A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial.

A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial.

Table of contents

Title page

A Court of Judicature, In Imitation of LIBANIUS. To Desertus.

THE ARGUMENT.

The first Address. A Discontented Poet.

The second Address. An Envious Person.

The third Address, A decay'd Beauny.

The fourth Address. A Parasite.

The fifth Address. A Noble Virgin.

The sixth Address. A Philosopher.

The seventh Address. A desperate Lover.

§

Epigram 1. To Candidus.

Epigram 2. On the Right Reverend Dr. E. Stillingfleet, Lord Bishop of Worcester.

Epigram 3. On Lewis the Great.

Epigram 4. On a scurrilous Detractor.

Epigram 5. On Criticks.

Epigram 6. On one that had a stinking Mouth.

Epigram 7. On Coscus.

Epigram 8. On one that had a stinking Breath.

Epigram 9. On a stupid rustick Sinner.

Epigram 10. On Aurelia.

Epigram 11. To the Muses.

Epigram 12. On the unworthily advanced, and unworthily depressed.

Epigram 13. On Bassa.

Epigram 14. On the same.

Epigram 15. On a Romantick Damzel.

Epigram 16. On Hatred.

Epigram 17. To my Muse.

Epigram 18. On a Good Man.

Epigram 19. On the Honour of Women.

Epigram 20. On an Epicure.

Epigram 21. King Agesilaus Answer, being offer'd Presents from the King of Persia.

Epigram 22. The like Answer from a Roman.

Epigram 23. On Separatists.

Epigram 24. On Decoctus.

Epigram 25. To Caius.

Epigram 26. On the Stoicks.

Epigram 27. On a Modern Parasite.

Epigram 28. To Justus.

Epigram 26. On Precisians.

Epigram 30. To Drusilla.

Epigram 31. On a Censurer.

Epigram 32. On Prayer..

Epigram 33. The Reparty of a Spartan to an Athenian.

Epigram 34. On a huge fat Host.

Epigram 35. On Aristides.

Epigram 36. On a very lean Person.

Epigram 37. On the Grecian and Roman Superstition.

Epigram 38. To Honorius.

Epigram 39. On Bassa.

Epigram 40. On the same.

Epigram 41. On a Champion of the Seminary, W. S.

Epigram 42. On a Champion of the Conventicle, R. B.

Epigram 43. On the Leviathan.

Epigram 44. On mean Poetry.

Epigram 45. To my Precisian Censurer.

Epigram 46. On Popular Men.

Epigram 47. On old Leda.

Epigram 48. To Honorius.

Epigram 49. On our common Atheists.

Epigram 50. To Marcellus.

Epigram 51. On a young Soldier.

Epigram 52. To Sextus.

Epigram 53. On Bastwick Oats.

Epigram 54. On an Independant.

Epigram 55. On the Covenant.

Epigram 56. On Rushworth's Collections.

Epigram 57. On Moil the Grasier.

Epigram 58. On Fabella.

Epigram 59. On Priscus.

Epigram 60. On Mercia.

Epigram 61. To Justus.

Epigram 62. On the Present Parliament.

Epigram 63. On a Wittall.

Epigram 64. On a Coward.

Epigram 65. On three little Boys.

Epigram 66. To Lupus.

Epigram 67. On a conceited Poet.

Epigram 68. On Thyrsis.

Epigram 69. On a decay'd Beauty.

Epigram 70. On the same.

Epigram 71. On a Bumkin.

Epigram 72. On Lewis the 14th.

Epigram 73. Censorinus.

Epigram 74. To Priscus.

Epigram 75. On Planca.

Epigram 76. On the Poems on the Affairs of State.

Epigram 77. On Baccha.

Epigram 78. On the Priest's Girdle.

Epigram 79. To Eudora and Silvia.

Epigram 80. On Damon and Phillis.

Epigram 81. On Thyrsis and Alinda.

Epigram 82. On Bardus.

Epigram 83. A Farewel to Poetry.

ERRATA.

Books Printed for Henry Bonwicke, at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard.

The Kings-Bench Cabal, A SONG.

§

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A COURT OF JUDICATURE, In Imitation of LIBANIUS. WITH New Epigrams. By the Hand that translated Martial.

—Servetur ad imum

Qualis ab incepto processerit & sibi constet.

Hor. de Art. Poet.

LONDON: Printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard, 1697.

A Court of Judicature, In Imitation of LIBANIUS.
To Desertus.

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VVHEN to Disertus, Muse, I bid thee go,

Why do'st so tim'rous and so backward show?

Say, he be reading, let not that affright,

Nay more press on him tho thou see'st him write.

If thou attend'st to find his Idle Hour,

A Time to go, will ne'er be in thy Pow'r.

Thou say'st, When thou conceived'st well before

Of any Work, thou think'st it mean and poor

Approaching him. Be't so, thou do'st not err,

Yet let Conceited Ign'rance more deterr,

[Page] Than piercing Judgment and a Gen'rous Mind,

Which will be sure, what thou ha'st Good to find,

Altho' thy modest self, art to it blind,

'Tis true, Disertus does himself revere

In what he judges: But how'er severe,

Candor and Knowledge do his Censures steer,

He is not like the vain pretending Crew,

Who criticize on what they never knew,

The Poets, Painters, Statuaries Skill,

Make all take Laws from their bold Tongue and Quill,

Tasso, Bernino, Raph'el, praise and blame,

Pronounee what's in them Good, and what is Lame.

He scorns to act these Vertuosos Part,

Himself's an Artist, as he judges Art,

Wou'd I, my Muse, upon the World impose,

No Way, like this Address, I cou'd have chose,

What's to Disertus sent, when Men behold,

Altho' but Brass, they will presume 'tis Gold,

THE ARGUMENT.

[Page]

THE People in a certain State, being much addicted to make themselves away, young and old of both Sexes, a Law was made, Thar whosoever lay under any Affliction, should make their Case known to Judges appointed to heat them: Who, if they cou'd not prevail to remove their Troubles, shou'd allow them to take what Course they pleas'd: But if any, without making Application to these Judges, laid violent Hands on themselves, their Bodies shou'd be expos'd publickly naked, and cast out without Burial. Upon which many made their Discontents known.

