of the Man, whom your self, whom your own bright Eyes have slain.

By a Friend of the Author.

MEthinks I see some Surly Morose Criticks, who mistake their dullness for Gravity, and their Spleen for Religion, look down with a haughty Solemn Air upon the following Performance, and thus vent their pious Choler against it.

A Funeral Oration upon a Ladies Lap-Dog▪ why What can the meaning of that be? How comes Pane­gyric, which ought only to be paid to the memory of the most Eminent Men, and the most virtuous Matrons, in short, to nothing below a Lord Mayor or Alderman, to be squander'd away upon a Contemptible Brute, What has this Dog done in his Life-time, to deserve such an uncommon Tribute ahter his Death? Has he built any Hospitals to provide for Beggars of his own making? Has he founded any Lectures to Preach down Socinianism, or left a [...] of Thousand Pounds to the blew-Coat In­fantry? When living, did he encourage the Woollen Manufacture, or the Royal Fishery? Did he appear Vi­gorously for Liberty and Property, or Bark against a Standing Army If nothing of this is to be found in [...] to be remember'd in so ex­traordinary a manner?

To this I reply, that if our Author was so complacent as to obey the Commands of a fair Lady, or if he had a Mind to ridicule the rumbling bumbast, and vile prosti­tution [Page] of the Modern Eloquence; or lastly, if he was resolved to show his Wit upon a trivial Subject, what is that to any Body, or where is the harm on't. If the lat­ter is a Sin, several Learned Authors, whose Books he does not think himself Worthy to carry, have been guilty of it before him. Melancthon, one of the first Reformers, Writ an Encomium upon an Ant. Lipsius, the famous Commentator upon Tacitus, Celebrated an Elephant C [...]r­dan, one of the greatest Philosophers of the last Age, the Gout, as did likewise that great German Wit, Bilibal­dus Pirkheimerus. Dan. Heinsius show'd his parts up­on a Louse; Caelius Calcagninus upon a Flea; Johannes Passeratius upon an Ass; Conradus Goddeus upon an Owl; Franc. Scribanius upon a Fly; Janus Dousa upon a Shadow; Martinus Schoockius upon Deafness; Guil. Menapius upon a Quartan Ague; Jac. Guthe­rius upon Blindness; M. Ant. Majoragius upon Dirt; Arthur Jonston upon an Old Man; and lastly, Caspar Barlaeus upon an Ens Rationis. Were I minded to show my great Reading upon this occasion, I cou'd cite an in­finite number of the like examples, as Synesius a Pri­mitive Bishop, who Writ an Oration in praise of Bald­ness; but these are more than suficient. However, now my hand is in, I cannot forbear to tell my Reader, that St. Jerome mentions the last Will and Testament of a Hogg, under the name Marcus Grunnius Corocotta, Tom. 3. adv. Ruffin. and Tom. 5. ad Enstochium; so 'tis a plain case now, I hope, that the Ancients, as well as the Moderns, have condescended to adorn mean Subjects; and if any discourteous Critic has a mind to oppose such a numerous body, I give him leave under my hand to do it.

A Funeral- Oration UPON FAVORITE, My Lady Lap-Dog.

I Am commanded, Gentlemen, to do a Thing to day without a President: For I believe I am the first Orator who ever yet undertook to speak the Funeral-Oration of a Dog. But if Catullus cou'd write an Elegy upon Lesbia's Sparrow; if Alexan­der cou'd build and dedicate A Town to the Memory of his Horse; can you think it strange that Urania, no less [Page 2] lllustrious by her Beauty, than that Monarch was by his Achievments' and who has gain'd as wide an Empire by her Eyes, as he did by his Arms: I say, if Urania is willing to celebrate the Funerals of the Dog she lov'd so dearly?

Besides, As Favorite eminently excell'd all other Dogs during his Life, so it is but reasonable we shou'd distin­guish him at Death. But 'tho' both for the sake of Ura­nia, and upon the score of his own admirable Qualities, he deserves to be consider'd with a Funeral- Oration; yet, of all Men, certainly am I the most unqualify'd for such an Employment: For, not to insist that any Talent in Ora­tory is but slender, Urania's Cruelty has reduc'd me to a Condition little better than Favorite's. Yes, Urania; your Unkindness has had the same sad Effect upon me, that Fate has had upon him; and I am present at my own Funerals, as well as those of your Dog. But it is your Command, Madam, that I enter on this Office; and your Eyes have not left me the Liberty to disobey you. Behold then the Dead, making the Oration of the Dead; an unhappy Man, of a happy Dog; the Object of your Scorn, of the Object of your Love.

