EPISTLES TO THE KING AND DUKE.
LONDON, Printed for Tho. Dring, at the Harrow against the Temple-Gate in Fleet-street. M.DC.LXXXII.
TO THE KING.
WISE Men begin at th' Enterprises End,
Sense shou'd the Aim, ere 'tis an Act, commend;
With Courtiers, Fencers, Lawyers, Poets still
Boldness makes up, their want of Force, or Skill;
And Zeal is oft, the Pious Fools Excuse,
Whose rude Pray'r is the Deity's Abuse;
So when defaming Libels flie abroad,
Profaneing the high Name of earthly God,
[Page 2] I too, scarce hold taking great Name in vain,
Must with new insolence, of theirs complain;
Who thinks your Name by Slaves can lessen'd be,
Do's to your Honour, but more Injury;
Of all your Provinces, yet ne're was known,
Parnassus (Sir) Rebellious to the Crown,
Province of Wit, more than the rest your own
Tho Poets still, by Courts were kept Threadbare,
In Verse, for Monarchy, true Wits declare,
A Wit's your true, Indigent Officer
Still out of Royal Sight, kept below Stairs,
Appearing through his Coat, seldom appears;
Court litter ere has been a Spaniel Crew;
To Fawning, Sloth, yet scarce to Master true,
Suff'ring no Poor, to come in Master's view;
If Royal Bounty, ought to Stranger throws,
The Houshold greedy Fawners interpose;
So Wretch for whom 'twas meant, the Boon must lose;
[Page 3] I am the only Spaniel of the Crown,
Kick'd out, and yet must still be hanging on,
The kinder too, for being but ill us'd,
To baffled me, why is Court-grace refus'd?
Where 'tis Preferment, but to be abus'd.
But Poet 'mongst State-Lyars can't put in,
And Wit with Politicks, scarce ere there, seen,
The only bashful Lyar too, comes there,
And only hungry, ill clad, Flatterer;
Flatt'ry with Wit, like Paint on a good Face,
Instead of setting off, heightning Disgrace,
And Flattery makes Wit thought counterfit,
As red, which does appear too plain to sight,
Renders suspected, undawb'd neighb'ring White;
Wit, like unfarded Beauty, will appear,
Still best bare-fac'd, and when Men peep most near;
Yet Fucus Flattery's too hard for Wit,
Tho by Wits shelter she do's safest sit,
[Page 4] Mole Flatterer, sole danger of great Men,
Who raises levels up, whilst Heart's unseen,
Heaving loose Hills, for trampling proud Court foot,
In unsmooth Court paths, still to spurn about;
Court-Underminers, are still trod upon,
Yet to destroy them, each great Man has one;
As Elephants have Mice to eat 'em down;
The Horse, has lurking Bot, the Dog his Worm,
Poet, has Worm call'd Wit, to do him harm;
Each Mortal, do's own Bane about him bear,
So great Prince has, his sticking Flatterer;
Flattery copper Coin to current Wit,
Tho so Court current, ne're pass'd with you, yet;
That Ivy of Court Cedars, whose Embrace,
Hinders its high Stocks growth, its worst disgrace,
Destruction to best Pallaces high walls,
Whil'st from her clinging growth, huge Fabrick falls;
But you hate Flattery, as you love Wit,
Bold Flattery, always too hard for it;
[Page 5] For Flatterers, tho you low Race disown,
Still think themselves, Appendixes o'th' Crown,
So sticking Sploach, Golds lustre will deface,
And Cobwebs oft, hang safest on high place,
To Courts, perpetual hanging on, Disgrace;
Wit like your Robes, none but you there have on,
Easie Majestick free, to be aim'd at by none;
In Conversation make no diff'rence yet,
Distinguish'd then as first but by your Wit,
Which like your Gold, from you do's freely flow,
Fountain of Honor, Wealth, nay true Wit too,
You are a Tyrant only by your Wit,
Tormenting aiming Coxcombs still with it,
And no bold Talker can safe near you sit;
You never triumph, tho you overcome,
Not by your Checks, but Wit, make Talkers dumb;
Monarch of Wit, have all Wits in your pow'r,
Yet ne're made Man blush, who cou'd blush before;
[Page 6] Nay let too, forward dapper Wit, alone,
'Till that his own bold Nonsence runs him down;
So an ill Fencer falls by his own Sword,
The more he pushes, the more out of guard;
But you, Wit, like your Justice (Sir) all know,
More than in punishment in mercy show,
Tho if provok'd none can be sharper too;
But sparing is the part of gen'rous Wit,
Whilst rambling Fools shot, do's all round it, hit;
Loud half Wits, as loud half Braves, bloody'st are,
In their Wits fury, Man, nor Woman, spare;
But true Wits, like your Spaniels have alone,
Their Master Friend, by th'Crowd, kick'd, trod upon;
Wits small great Party, you alone (Sir) are,
Yet Poet, at Whitehall, sole Flatterer,
Who by the Rules of Court, is left to starve,
If not Wit, lying shou'd the Wretch preserve,
Where cutting Friends up do's Knaves mouthfuls carve;
[Page 7] And palling Flattery, helps Fools to dine,
But cou'd Wits force, with Flattery once join,
It ne're cou'd have, improsperous design;
For Wit, with Flattery, like Force with Art,
Lay's open fencing Courtiers cover'd heart;
'Gainst lurking Flattery, few men there are,
Who want their weak side, or do not lie bare;
None but you (Sir) for Flattery too high,
That piercing soft, feather'd Artillery;
Which falls to Earth, aiming up, at the Sky;
Against Court Wind-Guns you alone are fast,
And Poyson-praise, Court-slaves before you taste,
They have first draught, to you presented last:
At Court, Wit lives, alas, like Loyalty,
Maim'd, shabby, out of date, pass'd by;
Thought Favourit of Courts, gets there but shame,
Sole Lyar there too, Subject is to blame;
[Page 8] Like Cavalier, lives on Witts Lottery,
The Play-house, starving Scene of Poetry;
That scrambling Lottery of needy Wit,
Where most times chance is miss'd for one poor hit,
And all with busie, filching Scribling paw,
For art, and pushing blanks most often draw;
Saints meeting Play-houses play down the Stage,
There act more lew'd love, and more Bloody-rage
With Devils, Pope, and Fryers to engage,
And they on Pulpit-Ribaldry grow fat,
On vices of the World to live, and chat,
Better, than any Poet of 'em All,
Or Coffee-holders-forth, who unhir'd Baul;
By Prickear'd, Busie, Lasy is reviv'd,
So did he look so whine, so sneer'd, so griev'd,
And Foe to Plays the greatest Player is
Acts on stale Plot,
(Of 41)
tho People roar, and hiss,[Page 9] Low'd, bauling Bombast, tragick Villany,
And seriously plays Pulpit-Comedy,
Ridiculous, Religious Mimckry;
For four hours, deaf'ning Galleries and Pit,
While Pulpit-fixt long Ears in Pill'ry sit,
And those merc'less Ear Executioners,
To Pulpits pin down, for five hours, all Ears,
With mauling, rayling, sharp invective Prayers,
Against the Play-houses, so much declare,
Cause such their Meeting-houses, only are;
When Town, had but two, they cou'd ne're agree,
What fewds will rise by late Pluralitie?