The first Address.
A Discontented Poet.

[Page]

AN ancient Bard did thus his Case declare.

My Lords, since first I drew a learned Air,

My self I to the Muses did devote,

Esteem'd a Poet of no Vulgar Note;

My Numbers ravish'd all that did them hear,

And more the Soul affected, than the Ear;

I know not how! The World of late is chang'd,

And from Parnassus ev'ry Heart's estrang'd;

Who my Corrivals were, take to a Trade,

Verse, once their Glory, now their Scorn is made.

To read a Poem I did late attempt,

But from a Friend I met with this Contempt,

" Thy Toys at present, prethee Fool, forbear,

" I'm serious, as thou see'st, and cannot hear;

A Hog he was to sell, a Rick of Hay,

And things Divine to these he made give way.

My Labours all are lost, my Glory's fled,

High time it is, my Lords, that I were Dead.

[Page] One from the Bench reply'd, Why don't you learn

From you wise Friends, Silver and Gold to earn?

Gain has its Sweeness, Money has a Chime,

Which will not yield unto the softest Rhime.

To this Advice the Discontented se'd,

I with Ambrosia ever have been fed,

And Gen'rous Thoughts my Heart do still inspire,

Husks I can't eat, nor wallow in the Mire.

When from this Earth my Soul shall take her Wing,

Apollo I shall hear, and Muses sing.

Iudg.] The Worthy up to Death with Grief we give,

Thy Nobler Part we wish may ever live.

The second Address.
An Envious Person.

A Meager Wretch, rolling his blood-shot Eyes,

What grip't his Heart unfolded in this wise.

When I the Courses of the World do weigh,

Not Gods, but Tyrants, seem th'Events to sway;

Who all things act according to their Lust,

Not by the Measures of what's Right and Just:

[Page] Some are advanc'd, thro Favour, 'bove the rest,

While others, more deserving, are suppre'st;

The very Bruts seem more to be Heav'ns Care,

Better than Men, in all respects, to fare;

A Wolf none richer, than a Wolf, does see,

A Lion, 'bove a Lion, in degree;

In Woods and Fields they equal Station keep,

Drink the same Springs, and on the same Ground sleep:

But the Supports of Life tho all Men need,

Some there are starve, while others do exceed,

My House unto my Neighbour's House is joyn'd,

My Dore's as wide, why shou'd not Riches find,

An Ent'rance there, if Fortune were as kind?

But while his Wealth all Bounds does overflow,

I, extream Penury, do only know.

Cremes and I were seen for many Years,

In ev'ry Circumstance, to be Compeers;

One Bath serv'd both, and the same common Meat,

We, uninvited, with each other eat;

My Purse his Wants, and his did mine supply,

'Twas rare to find such great Equality;

[Page] The Gods have rais'd him to a high Estate,

(My Blood thrills in me, while I this relate)

Upon a sudden, and to me unknown,

Plebeian Cremes, a Patrician's grown;

Who creeping went, and with his Head bow'd low,

Erect, and like a Hero, now does go;

Me he despises, and no less does hate,

Than the Condition he was in of late;

Not as a Friend, but Vassal, does invite,

Simo, says he, come sup with me to Night.

My Gall o'erflow'd: Yet I resolv'd to go,

His Greatness not to stoop to, but to know.

Good Gods! What Splendor did my Eyes behold!

Tablc and Beds in or o'er-laid with Gold;

Chargers and Goblets all of antick Plate,

Massy, and which became a Princes State;

Whate'er was Rare, was set on's Lordly Board,

All that the Sea and Land do Choice afford.

The Mirth swell'd high, the Cups went often round,

While Wine the Rest, with Sorrow I was drown'd;

I saw a Feast, but did it not enjoy,

What others did delight, did me annoy;

[Page] Cremes ne'er mark't, I might or fast, or eat,

I was his Guest, but me he did not treat.

In the Debauch and Tumults of the Meal,

I, unobserv'd, unto my Home did steal:

Nothing was splendid there, but sordid poor,

I cast my self, for Anguish, on the Floor;

The things I'd seen, my Heart did so molest,

They were, like Furies, in my tortur'd Brest.

Cremes and's Guests I curst, wishing the Room,

By Fire or Earthquake, might be made their Tomb.

Nought, my dispairing, raving Throws, cou'd cheer,

But th' Approach of Morn, and in this Court to appear.

Many do under heavy Pressures lye,

But find it easier far to bear, than dye:

Altho the Fortunate I come behind,

I want not yet a Great and Gen'rous Mind.

My Lords, I'm poor, yet sue for no Relief,

But Death, the cheapest Remedy of Grief.

The Hemlock Draught to me you will not grudge,

Which you to Homicides and Traitors judge.

The Senate ask't, Has Cremes ought detain'd

Of yours? Grown rich from Loss by you sustain'd?

[Page] Not in the least, I freely do declare,

Rather demand, What Prince made him his Heir?

At what is't then, your wild Complaints do aim?

For Spight and Spleen hope you to purchase Fame?

To have your Malice, your Misfortune deem'd?

Envy, the hateful'st Vice, Vertue esteem'd?

What others hide, as their Reproach and Shame,

Your self you value on, in Court proclame.

To Bedlam go, and tell your Goodly Tale,

Th' Account on which you'd Dye, may there prevail'

Be look't on as a Great and Glorious Deed:

Hemlock you ask, but Hellebore you need.

The Snake curl'd-up, shrouding his hated Head,

Excluded from the Living, and the Dead.

The third Address,
A decay'd Beauny.

I Here deserted and forlorn do stand,

Who, as a Princess, lately did command,

O'er hundreds held a proud despotic Sway,

The Rich and Noble both did me obey,

To Crowned Heads not humbler Homage pay.