Wherefore, Gentlemen, I demand your Attention, I demand your Sorrows: For, Who will not afford both their Attention, and their Sorrows to Urania's. Misfor­tune? Are not her Misfortunes ours, and are we not in­teressed in her Afflictions? Is she mov'd with any Passion, wherewith we are not likewise affected? But besides that, our Grief is a Tribute we owe to Urania, and which it is not in our power to refuse her, Favorite himself, and. his Vertues, require from us, that we should drop a Tear upon his Grave: For, undoubtedly, never was Dog possess'd of so many excellent Qualities; never was Dog so belov'd living, or regretted dead. To give [Page 3] you a due Sense of our Loss, and that you may appre­hend how just, how warrantable our Sorrows are, I shall set before you the Vertues and Endowments of this excel­lent Creature: And here shou'd I re-count at large his good Qualities, shou'd I enumerate distinctly his several Excellencies, I shou'd sooner exhaust your Patience, than my Argument. Let it suffice to touch lightly and cur­sorily on those which were most conspicuous and shining in him.

Before I launch out into the immense Ocean of the Argument before me, I might, after the usual and laud­able Example of all the celebrated Panegyrists, both of Antient and Modern Times, reckon up a long and il­lustrious Catalogue of his Heroick Progenitors. I might tell you, how, by the Mother, he claims Kindred with all the Courts of Europe; there being hardly a Queen, or Princess. or Lady of Quality, throughout christendom, in whose Lap there does not lie some one or other of Favorite's great Relations. I might tell you, how, by the Father, he is ally'd to Heaven, and to the Stars: How the Celestial Dog beholding from above beautiful Fanny, (for Favorite's Mother condescended to dignifie that Name,) sporting her self in Urania's Garden, struck with the Almighty Date of Love, and desirous to possess her, like Jove of old quitted his bright Abode, and descending like a Star-shoot upon Earth, compress'd the lovely Nymph in a Bed of Roses, and begot our Hero. Behold the Extraction of Favorite! Such was the Race of Hercules, of Achilles, of Aeneas; half Mortal, half Divine. But I shall insist no longer on his Pe­digree.

Nam genus, & proavos. & quae non fecimus ipsi
Vix ea nostra voco —

[Page 4] Great Descent, as it adorns true Merit where it finds it, so where it finds it not, it does not create it. Fa­vorite relies only on his own Deserts for his Fame: Fa­vorite reflects back as much Lustre on his Noble An­cestors, as he can derive from them. But let us return from whence we have digress'd, and come to his own Personal Vertues.

First then, Was ever any thing so beautiful? Nothing, certainly, was seen so axquisitely form'd. What Star more lovely than his Forehead? What Snow more white than his Feet? What more delicately turn'd than his Ears? What more curiously polish'd than his Neck? No Ar­row of Cupid's rounder than his Tail: No Dove of Ve­nus's smoother and softer than his Back. Assuredly, the Goddess of Beauty her self, were she to appear in the Form of a Four-footed Animal, wou'd assume no other Shape than Favorite's.

Again, Was there ever anything so well-manner'd? For the purpose, If at any time any Ladies of Condi­tion and Quality came to pay their Respects and De­voirs to Urania, he was never observ'd, like other ill­manner'd Dogs, to run with open Mouth to the Door, and receive them with the clamorous Salute of his Voice; but entertain them with a respectful Silence, and intro­duce them with Civility unto his Mistriss, nor, during the whole Visit, as is also the wont of the rest of Dogs, thrust himself in a rude and troublesome manner into their Laps, disordering their Dress, and with dirty Feet incommoding their Linnen; but, like a well-bred Crea­ture, sit at a due Distance, and silently wait the Call of the Ladies.