Let Cushion-beaters rage, thump Pulpits down,
Each thrash about him, till his Cushion's gone;
And if (Sir) once you take away Saints ease,
His Praying, and his noise, will soon then cease;
So Pillow ta'n from Sick-mans dying Bed,
Strugler gets quiet from his fallen head;
[Page 10] In meeting Play-house, thriving Players do,
To Less then ten, with sharing audience go;
They Tythes alone, for gain-sake still lay down,
Because they think their Flocks fleece all their own
Believe as Saints, so Heaven's sole Heirs they are,
And wrong'd, when they are stinted to tenth share,
Of blessings, which like showers, come without care:
But holy Play-houses, like others do,
Act Tragedies on Kings, in Puppet show,
And with the Royal leave, or sufferance,
By acting so, the active cause advance;
Of Rapin, Rage, Rebellion, nay Lust too,
Where rais'd up Eyes, each Dame and Purse look throw,
There with rude Worship, Church, and Court defame,
In Pray'r take most in vain, God's, and your name;
Yet often'st in their Pray'r you are left out,
But in Pray'r only, 'scape blaspheming Throat;
[Page 11] Such old Reformers, did old Laws withstand,
Such by King-killing, made yours holy Land;
And such, again, (forbid Eternal Pow'r,)
Would so exalt their King as once before,
But you, without Deaths stroak, will ever live,
In deeds of Mercy, like a God, you give,
Yet Death, or vengeance deal with slowest Arm,
By mercy (Sir) you only can do harm;
Yours is, in sparing but destructive hand,
With stroaks you'd heal, State-evil of your Land;
But when you think all's Cur'd the hum'rous Sore,
Missing your Gold, breaks out, worse than before;
Rebellion, like a Fellon, must endure,
Squeesing and anguish, ere 'twill find a Cure;
You ne'r are cruel, but when you forgive,
And Rebels, whom your laws condemn reprieve,
Saving such lives, risques that, by which all live;
[Page 12] When a King's Murder'd, one Man do's not die,
Whole Nations, suffer Death in Monarchy,
And lose their dearest Life old Liberty:
Your Arm, like Heaven's fences with your Foes,
To save those lives who would your power depose;
Excess of Mercy, is self cruelty,
Hazzarding Life that Murderers mayn't die;
Yet sometimes, Trait'rous Friend bids Friend have care,
Makes him turn's Head, to take him unaware,
When none, but his own Trait'rous hand, was near;
But your own sparing hand, you need but fear,
'Cause 'twou'd not kill, but only rage disarm,
Vent'ring your self, not enemy to harm;
Late is your Veng'ance, if it comes at all,
Like Heavens hand, your great Original,
Tardy in punishment, in giving swift,
When merit calls, you give 'till nothing's left;
[Page 13] Kings names, by th' King of Mettles ought to live,
Yet not by Dross they stamp, but Gold, they give;
Kings are Land-Pyrats from their taking pow'r,
By gift, not stamp of Gold, Kings are made more,
By giving each King grows an Emperour;
Yet the sole fault of giving, is excess;
It's overflowing, maks its shallowness,
By giving, Liberality will cease,
All but your self, in your Court, are at ease,
All but your self, there too, proud, big, and high;
O'reflowing honour dreins Spring Majesty,
And when a Prince puts Royal stamp on Brass,
Raising the Mettles price, will his debase;
Some worthless wretches wear high Character,
As Copper Farthings too Kings Image bear,
As well as Gold, which weighs well, and looks right,
Of worth Intrinsick, glorious too, in sight;
[Page 14] When honours grow too cheap, it is a sign,
In other Courts of scarcity of Coin,
So Royal stamp, in Exigences has,
Coin'd Leather, and for sterling made it pass,
But your stamp is the same, on Lead, and Brass;
In heat of stamping often dull Dross may
Mix with pure Gold, and steal its stamp away;
Yet some there are, deserve the stamp I know,
And as true Coin, may make the false to go
When Princes justly honour too confer,
Such honour'd is, his Prince's honourer;
You can make any thing, but your self proud,
Best Kings, are like best Gold, easiest bow'd;
Such is your gentle condescending Reign,
As when Gods rul'd each Village and each Plain,
Ere Ceremony sway'd, Pride, or Disdain,
Or rust of Avarice, did Conscience stain;
[Page 15] And ere intruding, lowd Religion strove,
To change for tattle, silence of the Grove;
Left Heav'nly solitude t'improve the Earth,
And scourc'd silent content, for noisy mirth;
Such your Reign, as when Gods rul'd infant Times,
Your patience, bounty, mercy, are your Crimes;
If they are faults, the Gods are Gods by them,
More than by Thunder, or Stars Diadem;
Your power alone, in saving you employ,
You still save more, than Tyrants wou'd destroy;
Some Kings, out of revenge, but Justice do,
But out of easiness, their pitty show,
And out of highest Vanity, seem low,
You are your Nations King, yet Father too;
Your haughty Brother, Kings by ruin Reign,
Offenders of your Mercy but complain,
When they act o're their Villanies again:
[Page 16] You by forgiving make, and Conquer Foes,
And bind men more, by letting of 'em loose;
Pard'ning, in other Kings, is but an art,
More to enslave, they give Life for a Heart,
Which never must from them again depart;
So give Life, but to take away a Life,
For Death to wretch, from slavery's reprief,
Such Kings reprieve wretch, from the quiet grave,
To make him live in Hell here Gally slave;
To force slave Subjects, is Kings slavery,
A Rape on Hearts, begets disloyalty;
Making your Subjects Hearts unask'd to give,
Is only Gods, and your Prerogative,
Force on Allegiance worse than Rape on Love,
Pleasure, and rule by force, but Tiresom pain will prove
With your rude Nation, you, have kindly strove,
But after all your Courtship, still you find,
The hum'rous sullen harlot, scarce is kind,
[Page 17] The only she, to whom your love apply'd,
Who sawcily, her kindness has deny'd;
Yet will she, beastly prostrate be, lie down,
And common grow to Fop of Shire and Town,
Not worthy for such Majesty to own:
Your Nation was your Mistriss next to Fame,
'Till she prov'd false; your wrong is but her shame,
The more you Court, the Jilt becomes more coy,
Your shew of Love, do's but your hopes destroy;
French Hectors kick, coy Jade e're she'll be kind,
That way of wooing's best most Monarchs find;
Neglect, scorn, and ill nature, best subdue
Her who, then's only lost when you pursue,
She to be follow'd will run out of view:
False Common-wealth, dear Pation of her Prince.