[Page] Nor did Demains, or high Descent bestow

This Pow'r, I to my Beauty it did ow;

Hence Wealth flow'd to me, tho no Arts I us'd,

Much easy'r got, than 'twas to be refus'd.

Men thought themselves enrich't, by what they sent;

Not in their Stock, but that they did present.

I was the admired Star in the Parade,

None, like to me, so bright a Figure made:

Th' Ambition of all Treats, the Joy and Crown,

My Presence, 'bove the Cost, gave them Renown;

Guests, the Delights o'th' Pallat did despise,

While they, on me, had leave to feast their Eyes.

These Glories all, by Sickness, are deface't,

My Paradise, by 'ts Tyranny, lay'd waste:

Lovers fly from me, Want does me oppress,

The Court I had, is now a Wilderness;

I saw my Face, as by my Glass I pass't.

And started at my self, as one agast.

Your Piety, my Lords, will eas'ly doom,

Unto a wretched wand'ring Ghost a Tomb.

My Case y'ave heard, and little needs be se'd,

To give her Leave to Dye, 's already Dead.

[Page] The Sense o'th' Court a Judge did thus declare.

Aurelia's noble, rich, belov'd, and Fair,

Yet she, a high Delight, in Work does take,

No Musick thinks like that, her Loom does make'

Your Life in Vice begun, in Vertue end,

Project not to destroy it, but to mend.

We will a Pension, with a Loom and Wool,

To you allow—With Indignation full,

She se'd, To remedy the State I'm in,

I dare to Dye, and therefore scorn to spin.

They told her then, They left her to Despair,

No Drugs they knew, Lost Beauty to repair.

The fourth Address.
A Parasite.

NExt one appear'd before the Judges Sight,

With doleful Looks, and in a rueful Plight,

And se'd, A Case, like mine, so full of Woe,

So tragical, my Lords, you ne'er did know.

I've liv'd a Life in Pleasure and in Ease,

Shun'd Labour, Business, all that might displease,

[Page] To bathe, to keep my Body in good plight,

To feast, with Roses crown'd, is my delight,

In Compotations, Mirth, and Musick share,

At others Charge, deliciously to fare.

A Parasite I am, need say no more,

Rich in Enjoyments, in Revenue poor.

At ten Stones distance from this noble Town,

A Farm my Patron has of much Renown:

Where, two days since, he made a sumptuous Feast,

I, tho no Prime, a Necessary Guest,

With six choice Harlots, were t' adorn the Treat,

'Bove in-lay'd Tables, Pictures, Plate, and Meat.

To give attendance with more Pomp and Grace,

I hir'd a Horse was trained up to the Race,

Trap't richly, and my self in best Array,

Goodly to see it was, and hard to say,

Whether the Beast, or Rider, were more gay.

The Hamlets, as I pass't, took me for more,

Than what I was, so fair a Port I bore,

And little less they did, than me adore.

Come to the Farm, an Altar there is seen,

Which stands upon an open spacious Green,

[Page] The Horse, this weening to have been the Race,

Of's own accord, began to mend his Pace;

The Altar, with the Meta, did confound,

Which circling, like a furious Whirlwind, round,

Back to the City me, perforce, he bore,

Not stopping till he reach't the Stable Door.

I drop't my Cloak and Bonnet by the way,

Nor to recover them had pow'r to stay;

For fear let also go the Bridle Rein,

To hold the Pommel and the Horses Mane.

Hurry'd thus back, in such Unseemly wise,

Those honour'd me before, did now despise;

Loud Laughter rais'd, and all at once 'gan hoot.

Some Furlongs pass't, I heard the Rustick Shout.

Thus hatter'd, baffl'd to my Home I came,

Reflected on my Danger, Damage, Shame,

All dismal seem'd, Darkness did me surround.

My Thoughts did nought but various Deaths propound.

But 'mong these Evils, this 'bove all the rest

Like to a Viper, stung and gnaw'd my Breast,

And which, even naming, makes me Tears to shed.

I lost a Treat, and hungry went to bed.

[Page] My self I did condemn, coming so near,

As I the Kitchin smelt, the Cooks did hear,

Their Choppings and their Ravings strok my Ear

That to my Int'rest I did prove so slack,

As not to cast me from the Horses Back.

If so a Shoulder I had broke, or Arm,

Alas, good Cheer wou'd have redress't the Harm

Nor Evil did I ever know so Great,

But Cure, or Comfort, I receiv'd by Meat.

Desp'rat's my State, I can no longer speak,

I find the Pow'rs of Nature in me weak.

Nor to dispatch me needs there Cord or Sword,

All Instruments of Death my Griefs afford;

Without regard to Laws, of Life bereave,

Make haste, my Lords, or they'll not stay your Leave

The Harangue done, 'twas with no little Pain,

The Court from open Laughter did refrain:

But siting there to save, not to despise,

Their Sense, with gracious Smiles, they did disguise

One to th' Afflicted se'd, 'Tis my Birth-Day,

Rejoyce with me, all Sadness cast away.

[Page] Another, I shall hold an Annual Feast

To morrow, come and be my chearful Guest.

A third, My Daughter, three Days hence, is wed,

Place, I'll reserve you, on the second Bed.

Ah! Gentle Lords, the Wretch did then reply,

When Gods bid live, 'twere Sacrilege to dye.

Astrea deigns again to dwell on Earth,

Justice and Mercy from your Words take Birth.

Shou'd Iove invite me to his Board and Cup,

I wou'd refuse, and with your Honours sup.

Upon these Words, the Judges strait arose,

Th' Adventure did them all to Mirth dispose:

The Eating Varlet brought to Live again,

Wagging his Tayl, follow'd their Lordships Train.

The fifth Address.
A Noble Virgin.

A Person of a charming Grace and Mien,

Tho veil'd, before the Judgment Seat was seen,

The Cloud, a Matron from her Face with-drew,

And, to th' Admiring Court, a Heaven did shew.

[Page] Her Name and Vertue were to many known,

Which caus'd thro all the Ranks a gen'ral Groan.