[Page 5] A Third remarkable Quality was, his cleanliness. And truly so clean did he constantly appear, with a Body so white, so smooth, so sleek, that one wou'd say Ve­nus her self had comb'd him, that all the Cupids had unanimously wash'd him, and that all the Graces had elaborately and exquisitely wip'd him. And so careful and sollicitous was he to preserve himself so, that he avoided all Commerce with the Stables or Kitchin, lest he should contract a Filth thereby; confining his con­versation altogether to the Chamber or the Parlour, to the Bed or the Couch. Nor wou'd he ever, without manifest Shew of Regret, commit himself to the Arms of a Foot-man, or common Servant, as apprehending a Stain from their Embraces, and Pollution from their ve­ry Touch. In like manner, Whenever Nature impor­tun'd him, he wou'd privately withdraw from the Com­pany into some solitary Retirement, and there obey her Laws: Or if she call'd upon him at a Time more un­seasonable, when he was either in the Arms or Lap of a Lady, he wou'd signifie with his Foot, or by some cer­tain Tone of his Voice, the Necessity that press'd him, and admonish her to set him down.

'Twou'd be endless a farther Enumeration of his Ver­tues. I shall only mention one Quality more, which crowns and consummates all; that is to say, his unpa­rallell'd Affection to his Mistriss. I say, Unparallell'd; for I believe, upon all the Records of Story, there is not to Be found an Instance of so unexampl'd and singular a Love in Dog: And, as on the one hand I may bold­ly affirm, that never had Dog so kind a Mistriss; so on the other, I may with Truth averr, that never had Mi­striss so affectionate a Dog. Urania's Soul and Body were not more straitly united, than were She and her Dog; and as soon might she have been separated from [Page 6] her self, as from him: Wheresoever she went, he was still her Companion; not her own Thoughts were more constantly with her: He wou'd accompany her in her private and in her publick Walks; he wou'd attend her in the Park, in the Play-house, at Balls, at the Court, and in her Visits; he wou'd follow her to her Chamber, to her Closet, to her Bed; he wou'd invade her very Retreats and Solitudes, intrude upon her Meditations and Devotions, and not permit her to be alone, even with her God.

But that wherein he most manifestly and signally testi­fy'd his Love to his Mistriss, was, his constant Atten­dance and Presence in the Time of her late Illness: For, during the whole Course of her Sickness, from the first Moment the Violence of her Indisposition con­fin'd her to her Bed, Favorite was not known to be absent from her one Minute; but placing himself at the Top of her Pillow, continu'd there to abide and watch by her whole Nights and Days, without Inter­mission: Nor cou'd he ever, by Force or Flattery, be Prevail'd upon to quit his Seat, before such time as U­rania was perfectly restor'd to her good Condition of Health.

No Wonder then if a Dog thus excellently endow'd, and singularly qualify'd, was both admir'd and lov'd, was favour'd and caress'd by all that had the least Ac­quaintance with his Merits. Upon the Score of these rare Qualities and Vertues, if any Dog, assuredly Fa­vorite deserv'd to be immortal. But, alas! every thing beneath the Sun must terminate, and have an End. Af­ter that Favorite had been deservedly the Joy and De­light of the Ladies, and that, he had arriv'd to the highest Pitch of Happiness attainable here below, that is to say, had acquir'd particularly the Favour and Love of Urania, behold, unexpectedly is he taken from us!

[Page 7] Nunc it per iter tenebricosum,
Illuc unde negant redire quenquam.
At vobis malè sit malae tenebrae
Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis.

Who can here forbear to grieve, forbear to lament? Who wou'd not here abundantly weep, abundantly sigh? What Heart so insensible, but wou'd relent and melt? What Breast so barbarous, but wou'd feel Senti­ments of Sorrow?

Lugete ô Veneres, Cupidinésque.

Weep Ladies, weep Gentlemen, weep; Favorite is dead; Urania's beloved Dog is dead.

Poor Favorite! How art thou chang'd from what thou wast but yesterday? What a Revolution has one Day made? Thou, whom but four and twenty Hours ago the Sun beheld in Urania's lovely Lap; behold, now shortly the cold Earth will contain thee. Thou, whom she bore about in her tender Arms; behold, now the rough Embraces of Death do fold thee. Thou, who wast then thy Mistriss's Joy, art now her Grief. Thou, who wast then our Envy, art now our Pity. Lastly, Thou, who wast then so visibly distin­guish'd from all other Dogs, art now confounded with the meanest.