She who has been chief Mistriss of expence,
Is first, who at your giving takes offence;
[Page 18] Jade Common-wealth, who in your bosom lay,
Her whom you watch'd all night, Courted by day,
Proves now your false, and weakning Dalila,
Betraying first your strength your Life wou'd lose,
Clipping your power, you to Philistians expose,
Philist'ans, to Almightiness, old Foes,
Who from your strength to mightiness first rose;
She too, wou'd make great Master but her slave,
Grown proud, scorns him, from bountys first he gave,
Such fickle, false, and humorous next Fame,
Is Mistriss Common-wealth, her Lovers shame,
Who suffers her too high, wou'd be too tame.
Truckling's the way to make Love still despis'd,
For haughtiness, more than for truth oft pris'd:
That Love which can engage, yet will not awe,
Contempt in fine on profferer will draw,
False Subjects, like false Whores but true for fear;
Are Loyallest, when they are kept most bare.
[Page 19] After new Conquests you ne're vainly roam,
To make War which tho scouring far from home,
At length, do's to home rage, and plundring come,
Nay Princes, ravage home, to sack abroad,
With burth'nous War, own Paisents first they load,
To make strange Subjects Vassals to their Throne,
Some squeez, tax, torture, and fire too, their own;
Ambitiously, to others ruin run,
First by own loss, and desolation;
So pushing Kings, like stamping Fencers live,
Upon those sides to which most bangs they give,
As if that Subjects, were like hide-bound stocks,
Whom Prince, by bangs to bearing fruit provokes,
Slave so to Fame, for's glory slaves do's load,
Sets fire on home, to make men fly abroad,
So broken Knave fires own House to get Brief,
His ruin is, his ruins sole relief;
[Page 20] And Poverty in peace, that makes men run,
From Laws; in War, leads always poor Rogues, on;
Kings pillage slaves, 'till pillaging goes round,
By want, as well as rage, Arms first are found,
So those, who cannot live, nor starve at home,
For fear of starving to be kill'd may roam;
Are fitted for a March, before they go,
All hardship, want, first from their Prince they know,
Train'd up at home, for Military Vice,
In Theft, and Soldiers starving exercise,
In suff'ring hunger, thirst, and stripes are brave,
So way to Conquer, is to be a slave;
Home-hunger, and home-thirst the slaves first try,
Thus neighb'ring shore is made Arms nursery,
So Officers in Muster's only stout,
To shew their valour, first their own men rout,
But when none strike again, lay most about.
[Page 21] Soldiers from Officers take bangs, and blows,
That they may learn to take 'em from their foes;
And Soldiers oft by being cloath'd, are stript,
And beng paid, have half their wages clipt,
Like Martial Fools, are Knaves, on honours score,
Most Courts with payments Rob, with gifts make poor
With Titles infamous, with praise a Whore,
Valliantest there, oft of their pay afraid,
Most often too, but with bangs truly paid;
By state cashiers, and Captains are rob'd so,
That art of pillaging they too may know,
E're they themselves may come, to strip a Foe;
So Soldier who, first Arms, and Armour buys,
By his own Arm, or Shot, their mettle tries,
So hack they too, their Soldiers nat'ral Buff,
To find, if that it be true hacking proof,
And when their Geese, and Estridges can live,
On Iron, then tame flock from home they drive;
[Page 22] Then too, on heedless neighbours are let loose,
When they are ready to eat up friends, foes;
So Mastiffs from their hunger, and their chains,
Get courage which their Masters Fold maintains,
And at his Whistle follow him about,
Lapping from Fountain made by Horses foot,
Such, and so hard, is honours Pilgrimage,
To honours shrine, leads many a tedious stage,
Fames crack'd Divote, long gadding undergoes,
As if 'twere got by wearing out ones shoes;
From beating only Hoof, not beat of Drum,
Late Conquerors far Provinces o'recome,
So Pack-horses, with Snapsacks too engage,
The Winds, and Storms, steep Hills, and Drivers rage,
And may be said to make a long Campaigne,
Of which they never but by ribs complain,
Carriers, for loading hard too, so get praise,
And for their going on still name can raise,
[Page 23] And beating of the Hoof so up and down,
To Provinces they trot thro' are well known;
And but for gadding far and near renown'd,
As any Drudge, on Fames Road lately found,
For all late wand'ring Conquests we did see,
Reckon'd for Travels, shou'd much rather be,
If gadding so shou'd get Drudge Prince great stile,
What was Tom Coriat, or great Mandavil?
No Heroes sure take now more care or pain,
Nor World with larger Memoirs entertain;
Whose Printed Campaigns too, walk the World round;
And shew their harden'd Soles, have trod more ground
Than any Fame-hunter, on Earth now found;
When Conquests only trudging Marches are,
Kings are Arms Pedlars, but of Fames small ware;
They too like gadding Filchers bravely do,
Take frighten'd Geese, Pigs, Smocks, wheres'ere they go,
[Page 24] Make Corn, nay Hay, by lying on it Straw,
And Pris'ner Poultery from warm Roost draw,
And all this too, by Gadders Martial Law,
With hasty Course, new Conqu'rers like the wind,
All you blow down, alas, you leave behind;
Skies Circling Tempests, and swift Whirlwinds so,
Before them but old Thatch, and Forrage blow,
And harm, to quiet Sheep, and Cattel do.