My Lords, she said, in sad perplexing Care

My Days I'ave spent, and often in Despair;

Dangers amaze me, Persecutions, Fears,

Numberless Evils, tho but few my Years.

The Guardians of my tender Age did say,

Apamia, if our Precepts you obey,

In Safety they'll preserve your Orphan State:

But tho obey'd, such has not been my Fate.

In a Retired Life's my greatest Joy,

A Book's my Pastime, Work is my Employ:

Theaters, Triumphs, Places of Parade

I ever shunn'd, and none can me upbraid,

That in them once I e'er Appearance made.

At solemn Times to th' Temple I do go,

To pay the Duty to the Gods I owe:

But while I there before their Altars pray'd,

Two Noble Youths to Ruine I betray'd.

As I am charg'd: Beauty, my constant Scorn,

Is made my Crime, a Crime was with me born,

If one, and which I never did adorn.

[Page] Th' Addresses of all Lovers I oppose,

But what shou'd make, alarms my soft Repose.

My Strictness rude Insults, does often cause,

To the Affront of Vertue and of Laws.

Early this Morning I was thus advis'd,

Stand on your Guard, or you will be surpriz'd,

Our Neighbour Tyrant vows he'll you obtain

By Stratagem, or War, your Person gain.

No Refuge I, a helpless Virgin, have,

But in the Sanctuary of a timely Grave.

A Judge, i'th' Name o'th' rest, did thus declare,

Exc'lent Apamia, sink not in despair,

Your Honour, as our own, we do respect,

And as our Gods and Temples will protect:

All here will bleed, who on this Bench do sit,

Before the Wrong, you apprehend, permit.

Is there, said she, that Witchcraft in my Face,

As to confound the wisdom of this Place?

Who, to be Author of a War, am I?

And that the State shou'd be my Guaranté?

My Life, no way, can make my Country blest,

And I'll not be her Helen and her Pest.

[Page] Regard, to this Tribunal, I have paid,

Address, according to the Edict, made,

To ease the Perturbations that I feel,

There is no Way, but by this friendly Steel.

While yet she spoke, she gave the fatal Wound,

The Glory of the Age fell with her to the Ground.

The sixth Address.
A Philosopher.

SInce Reason first awaken'd in my Soul,

Lusts to subdue, and Passions to controul

Have been my Strife; on Vertue wholly bent,

The Lectures of the Wise I did frequent;

The fam'd for Science, and good Conduct, heard,

My Masters chose by Learning, not by Beard;

Like others of my Age, I did not rome,

The Schools when shut, but ply'd good Books at home

And when I more confirm'd in Strength did grow,

The Duty all Men to their Country owe,

Arm'd I 'mong her martial Squadrons show.

[Page] Nor in the Camp was I of mean Renown,

The Civil thrice I wore, and twice the Mural Crown.

My Years of Warfare thus in Honour spent,

To th' intermitted Schools again I went.

Lectures of Use, not Ostentation, read,

To Peace and War our younger Nobles bred.

My Strength is spent, Age has my Vigour broke,

A doted Trunk I'm now, was once an Oak.

Like to a Servant, past his Work, I sue

For Manumission, as his Right and Due.

Worthy Eubulus, 'twas to him reply'd,

Thy Vertuous Acts can be by none deny'd.

And 'tis the Senat's great Reproach and Brand,

That 'fore this sad Tribunal thou dost stand;

After a Life so good, deserts so high,

That thou no Boon shou'd'st ask, but leave to dye.

Does Grief afflict thee, or does Want oppress?

Thine will be held, the Commonwealths Distress.

Eu. My Gracious Lords, 'twou'd my Pretences shame,

On such Accounts, if for Support I came.

My Ways were ever just, my Mind is sound,

No Guilt I know, with little, I abound.

[Page] Goodness it self cannot my Wants relieve,

I'm broke by time, and Youth you cannot give;

Useless I'm grown, this Thought does me oppress,

To see my Age, than my first Years, do less.

A Service for me could you yet descry,

I'd it dispatch, and after that I'd dye.

But if 'gainst Nature I must only fight,

Age, Aches, and Diseases put to flight,

Against such Foes 'tis Folly to contend,

And Leave I beg, to make a Wise Man's End.

If so resolv'd; the Senate does decree,

A Statue, to preserve thy Memory,

And to thy own sage Counsel leaves thee free.

The seventh Address.
A desperate Lover.

STrait, to th' amazed Bench, perk't up in View,

One with a Garland hanging all askew,

His loose Attire suiting his reeling Crown,

Th' officious Guard address'd to pluck him down.

[Page] But to the Lords, for Audience, he did cry,

And said, I'm one of those come here to dye.

The Courts Regard I claim, and to be heard,

No less than the last Speaker, grave Sir Beard.

My Words despise not, 'cause I come thus dress'd,

Haste urg'd me to unload my burden'd Breast.

I from a Banquet leapt—My Lords of late

T' an Hebrew Philosoph I did relate

The Cause why here you sit, in short, to try

To make Men live, or give them leave to dye.

Says he, this hearing, "Make you then no Odds

" Between your Senate, and a Bench of Gods?

" To punish Criminals with Death, I know

" The Magistrates have Pow'r, but can they show

" Commission too, th' afflicted to give leave

" Themselves of Life, at Pleasure, to bereave?

" This high Prerogative is Heav'n's alone,

" Nor, without Sacriledge, any can it own.

" The meanest Soldier, that his Post forsakes

" Without Dismission, his Deaths Process makes:

" And, shall not those, who undismiss'd, do leave

" This Life, as great a Penalty receive?

[Page] A Dotard pleads, Age, useless, him has made.

By Sickness, Madam's Beauty is decay'd.

A Gormand, losing his wild Boar and Pie,

The Earth hangs round with Sables, and the Skie.

But the black Guilt which presses you 'bove all,

Divine Apamia, in this Court did fall.

This makes me face you thus without all Dread;

To scorn your Fasces, now the Virgin's dead.