No more now wilt thou entertain Urania as thou wast wont, with wanton Play: No more now wilt thou divert her with a Thousand Sportive Tricks: No more wilt thou be her beloved Companion in her Chamber, in her Parlour, in her Garden, in her Coach, in her Walks, at her Table, and on her Couch; Alas! Where is now that Beauty, which render'd thee the Admiration of all that beheld thee? Where those innumerable Graces, by which thou didst transcendently surpass the rest of Dogs, and which [Page 8] created thee the Love of the Ladies, and the Envy of the Men? So far art thou from being that admir'd, that beautiful Thing, which once thou wert, that we are making all the haste we can to remove thee out of our sight, as an Object that offends us, as a Spe­ctacle our Eyes are not able to support without A­version and Pain.

Lugete ô Veneres, Cupidinésque.

Weep Ladies, weep Gentlemen, weep; Favorite is dead; Urania's beloved Dog is dead.

Who can here forbear complaining of the Rigour of Fate? Who wou'd not be almost tempted to ex­postulate in thefse Terms with Heaven? Why are the most excellent Things still the most perishable? Why was the Flower so fair, and yet so fading? Why is what we esteem most, snatch'd from us soonest? Why had not Fate bestow'd fewer Vertues on Favo­rite, or given a larger Extent to his Life? But, vain are these Expostulations: Heaven is inexorable, and will not restore him to us; he is irrecoverably, he is for ever gone. Dislevel your Hair, Ladies, and tear your Garments: Disfigure your Faces, Gentlemen, and knock your Breasts. Let us grieve; let us lament?

But what do I madly do? Why do I endeavour to move your Tears, which but flow of themselves too fast? Why do I attempt to raise your Grief; which rather wants restraint than incitement. Alas! we have La­mented enough: Let us rather seek how to diminish, than augment our Sorrow; we need comfort, we need Consolation. Let these following Considerations, then mitigate our Grief.

First, We wou'd do well to consider, That to dye, is to pay a common Debt to Nature, and is a necessity, to which the greatest and best Men have submitted. Of all these infinite numbers of Men: Of all these prodigious [Page 9] swarms of Animals that fill the Globe; is there one sin­gle Person or Creature, who is exempted from this La­mentable Law? Nay, do not the most inanimate, the most insensible things arrive at the same end, and suf­fer the same Destiny with us? Do not the most durable Walls, the strongest Fortifications decay? The Sun, which is daily a Spectator or so many Funerals both of Men and of Beasts, is it not it self perishable? The Earth, which is the common Grave of every living Creature, will it not find it self a Sepulchre in the Universal Ruin? The Heavens, the Stars, the Elements, the whole Mass of the Universe, will it hot sooner, or later, suffer Dissolu­tion? Nay, what is yet more lamentable, what is yet more deplorable, that which is fairer than the Heavens, that which is brighter than either Sun, or Stars, the no­blest production, the most exquisite Composition of Na­ture, Urania her self, will she not one day die, and can we then demand with justice that Favorite should be Im­mortal?

Next, let us remember that our Grief may be hurt­ful to our selves, but cannot be any real Benefit to Fa­vorite. Cou'd our Lamentations indeed call him back to life, cou'd our Sighs inspire new Breath into him, or our Tears water the lovely Flower' till it revived, our Sorrows then were warrantable; but, alass! fruitless are our Sighs, unprofitable our Tears.

Lastly, let us comfort our selves with this Assurance, that Favorite, whatsoever his Condition be, is not un­happy. For if, as most Philosophers hold, the Souls of Brutes perish, and are intirely extinguish'd with the Body, not existing after death, as he is not capable of Happiness, so neither is he of Misery. But if that other Opinion be true, that the Souls of Brutes, as well as Men, do not dye, but only change their Habitation, and pass by way of Transmigration from out of one Body into another, Favorite may enter once more upon the stage or Life, [Page 10] and he that now parts from Urania a Dog, may per­chance return to her again a Squirrel, or Sparrow; or it may be a Lover.

Since then he is partaker of a common Lot, since our Tears can neither profit him nor our selves, and since we are perswaded he is not unhappy, let us omit an unjusti­fiable and unnecessary Sorrow.