Yet we, from Airy Head no Annals find,
Of the vast Conquests by her Prince the wind,
Honour it self, is in the wind light chaff,
Of which too, whistling rumour will rob half,
It swells, breaks bag, small nourishment do's yield,
And no encrease, tho strew'd on fruitful Field;
And tho it be so stuff'd out to the sight,
See it 'tis dross, and weigh it 'tis but light;
[Page 25] Food fit for proud Beast who bears it about,
Whose Load helps him to fall into the rout,
And when once down, keeps him from coming out:
So gadding Princes, Hackneys are to empty Fame,
Who Loads 'em 'till she Rides 'em down or Lame,
All her trapt'd Hackneys get by trotting on,
To Rodes for Robbers, is to be well known;
By Marching World round, all that Hero's gain,
Is Dirty Boots, and labour for their pain;
For spoiling of the Rodes, and making Padders,
Slaves, Horses, Asses, Thieves so too are Gadders;
By setting, and way-laying treach'rous arts,
As Padders Horses, Hero's steal Mens Hearts,
To Jade 'em in their Service, when weak, lean,
Take trappings off turn 'em to th' Road again,
Disabled slave in force for carrying Arms,
Becomes a Drudge to Villages, and Farms;
[Page 26] Or else a Prince 'gainst his Laws makes Bandits,
Murderers, Robbers, or worse Parasits,
Cruel Assassinates of good Mens fame,
And ne'r let pass unrifled a good name;
Courts are the Garrisons of Lawless Tongues,
Whence all, who are not of 'em suffer wrongs,
If Tribute, Flattery, there be not paid,
From Pimps, and Knaves, the only Royal Aid;
That vile old Court Coin, you Sir have cry'd down,
As too light, and too base for you to own,
Fit only for Court-sweepers humble rout,
Whose Knees, Tongues rub, and lick Court-sploches out;
You are sole Prince, who ever would decry,
For Coin unlawful current Flattery;
Which other Kings are made immortal by
Base damming Immortality, which does
Eternize names, but to their shame, and loss;
[Page 27] If counterfeiting Coin, we Treason deem,
What is't to make a King quite other seem?
If Treasons crime be Coins diminishing,
What is't, to lessen, clip, wash o're a King,
Flattery do's suspected glory bring;
True sterling needs no rub to set it off,
Its own Intrinsick worth, it's valu's proof;
You are sole Prince, wou'd flattery disown,
Which no Kings, but your self wou'd 'ere cry down,
They set their Royal Marks upon it, so,
Will in exchange of favour take it too;
And in their Pallaces, each King to's face,
That counterfeit low Coin, bowing and base,
Treason against him, for him, will let pass;
Almost my crime (great Sir) prays short of you,
Is diminution of your honour so,
That out of duty, I but Rebel grow,
[Page 28] Serving you thus, such pardon shall I want,
As you to self accuser often grant;
But dulness pardon, no where e're cou'd find,
Yet Courts to impudence, have oft been kind;
But that was more, then you Sir ever knew,
Your Officers forgive, nay pay bold crew,
Or else themselves in others they'd condemn,
They modesty, as her twin-wit contemn,
Boldness at Court, they think do's merit show.
Men get Coin, not by Brains but outside brow,
Thick Sculs, frought with but out-side confidence,
Have seldom need of inside bashful sense,
They speak as eat, but from their lib'ral Prince;
Honey of Courts, makes there such dronish swarms,
Mens impudence is wealth there, Womens charms;
But now to modesty, I've lost pretence
Daring Sir, at your praise is impudence,
Sawcy Address to Majesty Offence.
[Page 29] But you, the highest, humblest of your Court,
Have pardon'd Millions of this ins'lent sort,
No modest Writer, but with Pen in's hand,
Thinks he has priviledge to mak's Prince stand,
Poems are but Petitions too in Verse,
Which Authors sufferings, and wants reherse;
Large Portions they of Fame to Princes give,
That you in Verse, and they may by it live,
Like sensless Courtiers with mean flattery,
Think so, Kings grace, they do not beg, but buy;
Bold wretches, to your Memory still sue,
For promises, you gave to them ne're due,
And beg, to be remembred still by you:
A Princess easy'st boon, forgetfulness,
I only beg, for which too, none else press;
Such grant too, without asking Princes give,
By your forgetting, I new way shou'd thrive.
[Page 30] To be forgotten, Sir, were grace to me,
The only ruin'd, by your Memory;
Worst crime is still, rejecting Heavens grace,
Worst punishment, is not to see Gods Face;
None wretched are, who can come where you are,
Wretch is damn'd here, who must that joy forbear:
You are but terrible abroad to Foes,
Your loaded Forehead here no terrour shows,
You do not rule your Subjects with your brows;
With no proud threats, your Neighbours e're alarme,
Nor seek vain stile, to do your Subjects harm,
Conqu'ring abroad, brings desolation home,
Old Subjects are enslav'd, new to o'recome;
Like Torrents, Kings, o'rethrow own banks to roam.
But your smooth stream, seeks not to overthrow,
Her own Banks, that to strange Coasts it may go,
Your streams of power, on own Banks ne'er intrude,
Yet yours, Gods overflowing hands similitude;
[Page 31] You, like your Thames (Sir) keep a temp'rate Course,
The Shore you glide by's fatten'd, not the worse,
Your even Stream seeks but to keep its own,
(From choaking Sands which wou'd its current drown)
But not to undermine its wealthy Coast,
O'reflowing streams by their own Banks are lost;
The more abroad, the stream of pow'r o'reflows,
Drier, and narrower, at home it grows,
Dividing do's oft name, and current lose;
Branching of Pow'r dreins but the first Spring-head,
Foraign o'reflowing makes home, dry and dead;
Making a War, is making Victors less,
And getting power, but at their wealths decrease;
Let other vain Kings, their Wild gaddings boast,
What treasures they of men, for blows have lost,
The cheapest Victories, too dearly cost;
[Page 32] 'Tis sensless glory got by growing poor,
Making new Subjects, by the loss of more,
Kings, when they kill, are Men, Gods when they give,
Not Deaths, or Rapin, bounty makes Kings live,
Fierceness, but makes men fly, Gold makes Men kneel,
'Tis plyant Gold that Conquers not hard steel;
More pow'r Man has, the less 'tis to be us'd,
Using pow'r ill, God whence it came's abus'd;
Subject's a Rascal, whose unequal pow'r,
In Duel-war, has made him Conquerour;
Who with the longest Sword chooses to fight,
Nor cause, nor heart, ('tis to be fear'd) has right,
'Tis infamous by meer strength to o'recome,
Becoming not a King, but wrestling Groom;
Kings who exceed Commission to 'em giv'n,
Are themselves Traitours to the Prince of Heav'n,
[Page 33] And who do's not to execute Heav'ns will,
In sparing Traitours Blood, his own do's spill.