If these were Causes, Murder to avow,

Why do you not all Crimes beside allow?

Make Theft and Incest to your Verdict bow?

Self-Murder's Murder, what Laws e'er you coyn,

And while the Sin you licence, in 't you joyn.

But a Barbarian does this Doctrine preach,

Is Truth not Truth, unless a Greek it teach?

Pythagoras and Plato were more wise,

These learn'd Barbarians they did not despise.

What in their Writings so divine does show,

Tho not confess'd, they unto these do owe.

Hearing to gain, I said, I came to die,

And my Contempt declares, I did not lie.

[Page] The Court, Eubulus, all, did on him gape,

But to his Speech no Answer they cou'd shape:

Only, to save their Honour, did declare,

So high an Insolence they ought not bear.

But th'Effronté altho they did commit,

On like Account they never more did sit.

§

Epigram 1.
To Candidus.

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[Page]

THou art impetuous, I shou'd still write more,

Tho thrice, in print, I've promis'd to give o'er.

(and) Promise a fourth time, so it will produce,

An Epigram that's good, there will need no Excuse.

Altho thy Words do sound thus mad and wild.

They flatter so, I am by them beguil'd.

Into the Deep again my Bark I lanch,

Where if it founder, prove not tight and stanch,

In my Defence, thou art oblig'd to say,

I, the old Fool, did to the Floods betray.

Epigram 2.
On the Right Reverend Dr. E. Stillingfleet, Lord Bishop of Worcester.

When thou this Venerable Name do'st hear,

Wholly confounded, Muse, thou do'st appear,

[Page] From severe Studys, say'st, he's never free:

Nor to impede them, Fond one, send I thee.

Thou add'st, tho none in antick Dust does rake

Like him, for Truth such deep Researches make,

A florid Muse, thro' all his Writings flows,

And what's profound, as beauteous also shows;

Him to salute, 's more than to win a Prize!

Forbear t' aspire, th'art here to sacrifice;

On th' Altar of his Worth a Grain to lay,

A Debt all Ages, like to this, will pay.

Conform unto my Will, thy self apply

Without Reluctance, on his Board to ly,

Among the barking Pamplets that attend,

Till tir'd, he from his Study does descend.

He'll thee distinguish, from black-mouth'd T. Gs.

I. Os, the Vnitarians, and R. Bs.

Skill'd in all Ways, Ancients and Moderns write,

Master of one, the rest he does not slight.

He knows, the most that Epigrams pretend,

Is to relax the Mind, and not to bend.

Epigram 3.
On Lewis the Great.

[Page]

Many beside have born this glorious Name,

But, like to thee, none with so just a Claim.

Pompey was stil'd, for early Conquests, Great,

Henry the fourth, whose Prowess did defeat

The League of France, combin'd with Rome and Spain,

To this high Title likewise did attain.

But what did these, to that which thou hast done?

Supported Asia, ruin'd Christendom;

All Lorrain, Flanders, Germany do show,

The Devastations they to thee do owe:

Thy treach'rous Plots have made all Nations quake

Even the Foundations of thine own to shake:

Nor against Men do'st only shew thy Might,

But thy bold Hand dares 'gainst Religion fight;

The faithful in thy Kingdom undergo,

Such Pursecutions Heathens ne'er did show.

[Page] To the Great Turk true Brother and Allie,

Thou do'st both Pope and Protestant defy,

Witness thy Pillar, rais'd in Rome, of Infamy.

And to maintain thy Name of Great thro' all,

Great thy Disgraces are, and great thy Fall.

All by Surprize, or Brib'ry thou hast won,

Harra'st by Fire by Sword, and over-run,

The injur'd Princes, with united Pow'r,

Have forc'd thee vomit, as thou did'st devour;

Thy Forts have storm'd, thy Forces put to rout,

Strip't thee unto the State thou first set'st out;

Nought but the Guilt and Horror do remain

Of Millions thou hast begger'd, starv'd, and slain.

Orange Despis'd wrought chiefly thy Defeat,

Lewis [in Querpo] write, no more [the Great.]

Epigram 4.
On a scurrilous Detractor.

Thou say'st 'gainst Lewis sharply I inveigh,

But of King Iames I nothing ill do say.—

And may my Tongue, and Vitals also rot,

When I attempt his sacred Name to blot.

[Page] In his disast'rous State, God's Hand, I see

With deeper sense, tho from thy Malice free;

The Blessings from this Revolution flow,

The Obligations all King William owe,

To wit, the Kingdoms Safety, and Advance,

That Slaves we are not made to Rome and France:

Nor do I doubt, he justly fills the Throne,

By Pleas, as strong as Birth, claims it his own.

But what of this? That which I ought revere,

Reflect upon with a religious Fear,

Shall I with Insolent and barb'rous Pride,

Tread under Foot, and brutishly deride?

The Royal Head, a Crown did late adorn,

Dress up a Trophy with Contempt and Scorn?

May Davids Curses fall on them delight,

To persecute, whom God does wound and smite.

This Prodigy our Eyes of late have seen,

" The Sacrosanct blasphem'd; Pug, made denote, a Queen;

" Vermin, our Prelats; those o'th' scarlet Robes,

" Judges and Lords, stil'd Scoundrels, Dunghil Rogues;

" Church Rites prophan'd, so little said to avail,

" As not of worth to wipe a Porter's Tail;

[Page] " The Coronets of Barons, Dukes, and Earls,

" Embellish't all with the like Gems and Pearls.

Archbishop Land, whose Life, whose Death, whose Pen,

Enrols him justly 'mong the greatest Men,

And Cosins, who so many Years made good

Our Churches Cause, the Rage of Priests withstood

I' th' Lo [...]ver Walls, with Hazzard of his Blood;

With other Worthys vilely are defam'd,

While wicked Iones is, as a Patriarch, nam'd.

Whose Praise, with those the worthless Wretch did know,

Makes all that's writ beside, for nothing go.

Did not the sordid Stile, the Thought gain-say,

Some great one wou'd be said another Day,

Things of so high a Nature to display.