Favorite himself, cou'd he speak, wou'd certainly bid us cease our Lamentations, and give over our needless Complaints, expressing himself after this manner.

Mourn not for me; for, to what purpose is it to mourn? Has not my Orator already told you, that your Tears are idely and unprofitably spent; that they can­not avail to restore me again to Life; and why then this weeping? Why these Complaints? Why these sad Sighs? Do not disquiet your selves in vain. Do not give yourselves anxieties which are not needful; But as for you, my beautiful Mistriss, it is your Interest more especially to be sedate, unless you design to re­venge the Men's Quarrel on your own fair Face, and ruin that Beauty, which has ruin'd them. For what have those lovely Cheeks, done that you shou'd endea­vour, by excess of Grief, to robb them of those Graces which subdue all Hearts? How have those bright Eyes offended you, that thus you go about, by immode­rate weeping, to deprive them of that Lustre by which they kill? Are you resolv'd to make my Grave your Beauty's Sepulcher? Alass! I am not worthy of the least of your Thoughts, much less your Tears, which are Gemms too bright, too inestimable to be thrown away so lightly. But if you shall still retain any kindness for a Dog that has serv'd you faithfully, demonstrate it a­nother [Page 11] way than by your Tears. Transfer your Love as a Legacy I bequeath from my self to my Orator, from the Dead to the Dead, but yet from one you cannot re­cover, to one whom you can.

I say the Dog himself, had he a Voice, wou'd express himself in the manner I have represented.

What remains then, but that we bring at once our grief and our Discourse to a Period? Let us perform our last Office to Favorite. Let us commit his Body to the Dust, and so depart.

On Favorite, when alive, in Imitation of the 9th Ode of Anacreon.

TEll me, whose pretty Dog are you?
Whence do you come, and whither go?
Urania is my Lady's Name,
To her I go, front her I came:
O're ev'ry Heart the Maid does Reign,
And Men are proud to drag her Chain.
At her bright Feet they bleeding lie,
For her they Sigh, for her they die,
Then use me tenderly, for know,
Her Eyes will sure return the blow.
She calls me Favorite, and loves
Me more than Venus does her Doves.
What wou'd you give Alass! to be
Urania's Favorite like me?
Where e're my Mistress does repair,
I and the Graces follow her.
Sometimes with her in Coach Tride,
Young Cupids runing by our side.
[Page 12] Sometimes she Walks with Noble gate,
Whilst I, and Ruine on her wait.
Till kindly favouring my Feet,
She makes her own bright Arms my Seat.
What wou'd you give, Alass! to be
Urania's Favorite like me?
With her at Table do I Eat,
And take my Dinner from her Plate.
Or standing at her Chair am fed,
Receiving from her hand the Bread.
What wou'd you give, Alass! to be
Urania's Favorite like me?
Me on her lovely Lap she lays,
With me she Sports, with me she plays.
Sometimes her bosom's Snow I beat,
With Sportive motion of my Feet:
Sometimes her Mouth I Kiss, and Sip
The Nectar from her Rosy Lip.
What wou'd you give, Alass! to be
Urania's Favorite like me.
At Night I follow her to Bed,
And on her Bosom lean my Head.
The little God of Love, and I
Together on one Pillow lie.
The Dog which in the Heav'ns appears,
And Shines among the glorious Stars,
I Envy not, while here I rest,
For there is Heaven in her Breast.
What wou'd you give, Alass! to be
Urania's Favorite like me.
But it is time that I were gone,
I've told my tale, and so have done.
Poor Man! you Sigh, Alass! I fear
Urania then is too Severe.
Farewell, and may my Mistress be
To you as gentle, as to me.