God, great Example to Vicegerents gave
When he threw down the first Rebellious slave,
The Rebels punishments, good Subjects save,
And Justice done reprieves near dying Laws,
Half ty'd up, choak'd, by the new, good old Cause;
But Death's, the only slow reward you give
With Heavenly patience you for Stiff-necks grieve,
Whilst Hypocrites to you, use self deceit,
Who wou'd cheat a wise God, good King, himself do's cheat;
Traitours to you, stabs to own Conscience give,
Ill Life's worst punishment's to let it live,
The envious you execute, by their reprieve,
Who for the good you do, tho 'twere to them wou'd grieve,
To pardon them, will hardly give you leave;
[Page 34] And guilty Conscience is worst Hangman too,
Severest Justice to it self will do.
And Subjects are Self-Felons ith' true Sence,
Who wou'd destroy a Just, and Pard'ning Prince.
The Life of free-born Man is Liberty,
And Life of Liberty is Monarchy,
If we best, first Man's service thraldom call,
What must it be to serve then always all?
The Government o'th' Skies, ours imitates,
Rul'd by one single pow'r, and yet three States;
O might our imitation throughly run,
Your Godlike Reign Eternally last on,
Excepting perpetuity alone;
Our sparing King, lives here a Deity,
Of whom nothing but's wrath can ever dye.
[Page 35] 'Tis but your Justice do's ill Men incense,
You, for Rebellion, leave Slaves no pretence,
Are Good, Great, Merciful, ev'n to Offence,
Kings, but condemn the Just, when they the guilty save,
Suffering Tyrant Slaves, they their own Crowns enslave;
And Subjects mutiny, is madness, rage,
When each for th' publick, 'gainst themselves engage,
For fear of one King, set up Hundreds more,
Who have but pow'r too, but to make 'em poor,
Yet now are saving, on unthrifty score;
So treacherous Trustees, take only care,
To spare the Tenants, but to rack the Heir,
To force releases keep him low, and bare.
But since your Slaves for you, too high wou'd grow,
At their own perils, let it e'en be so;
[Page 36] In spight, heap Titles on 'em, more and more,
That since Purse proud, they may be honour poor;
That heaviest Tax of honour, none deny;
A Tax with which all Fools, most Knaves comply;
A Tax, to beggar their Posterity.
So Pyramids more high they grow, grow less,
Their heighth is but their substances decrease.
FINIS.
Errata in the Poem to the King.
Page the 1. Line 8. for Defaming, Profaning, p. 7. l. 15. for passs'd by, by all pass'd by, p. 8. l. 11. for World to, World too, p. 14. l. 10. for honour to, honour too.
Errata in the Dukes.
Page 5. Line 9. for brake, break, p. 8. l. 9. for our is, ours is, p. 11. l. 8, for your fate, your fates, p. 15. l. 8. for praises, praise, p. 22. l. 2. for help to, help me to, p. 24. l. 17. for conj'ring, conqu'ring, p. 26. l. 6. for Jock-friends, Foe-friends, p. 29. l. 9. for but in, but here.
TO THE DUKE.
Written in his Absence, occasion'd from the sight of some Defamatory Libels on Him.
THe Brave and Just, life to himself does give,
Ready'st to dye, is fittest still to live;
Nor Virtues, nor the Crimes of Ancestors,
Can truly magnify or lessen Ours.
Why should Syres, Mothers, Sisters, or Wives Sin,
Be a Reproach to him, that's next of Kin?
Man may to Stock, or Blood, Related be,
From Friends ill Fame, Ignoble Vice, yet free;
Virtue is still the best Nobility,
Justice, and Truth, most lasting Heraldry;
[Page 2] Let Jockeys Huntsmen of long Stocks take heed,
Value a Horse, or Dogg, but for their Breed,
And take no notice of their Shapes, or Speed.
The Stallion-Parent, only Shapes does find,
No mortal Syre, can give the God-like mind;
Wise, Just, is Noble by the God's above,
Good Actions best, high Linage from 'em prove:
Just firm, is Royal, knows to Dye, as Live,
Life to forgotten Ancestors, does give;
In Mercy shews his Braver Conquer'd Heart,
And Wounds he's forc'd to give, first make him Smart.
In giving Life, a Gods, or Heroes part.
His Mercy is, sole danger of his Life;
To save, more than to kill, is still his strife:
To Honour, he by Arms, no siege does lay,
He dares meet Death; from Fame yet flyes away.
Such are You (Sir) Obscur'd by Royal Blood:
Had you not own'd a KING for Syre, you shou'd,
Above the Commets dread Heav'ns held-out Rod;
Your suff'rings only prove your mortal Race;
Best Prince was once with People in Disgrace:
With a more Jewish race, you have to do,
Who wou'd their Countrys-Saviour banish too:
Yet you bear wrongs, like an immortal mind,
Some sorrows, (but for sins against you) find;
But for your self, you never feel the wrongs
Are done you, by prophaning Hearts and Tongues.
If any touch you, they are chiefly those,
Offer'd you by reneagueing slaves Friend-Foes.
Their aym they do, you cannot courage lose:
Blaspheming does no wrong to heedless Jove,
Atheist to you, shall Hell in conscience prove.
Your God-like Patience will disarm their spight;
Your Constancy, shall their perversness fight,
Your quiet Suff'ring, shew your heart, sense right.
[Page 4] Wretches, who did their Lawful Prince dethrone,
Of his Inheritance, wou'd rob the Son:
Fond fools, Heav'n says, it can't, it shan't be done.
Such Insolents, once Heav'n it self assayl'd,
And 'ore the God's themselves wou'd have prevail'd.
Such long-Arm'd Monsters against Heav'n did rise,
Swell'd up 'gainst Government of Jove and Skyes;
And with huge Gripes, unhing'd whole Provinces,
To give disturbance to the God's long Ease:
With Mountains shielded, many handed Slaves,
Slung Campaigns to the skies, which prov'd their Graves:
So their own strength, own ruin most did prove,
Heav'd Hills their Monuments against their Jove,
And vainly seeking to bring their God's down,
Heap'd on their own heads own Destruction.
May all rebellious rabbles e'en so thrive,
Who will not let him live, by whom they live,
[Page 5] Wou'd pluck down their defence 'gainst forraign Foes,
Like drunken squablers Guardian-Friend Oppose.