The num'rous Facts the Buffoon dares relate,

No one cou'd know, tho Minister of State.

What's true, what's false, what's hearsay, and surmise,

What few dare think, his scurrilous Leaves comprize.

What can such matchless Impudence repay?

All his own Dirt, heap'd on him should we lay,

As the Case stands, it were to do him Grace,

Among the greatest and the noblest place.

[Page] No Pow'r of Words can, what he is, express,

Satyr wou'd fail, Invectives be found less;

His Prototype no Age before e'er saw,

His loathed self must his loath'd [...] draw.

Epigram 5.
On Criticks.

Suns wrapt in Mists, Stars in a cloudy Night,

Who Darkness cast, where you do promise Light;

When Readers you have rack'd, and Authors vext,

Your Gloss is oft' obscurer, than the Text;

Light, to some ins'lent Phrase, when any seek,

Th' uncouth Latine, you explain by Greek;

And when one Word wou'd the hard Knot undo,

Affect, your reading, not the Sense to shew;

You Ref'rences, with Heaps of Figures, make,

Which rarely recompence the Pains Men take;

And always do presume, that Books are by,

To clear a Trifle, ask a Lib'rary.

To boast your selves to your own Tribe, you pride,

To vie with Criticks, not the Novice guide.

Epigram 6.
On one that had a stinking Mouth.

[Page]

Thou oft complain'st, thy Meat does thee no good,

Nor is it possible, it ever shou'd,

Passing thy Mouth, thou art with Poison fed,

The wonder only is, thou art not dead.

Epigram 7.
On Coscus.

Coscus, whose Worth lyes all in his Estate,

His Love to a fair Maid did thus relate.

Your Beauty does so captivate my Heart,

Your Chains I cannot break by any Art;

I have discours'd what Folly it will be,

To yoke my Riches with your Poverty,

With Reasons like: but all I found in vain,

And nothing cou'd remove my senseless Pain,

Or put a Period to this vexing Strife,

Till I resolv'd to take you for my Wife.

[Page] The Gen'rous Maid, hearing the Brutal Woe,

Whether to frown or laugh, she did not know.

But said, Who was it, Precious Sir, that told,

I'd be your Wife? Was't your Prophetick Gold?

Or your Oracular Land? They both did lye,

These, Cattel may, but Me they ne'er shall buy.

Epigram 8.
On one that had a stinking Breath.

Thy poisonous Breath not able, when to bear,

I turn'd my Face, but lent thee still My Ear;

But thou impatient to be understood,

Turn'd as I turn'd, and right before me stood,

Which forc't me thus my Suff'ring to disclose,

Men with their Ears do hear, not with their Nose.

Epigram 9.
On a stupid rustick Sinner.

When against Sin, in gen'ral, thou dost'st hear

The heavy'st Threats, the Sound does strike thy Ear,

[Page] But very little does affect thy Heart,

Because, thou say'st, thou shalt but hear thy Part,

And there's a World, that must divide the Smart.

When Knaves, thou hear'st, do only purchase Hell▪

Thou say'st, My Gains are sweet, I cannot tell.

That Drunkards unto Heaven shall never come.

Body of me, say'st thou, a heavy Doom.

No Fault thou do'st amend, no Truth deny,

But in a drowry Way do'st live and dye;

And when thou com'st into Eternal Woe,

Alas! thou say'st, and is it so and so,

These things, for Talk with me, did ever go.

Epigram 10.
On Aurelia.

Siting by fair Aurelia, as she dress'd,

Seriousness, mixt with Sharpness, she express'd.

While, a Straws-bredth, she strove her Maid to show▪

This she had pinn'd too high, and that too low.

I gave o'er talk, and gaping did attend,

How, and which way the nice Contest wou'd end.

[Page] Which she observing, ask't me, what I thought?

Said I, Aurelia, I am this Day taught,

When I some slight and trivial thing report,

No more, as a Pin-Matter, to denote,

For a Pin-Matter, 's Matter of Import!

Epigram 11.
To the Muses.

Ye sacred Sisters say upon what Score,

Your Sons, however noble, still are poor.

Muse.] We are nine Virgins, and Immortal Pow'rs,

The Sons, are all adopted, we eall ours,

Of Soul and Body fram'd, of Humane Race,

These Half ally'd to us we highly grace,

Richly endow'd with Gifts that are Divine,

Which so their Mortal Nature do refine,

The World, unto the World, they do resign.

Born up and soaring with inspired Wings,

Disdain to stoop their Thoughts to Earthly things;

And while their Fancy 'mong the Stars does dwell,

O'er-see their poor Estate, and homely Cell;

[Page] And cou'd their dazling Raptures always hold,

Hunger they'd never feel, nor Want, nor Cold.

If so it chance, they to Demains are born,

To nought they bring them by Neglect and Scorn.

Poets, by Gen'rous Patrons, rich may be,

But ne'er by Land, and drudging Industry.

Epigram 12.
On the unworthily advanced, and unworthily depressed.

A Dwarf's a Dwarf, tho set upon a Hill.

A Giant in a Pit, 's a Giant still.

Epigram 13.
On Bassa.

A Word, a Look strait, Bassa, thee alarms,

And, Soldier-like, thou stand'st unto thy Arms,

Assum'st the Weapons forg'd before thy Glass,

Thy killing Smiles, quaint Leer, and sweet Grimace▪

[Page] Tortur'st thy Features, to extract more Grace,

Mak'st twenty Visors of one sorry Face.

Keep thy own Looks, and still persist to frown,

Cupid's at Paphos, at least out of Town

To thee: Forget that thou art fair. I'd know,

What Holland, to six Pair of Socks, does go.

Epigram 14.
On the same.

Thy Humour being known, the other Day

A Drol, this Knavish Prank, with thee did play.

Bassa, says he, a Gallant does desire

To speak with you, At this, thou strait took'st fire,

And in a Moment chang'd thy Dress and Cloths,

Thy self in the best Order did'st compose,

Thus fit to entertain some am'rous News

The Cobler brought thee home thy mended Shoes.