AN Heroic Elegy Upon the DEFUNCT aforesaid.
Out of the Author of Prince A—

Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus
Tam chari capitis—
NOW was the Eastern Sky-dy'd purple spread,
page 24.
For fair Aurora's radiant Feet to tread:
And now the beauteous Morn began to rise
Streaking with rosy light the smiling Skies.
The Fulgent Sun had with an early ray,
Depo'sd the Shades,
and Reintron'd the Day.
When in a Gloomy Cave,
that nature made
In a dark Rock, and cover'd with the shade
Of spreading Trees, that Day cou'd not Invade,
Pensive Urania fill'd with Grief and dread,
And pale confusion, droopt her lovely Head.
With rage dilated, and with Sorrow blown,
Like glowing Aetna on Plinlimmon thrown.
[Page 14] A Velvet Bonnet on her Head, and drest
For lightness in a thin Embroider'd Vest.
Wild with her grief,
distracted with dispair,
She Strikes her throbbing Breast, tears off her Hair,
And with her Piercing Screams disturbs the Air.
When the fierce Tempest had its fury broke,
With a deep Sigh the Sad Urania spoke.
Oh my dear Dog, how, mild had been my doom,
Hadst thou escap'd, I suffer'd in thy room.
Oh that to see this fatal hour I live,
And thee, and all that's dear in Life Survive.
Such on the Ground the fading Rose we see,
By some rude blast torn from the Parent Tree.
But sure I shall not long thy absence Mourn,
I'le hast to thee, thou'lt not to me return.
My ill presaging Dreams are brought to bed,
I started in my Sleep, and cry'd my Dog is dead.
O righteous Heav'n why hast thou rang'd this day,
Against me all thy Judgments in array!
On me let all thy Fiery Darts be spent,
Let not my Crime involve the Innocent.
And cruel Death,
Sure Thou wast Nurs'd on th' horrid Alps high tops,
And feedst thy Hunger with Cerberean Sops.
Hard marble Rocks might with more ease relent,
And fire and plague learn sooner to repent.
Cease heav'nly Viols,
cease harmonious Flutes,
Besounding Dulcimers, and tuneful Lutes.
May dire Convulsions for a dismal space.
Distort pale nature, wresting from its place,
This Globe, set to the Sun's more oblique view,
And wrench the Poles some Leagues yet more askew.
[Page 15] Thick Thunderclaps and Lightnings livid glare
Disturb the Sky,
and trouble all the Air.
Eclipses, Comets, Meteors, Lightnings, Storms,
Murders and Monsters of tremendous forms.
Fierce Alpine Allobrogs with slaughter fed,
In snows, and everlasting Winter bred.
Outrage, Distraction, Clamor, Tumult reign,
Since Favorite's gone, and ne're will come again.
Why did not Comets shake their fiery hair,
And trail their flaming Trains along the Air:
Why did not Flakes of fire the World amaze,
And intermixt prodigious Meteors blaze.
Impetuous roar oreturn Heavens lofty Towers,
And starry fragments fall in burning showers.
Conflicting Billows against Billows dash,
Thunder 'gainst Thunder roar, Lightnings 'gainst Light­nings flash.
Swords clash with Swords, Bucklers on Bucklers bray,
And thro' the World a horrid din convey.
All mingle Tears, your Cries together flow,
And form a hideous harmony of Woe.
Oh Fav'rite worthy of a milder fate!
But Death's blind strokes distinguish not the Great.
Scarce two full Golden-years are stol'n away,
Which in Love's Calendar scarce make a Day,
Wheh first on thee my circling Arms I flung,
And on thy Neck, o'rewhelm'd with Joy, I hung,
A velvet Cap did then thy head equip,
If my decay'd Remembrance does not trip.
Too dark th' Eternal's ways are,
too profound
For the most sharp created Wit to sound.
But sure thy loss was not in Anger meant,
Heav'n is too just, and thou too Innocent.
[Page 16] page Thou cam'st of the Islandine Noble Race,
That right Descent from the swift Eurus trace:
Of lofty Stature,
and a graceful Air,
Fear'd by the Males, and favour'd by the Fair.
Thy Hair Celestial,
finely spun and wove
On Looms divine by all the skill above,
Bleach'd in th' empyreal Plains, till white as Snow,
Made the long Robe that to thy Feet did flow.
Let me my Sorrow thus express,
'tis true
A fruitless Grief, but all that Love can do.
Mean time we must this last kind Office pay,
And Favo'rite's Body to the Dome convey,
Where his Illustrious Fathers lye Interr'd,
Who reign'd by Females lov'd, by others fear'd.
Painted and drawn with great Magnificence,
In lasting Oyl bought at a vast expence.
Once more Dear Dog,
farewel, till we above
Meet in the blissful Realms of Light and Love.

In the Epistle Dedicatory, Page 5. Line 13. read Support instead of Suppress. [Page]

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