Your Royal true Protector, you'd Destroy,
And Arms against your Bullwark wou'd Employ.
Weary of Peace, you wou'd enjoy Revenge,
To let in Warr, the Government unhinge:
Such hands as your's, once cut the Royal Line,
And now the sacred Clew, you wou'd untwine:
Wou'd brake the double Cable, which does hold
The tossing Government, in storms so bold;
So Fools, to shipwrack your own selves you fall
Foul on your fearles Driving Admiral;
And that ungrateful undefended shore,
To which he was a Rock and Fence before,
Wou'd shipwrack him, who kept off Tydes of Foes,
By falling foul: What can you get, but blows?
That Life which sav'd, and guided, Will you lose?
[Page 6] Guided (I mean) in Storms, when Winds grew high,
On Neighbour-Shores, and Tempests gather'd nigh,
'Till He 'twas clear'd the Seas, and threat'ning Skye,
With Thunder, like a warning Deity.
Heav'n will at last the muddy Tempest clear,
And your test, torn, spent-followers will cheer.
The Tempest which has shook the Royal-Root,
And from the shore it grew on, made it float,
Will bring you back again to Native Land,
VVhere tallest you, but one, did firmly Stand;
And there shall spread your ruffled Top again,
O're Shrubs, who but of your high Growth complain.
Yet by your Absence now too late they find,
Your lofty stock, was shelter 'gainst all wind;
From your Expanded Covert grew their height,
Your Shaddow to them, was both heat, nay light;
They miss'd no warmth, who stood still in your sight;
[Page 7] All things grew near you, You were lofty Prop,
By which your Succors grew up to such Top;
Nay, some ungratefully yet spring, and do,
But by your absence basely higher grow;
Who first were by your Sap and Succor fed,
First thought your Growth too high, Boughs too far spread;
So clinging Ivy climbing kills her Prop,
On which she grew, and grown still help'd her up;
But firmly yet shall stand unmoving foot,
From shaking Tempest take but deeper root;
Storms alwayes reach, and shake the things most high,
Whilst low and groveling undisturb'd may lye:
Your firmness only does your danger make;
Things most immoveable wild Storms wou'd brake;
The Plyant are but safe because they bow,
Like Plants spread more, the more blown to and fro,
For bearing Fruit contented to lye low.
[Page 8] But Shrubs, which by your side wou'd grow too high,
And to the Master-Caedars injury,
By that shade which first rays'd 'em may they dye.
The Navy is once more the sheltring Oak,
To keep the Royal Stock, from Treasons Stroak.
Seas to their Soveraign more constant prove,
Whilst the fixt shore, by Tempest, more does move;
Our is the floating, moving North-West-Ile,
Which Pylots well-shap'd Course does still beguile;
That hum'rous Spot of quicksand driving ground,
Which only, when 'tis sought to, can't be found;
And n'one in storm can touch Thee, but is drown'd;
The toyl of Pylot, mock of Marriners,
He nere shall make Thee, who directly Steers;
Ungrateful. Mother-Soyle, and traytrous Earth,
To Ship-Wrack what from thee, had first high Birth!
So Rich-Fraught Bottom far about does Roame,
Scapes forraign Coasts, and Storms, to Sink at Home;
[Page 9] And whilst by adverse Winds, on Seas 'tis Tost,
Is but in danger from own native Coast,
Where wretches pray on shore, it may be Lost.
Ilanders, who by Stormes and Tempests live,
Whose Wealth is but what others Ruins give;
Who curse less merc'less Seas, and ceasing Storm,
And Heaven, which for them will do no Harm;
Call them Gods-Goods which Tempests to 'em send,
The Sea, old Foe to Earth, is their best friend.
When Land-Storms rise, it is in vain to strive,
Best course is then to let the torn Bark drive.
When winds grow lowd, Rebellious Seas to Rore,
The Ship must roul, no dealings with the Shore;
Sea then's ill Enemy, but worse the Port,
Where entring Bark pays but too dearly for't:
Fair weather may return, the Sun may Smile,
And clear up yet, about our Clouded Ile;
[Page 10] Where Mists are grown so dark, Seas so high roul,
That Friends on Friends, on Admiral fall foul;
Yet Halcion days, after these storms, may come,
We may see our Tost-Admiral come Home.
Wellcom as once to this repenting Shore,
Which had beat off it's Admiral before.
The love of Change, if not the love of Right,
Will bring remorce, when once you come in Sight;
And you again from second Bannishment,
Once more are beg'd by Common Votes Consent,
The People shall with Tears of Joy Lament;
Their Sottish rage, and their wild frenzy mourn,
Which their own Armes, in you, so wou'd have torn;
Come to themselves; your Renegads again,
Will be your Slaves, and sue to wear your Chain.
You are our small Worlds hidden Axeltree,
Round, which whilst all things turn you fixt we see;
True Image of the patient Deitie.
Prophan'd by those, you shou'd be worship'd by,
From your own bounty, you too they defye;
Wou'd glorify you, as your Father too,
O're the whole world, in Heaven wou'd Crown you:
Your Fate wou'd be, who alwayes had been theirs,
For your last Exaltation, they make Prayers:
To their own Fate wou'd be the fatal Doome,
Him wou'd subdue by whom they overcome:
Their saving Admiral wou'd run on ground,
Venture their own, but His life to confound:
Their foes, in you o're-come, be Conqu'rers so,
And all your Trophys get by spoyling you.
Base, treacherous, and losing Victorie,
By which the Conquerors wou'd ruin'd be!
[Page 12] Immortall Pens successful virtue claw,
Mine now for Fortunes Conqueror I draw;
Virtue distrest in my Verse still shall Live,
Who dies for Honour, him shall Fame reprieve.
Honour's a kind of losing loadam Game,
Whereby who loses Life, gets more of Fame,
And never dies in his Eternal Name:
Fame do's gain Fame, whilst Fame to you shee gives,
And Fame of her suspected truth retrives.
A Prince distrest most Honour so can give,
In being Poets Theam, you make him live.
But ready'st way to Immortallity,
Is not to save your Name, but for it Dye,
The greatest Honour kept by Destiny.
I who in verse ne're thought a Name to raise,
Or for my honour, to give others praise;
Cou'd not refuse my self best way to Fame,
Who your great Name Enroles, Enroles his name.
[Page 13] Painters so by their finish'd Hero's side,
Small name in Corner of great picture hide,
From giving of just likness they take pride.