Epigram 15.
On a Romantick Damzel.

[Page]

Mod'rately handsome, and but meanly rich,

As if endow'd even to the highest Pitch,

Thou, to thy Suitors' do'st thy self demean,

Like some fantastick, fair, Romantick Queen;

By ways Heroick only wilt be won.

Some, thou injoyn'st, against the Turk to fight,

Others thy Glorys (which none know) to write.

All do receive with Smiles, what thou do'st say,

But, better offer'd, wed themselves next Day,

Leaving to Fools, thy Humour to obey.

The Pens thou hop'd'st should raise thee 'bove the Moon,

For an Encomium, send thee a Lampoon.

Epigram 16.
On Hatred.

Where Valour stops, Hatred goes on, and dares,

For Reason, nor for Danger, ought forbeares.

[Page] The Valiant, their Designs, first wisely lay,

Thro' Opposition then they out their Way.

But desp'rate Hate unequal Force withstands,

And shews its Teeth, even when it has no Hands.

Nothing dismays it, forward to engage,

O'er-pow'r'd and worsted, ceases not to rage.

Evils can't tame, or make it to go less,

It will its Foe, or else its self, oppress.

When it can't hurt, the Heart is ever rack't,

A Habit 'tis, that always is in Act.

As Love does raise Men 'bove their nat'ral State,

No way inferiour are the Pow'rs of Hate.

Epigram 17.
To my Muse.

Droop not, my Muse, 'cause thou find'st little Praise,

'Tis not their Worth, that Books do's always raise.

As foulest Crimes, such as the Hurdle claim,

Sooner arrive to Honour and to Fame,

[Page] Than Vertues do: So Writings that abound

With scurrilous Trash, that boldly dare confound

All that is good and great, have strange Acceptance found.

Oft' Oats's [...] shall Impressions know,

While some rare Work does for Waste Paper go.

Epigram 18.
On a Good Man.

He's a Good Man, and in the first Degree,

Who slights the Name of Goodness, good to be.

Epigram 19.
On the Honour of Women.

The Honour's great, Women may justly claim,

As their Due Right, and not in Courtships Name.

When Angels hourly did to Man address,

And his Great Lord deign'd with him to converse;

When all in Sea and Land obey'd Man's Throne,

Till Eve was giv'n, God said, He was alone.

Epigram 20.
On an Epicure.

[Page]

When God has given the Sea, the Land, the Air,

To load thy Table with delicious Fare,

This One Restraint, thou say'st, does spoil the Feast.

Rejoyce thy Heart, but play not yet the Beast.

At his own Bounty, think'st, he does repine,

'Cause to his Earthly Gifts, he adds Divine.

Thy brutish Sense cannot this Truth descry,

God is most lib'ral, when he does deny;

When he from Man appeareth ought to take,

It is a hundred fold Return to make;

He took a single Rib from Adam's Side,

Form'd Eve therewith, his bright and daz'ling Bride.

Epigram 21.
King Agesilaus Answer, being offer'd Presents from the King of Persia.

I, from an Enemy, all Gifts abhor,

What from a Foe I take, I take in War.

Epigram 22.
The like Answer from a Roman.

[Page]

Your Greatness 'tis, vast Heaps of Gold to give,

And mine is this, I without Gold can live.

Epigram 23.
On Separatists.

Their Proofs in vain th'Episcoparians bring,

From the Faiths early'st Dawning and its Spring▪

For what they teach and do; in vain oppose

Our Discipline, and raving Ways expose:

Hope to affright us with the fatal Change

Of all to Pop'ry, while we from them range;

In vain our gather'd Churches seek to storm,

Shewing the Monst'rous Sects which from then swarm▪

In vain Triumph, th'ave forc't us to deny

They Papists are▪ we still can them decry

As Jacobites, such Slanders have at hand,

No Innocence, whatever, can withstand.

[Page] Think they our Scull's so thick, our Wit's so gross,

We'll suffer Truth take place, that's to our Loss?

The Means they hold, establish'd are by Law,

We ours, from arbitrary Purses, draw:

And shou'd we yield to that, which they require,

Our Flocks wou'd wain, and leave us in the Mire;

[...]chism's our Charter, rejecting their Communion,

Our Tenure, Reputation, and our Union.

The only way to win us, they forbear,

Which were to say, We quit to you, not share,

Our Dignities. This wou'd end all Dispute:

No Truth, but Int'rest, Sep 'ratists confute.

These gain'd, we'd ope' our Congregations Eyes,

To honour that, we teach them to despise.

We dread no King opposing, while we can,

Thro' all his Pomp, discern he's but a Man.

We know Dominion founded is in Grace,

The Scepter's due unto our Godly Race.

Nought can be nobler, than our Aim and Scope

To make each Whig a King, each Whig a Pope.

Epigram 24.
On Decoctus.

[Page]

To put a Gloss upon thy needy State,

Of Philosophick Meals thou oft' do's prate,

How noble 'tis, on undress'd Food to fare,

All common Luxurys, Men use, to spare,

Even a spread Table dayly to forbear.

'Tis bravely done, thus to hold up thy Head,

To feast on Glory, in the Want of Bread:

For all thou say'st, tends to another End,

Far from the Cynic Way thou dost pretend.

While thou discoursest thus of various Meat,

Thou'd'st only have it thought, that thou do'st eat.

Epigram 25.
To Caius.

Oft' between those is found the greatest Strife,

Caius, ought most agree, that's Man and Wife.

[Page] This Rule observe, always what's Just to choose,

But so, as thine own Justice not to lose;

Some are so furious others to reclaim,

Themselves they render more, than them, to blame.

Try, in next place, th' Effect of giving way,

A sweet Compliance oft' has won the Day.

The Roman Mob to mutine wou'd not cease,

On any Terms make with the Senate Peace,

Till a Plebeian Consul they obtain'd,

And then, in threescore Years, not one they nam'd.