Ambitious hand grasps Immortallity,
And Climes to Fame, by laying hold so high.
If you were dead, you never wou'd be dead;
Were there no Faith, you wou'd be worshipped:
Did you not own a God, you might be one;
Might sit Safe, High, were you not next the Throne:
Wer't not your Altar, it might be your Seat;
Serving your God and King, you are more great:
Your Duty to both Kings is your offence,
That fallen Rebel-Devils do's incence:
You fear God too much, so much love your Prince;
Nay you cou'd love too, without recompence:
Allegiance is your fault, Virtue your Crime,
Your Courage makes you fear'd, your Justice Grim,
[Page 14] To those who wou'd the Royal House divide,
Which stands scarce safe, but by your Propping Side:
Your High Born-Brother was without the Sun,
You hidden Pole on which His world did Run;
The lower bearing Hinge oth' Government,
For want of which, it has on one side leant;
More fit, by State Thief, to be heav'd aside,
Who to unhinging has all force apply'd,
And lent his Back, his Shoulders and each side;
Whilst Fall of State bold Fooles own Trap might prove,
Crushing those Shoulders, which for ruin hove,
And Spreyn those Armes, which for unhinging Strove.
For Monarchy they wou'd shut out of dore,
Kings they wou'd be, yet wou'd have Kings no more;
At Westminster, they'd even you Adore,
Wou'd give your resting Courage there it's due,
But may they, I, and Fame, long keep your view.
[Page 15] You to be greater, need not cannot dye,
Y'ave got already Immortality.
I wou'd dye for your Name, live by it too;
Gods Name, and yours, can Life by Death bestow.
But there is taking too great Name in Vain,
And you (Sir) of my Vowes, may well complain;
Which, with too small devotion, I Reherse,
Gods demy-Gods, have yet Pray'r, Prayses in Verse;
Which only Zealous giver do's delight;
Devotion, pays it self, by being right:
Who fears not to give Honour where 'tis due,
Shews his true worship, that's Religion true.
Poets Devotion, without blame may have,
Who seldom seek a Soul, but Name to save.
Poets, Physitians Persecutors are,
Yet such Religions Persecutors spare,
'Cause they for no Religion will declare.
[Page 16] Such for the Dead but to the Living pray,
Damn, or Save men, as men will give or pay▪
But free-will'd Poet, prays to Heathen Saints,
To Love, to Caeres, Bacchus, makes com [...]aints,
VVithout the fear of Sharp finn'd P [...]vants:
'Gainst worshipping the Devil, there's no Law;
VVho dares fear Purgatory, Statutes jaw
VVill swallow up alive at Westminster;
VVretch of Redemption ever must dispair!
'Till Purgatory want Bards little ease,
Frees him from starving world, his worst disease;
Of which we find he's allways crying out,
The World's his Plague, his Pox, and his poor Gout,
And from his Head flyes down into his Foot:
Seldom permitting him to go abroad,
Till he goes last step, of life's rugged Road;
And fills his hungry unstopt mouth with Clay
VVhich scarce had mouthful till his lifes last lay,
And but for it was ever known to pray:
[Page 17] Yet Godly malice may for ought I know,
Charge me, tho' Poet, with Religion too,
By shewing short Devotion (Sir) to you.
Poets indeed oft are Idolaters,
But Verse to you, is saying of on's pray'rs.
Poets tune up to Earthly Gods sett Ayres,
To help Coyne needs, and urgent Verse-affayres:
Set up their Golden Calves their Stocks, their Stones,
Traffick their worship, but for others Boones,
Blessings, which Cost too many heavy groans:
Yet upstart demy-Gods nor Idols shall
Me from my old Devotion tempt, or call.
(Dread Sir) to you, I'le pray, bow, bend stiff knee,
Rebellion is to me Idolatrie,
Our Common Fate shall be my Deitie.
But least my praying should be thought a sin,
By cursing my Devotion shall begin,
For devout Cursers Poets still have been:
[Page 18] Curst be those Jewes by whom y'are bannish'd hence,
To whom your Firmness was greatest Offence;
VVho to your Princely Forehead Thorns apply'd,
VVound Majesty, piercing it through your Side:
Joves, and your Brothers Thunder too defye,
Like Atheists against Conscience will deny
Your great Names Immortality:
My mortal Verse in your Name shall not dye.
The safe bold way to save a Poets Name,
Is to be Drawer of your Deeds, and Fame;
My glory wou'd be finnish'd, tho' yours Lame.
Yet you, 'tis Dangerous to pourtray right,
For he who wou'd do that, must see you fight;
Then bear you Chearfull'st Look, and Noblest Grace;
In danger you have still most steady Face;
'Midst fire, and Deaths, seem Deathless Deity,
VVhilst you the circling Flames but Glorify,
And who wou'd see you then, must dare to dye.
[Page 19] Cowards who Boldly'st charge a Prince's Ear,
For boon of Honour, wou'd not then press near.
But what to you more honour dos afford,
You tho' a Prince, yet dare to keep your VVord;
In Fight no more, then in strict Vertue you
A Second or a Councellor can know;
He then became your greatest Enemy,
Who to save life wou'd let your Honour dye,
From danger to keep you; worst Injury!
You alwayes cou'd forgive, and less wou'd blame,
The Traytor to your life, then to your Fame.
I fear (Great Sir) I so have injur'd you;
For who can set forth, what you did, can do?
Your long Wing'd Honour takes such Eagles Flight,
Shee leaves her blind pursuer out of sight;
And after all his gazeing, all he'll find,
Your dazling Sun makes bold Observers blind:
[Page 20] Following you, in Honours eager Game,
Wou'd tire the Poets Horse, and Wings of Fame;
Report wou'd lagg behind, Verse wou'd be Lame:
'Tis Sawciness to trace the Demi-Gods,
VVho Spur out of all Common Hackney-Roads;
When out of sight, by Court-mouths Winds are Tost,
Yet highest when to Mortals they seem Lost;
So Eagle like, to Mortals dazel'd Eye,
You then seem Least, when you are got most High;
The greater distance you from Mortals are,
To Heaven your Sphere, you are but much more neare:
Yet may your flight be long ere you come there,
Late let us loose in you our Heaven here;
Still on the Wing State Tempest keeps you up,
And to your Shiver'd Rock sorbids you stoop;
For want of where to perch round Heav'n you roame,
Made flye from home all Heaven is your Home.
But in last voyage you'll find Volunteers;
Who dares not with you dye, lives for more fears.
VVhen you to Danger, and to Death lead on,
And dying from the sick world will be gon,
To short breath'd Cowards life wou'd then seem none:
VVhen from the dead world bravely you wou'd flye,
'Twere but Self-preservation then to dye;
That life is lost, which with you is not lost,
VVhen Soule of Valour dyes, man lives a Ghost,
A flying Shaddow, Sneaks from Mortal view:
VVhen dareing Mortals wou'd Cold thing pursue,
And when your sacred Sun shall disappear,
The damn'd remaining will live pale Ghosts here,
And living will but daily dye with fear.
Coppying Soldiers Poets Paynters shall,
Want their bold hand, and great Original:
I draw but once an age, and after you,
No dawbing Prayse, shall my Verse Pencil show;
[Page 22] Then can have no one sit, or fight to me,
Or help to express true Victorie.
Victory, whose dark Clouds but set it off,
And dang'rous odds, are not it's loss, but proof:
Victory, when vain Glory's led in Chains,
And mans cool Sence, his hect'ring Will Constreyns.
Who cou'd your Glory draw shall honour have,
Shall conquer Envy, be the muses Brave.
Of tedious Drawer, you shall but Conplain,
Of draught in little, dawbers greatest payn,
Who you, for so ill picture dares deteyn:
But who in your Great Name once draws his Pen,
Will find it hard to finish as begin.
Paynting's bewitching when the Object's dear,
When you sit still, what dawber can forbear?
But trembling hand bold Pencil must let fall,
You must remain uncoppy'd, Great Original;
[Page 23] You Paynters, Poets, Enemies disarm;
Unutterable virtue will all Sences charm,
What loads too much benums the brain and arm;
And dareing too 'sketch Immortality,
Is no devotion, Pencil Blasphemy:
God Heav'n and you no mortal sees right here;
Are libell'd all, by short prayse in long Pray'r;
And Tediousness 'gainst God, and man's a sin,
Not to conclude worse than not to begin.
You when you fight, your Acts best Drawer are,
Immortal Deeds Gods best themselves declare;
So Gods in Miracles to men appear.
Your drawn Sword is your Stile, Foes Iron Brest,
Where it's poynt best, own keenness has exprest.
Fullness of Subject drowns your Poets Pen,
Who writing on, finds still he's to begin;
Drowns flowing Prayse it self, with it's excess,
And loses great Name, in own flourishes.
[Page 24] Your Royal Brothers, and your only Name,
Preserve a Flatterer, himself from blame;
Names which wou'd make late lying Poetry,
But spareing, modest, ciphr'ing History:
No Poets feign or will for lyars go,
Who your great Brothers, and your vertues show;
Write all they can 'twere short of him, and you.
Courage was n'ere thought less for modestie,
He what he can, yet lets not bold men see.
Th'Allmighty Thund'rers hand dos not appear,
Whilst he low Shrubs, hard Rocks below dos tear.
Insolent Babel-builders have a care;
More high you Climb, your fall will greater be,
Him you wou'd reach, the Gods defend you see.
You'l go to Heaven (Sir) no whether Flie,
You for your Country wou'd, not by it Dye;
But when y'are ravish'd hence, by conqring sphaeres
Blasphemous Curses will be turn'd to Prayers:
[Page 25] If you were Dead, then wou'd they make you Live,
Fearing no more, your Valours due, wou'd give.
But your Great Name can never greater grow,
By Heaven, Fame, World, Me, nay not by You;
Fame Poets, Flatterers, Courts Lying Crew,
In speaking Short of you, do not speak True.
Their Praise, more than Whiggs Malice, will decry,
And but Besmear Names, they wou'd Glorify;
Lying Fools praise, or love, worst Injury.
But Whigg! That Burlesque little paultry sound,
In Ballad Verse, fit only to be found;
Where your great Name is Sung, it shoud be drown'd.
Yet I more lessen you Sir, now I fear,
But when hir'd Pens against your Fame appear,
What block cou'd help, being Verse-volunteer.
When Pentionary Quills rebel 'gainst Fame,
And draw upon the Noblest suff'ring Name,
I boldly take my Courage, from their Shame.
[Page 26] Yet I, perhaps may do Great Name more wrong,
By short blunt Pralse, than edgeless Satyr long,
Their wicked Will is, tho' their force not strong,
Great is their Rage, who will expose their own,
Your Sacred Reputation to bring down.
Such flatt'ring foe-friends of Kings Purse and Crown,
To starving Muse let 'em be left alone;
Let Verse which was their Bellies, not Heads crime,
Be'ts punishment, in Unpoetick time:
Instead of Living, may they starve by Ryme.
Be like their VVritings, both short-liv'd and torn,
By praise of Fools and Knaves, grow VVise mens scorn:
VVho like sed Dogs, 'gainst absent bounty bay,
Snapping that Hand, on which their wants did prey.
Moon-Barkers so 'gainst the VVorlds second Light,
VVith false Alarms disturb the quiet Night:
For shutting out themselves, loud Noise still keep,
And will not let those of their own House sleep.
[Page 27] To Kennel (Coffee-House) e'en let 'em creep,
Lap Coffee, and their Cares, with pall'd Jests, steep;
Like hungry Ratts, for want of Food, may they,
On their blurr'd Papers, cham'd conceipts, still prey.
Such Ratts cannot devour your Deathless Name,
'Tho' they defac'd the Register of Fame.
Your Name, wou'd still be what it was before;
None make you less, your Self can't make you more:
That only is beyond your Vallours pow'r.
Post-script.
AS he who ne're took Cudgel up before,
Vext at Foul Play, begin's thick skull to scoure,
In Poets Lists, and layes about him round,
From sense of Friends VVrongs, clumsey strength has found.
So has my just rage sharpen'd my blunt Quill:
Forgive (Great Sir) defending you so ill;
He alwayes has best Heart, who shews least Skill.
My End is not at all to shew my Art,
In Lying Verse, but here my-Your true Heart,
Which from the Left-Right-Side can never part.
The side Oppress'd, is still to me, the Right:
Who Loves, asks not what Quarrel Friend does Fight.
[Page 30] Who Draws on Your Side, nere can be i'th Wrong.
Poets still fight the Rabble, and the Throng.
Mall'd Poets, like bang'd Braves o'th' ground, despise
The Knock-down-Crowds, who will not let 'em Rise.
The Honest, tho' the Weak side, has the Ods;
Poets, and Heroes, are help'd by the Gods.
FINIS.