Epigram 26.
On the Stoicks.

T' exalt your Sect, beyond the common Ken

Of Humane Eyes, above the Race of Men;

Dangers, profess, to slight, Wrongs to digest,

No outward Torments spoil your inward Feast.

'Tis true, great things, you speak, and give the Odds,

To your Wise Men, 'bove those you count your Gods;

Who are, by Nature, happy and Divine,

But they, by Vertue equal with them shine.

[Page] In Contemplation Souls high Flights do make

Nought's so sublime, they dare not undertake.

The Mischief is, the Soul then acts alone,

Big of its self, the Flesh disdains to own:

But when the Flesh does sharp Afflictions bear,

And calls upon its Partner Soul to share,

Then first the Soul its Impotency sees,

That Sophistry's too weak to cope with Miseries.

A Christian Martyr may the Flame despise,

No less when felt, than absent from his Eyes;

In Death find nothing terrible or strange,

'Cause Earth, he knows, for Heav'n he does exchang [...] ▪

But those, who found their Courage on Discourse,

When Evils press, do sink beneath their Force:

The Stoick, who no absent Danger fear'd,

Nigh; A Dismay shews broader, than his Beard.

Epigram 27.
On a Modern Parasite.

Having nor Wit, nor Worth thee to commend,

Vertue of any kind of stand thy Friend,

[Page] Th'ast taken up a Way, which makes thee pass;

Which, is by calling great Men Fool and Ass,

Giving the Lye, protesting they are Scabs,

Terming the Ladies Baggages and Drabs.

This is thy Talent: Which does strangely take,

Room for thee, at the Noblest Tables, make,

Tho dull, as saucy; brainless, as 'tis rude;

Course Ribaldry, with Impudence imbu'd.

How comes such Slanders unoffensive thought,

Which mortal Feuds, and blood shed oft have wrought?

Least thou grow'st proud, the Myst'ry I will show,

Thy Baseness makes thy Words for nothing go.

Epigram 28.
To Justus.

Who, Justus, will the obstinate confute,

With Fists, and not with Reasons, must dispute.

Epigram 26.
On Precisians.

[Page]

Austere, not righteous; rig'rous, and not good▪

Furious for Truth, a Sign, not understood:

Your fiery Temper little does accord,

With the meek Gospel of our gracious Lord:

Who Mercy shew'd, and Mercy always taught,

Your Looks, as well as Heart, with Rage are fraught

The World you seek, with Joy, to reprobate,

And then conclnde, you justly them may hate.

Let Men be strictly pious in their Ways,

Their Actions such, deserve the highest Praise,

Chaste, Charitable, Peaceful, Sober, True;

These avail nought, if they are none of you.

And Reason good, you say: You are th' Elect,

In such alone, all Vertues have Effect.

Malignant Tribe! As God design'd the Jews,

(When them he did, from all the Nations, chuse)

His Priests and Prophets to the World to make,

That all his saving Knowledge might partake,

[Page] They grudg'd the Bounty, their Pride cou'd not bear,

The Heathen shou'd, their Priviledges share.

So you wou'd Heav'n restrain (had you your Will)

Your Gang alone shou'd all its Mansions fill;

To gen'ral Love you brook not any Place,

Grace must be partial, or it is not Grace.

'Tis hard to say, which are Christ's greater Foes,

Those that pervert the Faith, or those oppose;

Jews, who blaspheme, and wholly him reject,

Or those confine him to their canker'd Sect.

Epigram 30.
To Drusilla.

For Portion being of no small Renown,

Thou lay'st sometime, incognito, in Town,

An Equipage most charming to compleat,

Like forreign Ministers, before they treat,

Thy Dowry told, and seen in thy Parade,

The Party, in cast Cloths, espous'd thy Maid.

Epigram 31.
On a Censurer.

[Page]

Epigrams nothing new, thou say'st, do show,

To Actions past, or Reading, all they owe.

Who in this Age o'th' World will write all new,

Shall neither write what's natural, nor true;

But while his Thoughts, by Patterns, scorns to shape,

He'll act the Ass, while he avoids the Ape.

Epigram 32.
On Prayer..

Great are th' Effects of a true faithful Pray'r,

The Idle's framed of, it ends in Air.

The Plowman prays, but here he does not stop,

Labour he joyns, and gets a fruitful Crop.

Plutarch, a Heathen, this Point rightly states,

In Paulus and King Perseus various Fates:

Paulus the Gods, with his drawn Sword, did pray,

Perseus pray'd too, but then he run away.

Epigram 33.
The Reparty of a Spartan to an Athenian.

[Page]

When an Athenian proudly thus did boast.

From smooth Cephissus Banks, and neighbouring Coasts.

Our Troops have oft you Spartans put to flight,

Mauger your vaunted Discipline and Might.

To which the Spartan, smiling, did reply,

Th' Athenians, from

Cephissus was the River of Athens, Eurotas of Sparta.

Eurotas, ne'er did fly,

Sparta, they never durst approach so nigh.

Epigram 34.
On a huge fat Host.

Thy oyly Pate, with Sweat, does always flow,

Thy Hair, like Flakes of o'er-boyl'd Beef, does show;

Thy blown-up Cheeks, like Aeolus's, swell,

And all the Winds seem, in thy Womb, to dwell.

Well, 'gainst thy Paunch, thy Limbs may mutiny,

Who Belly art, from Chin unto the Knee.

[Page] Thou do'st not walk, but like a Boul, do'st roll,

A Lump unorganiz'd, without a Soul.

How do'st thou live? For sure thou can'st not, eat,

Thou hast no Place to stow or Drink or Meat.

How do'st thou sleep? If thou along shou'd'st lie,

Choak'd with thy Guts, and strangl'd, thou wou'd'st die,

Thou laugh'st at this; and say'st, in hopes of Gain,

Thou can'st bestir thy Moles without Pain?

The lean, not nimbler are, to play the Knave,

And count'st them Fools, much Flesh, do count a Grave.

Epigram 35.
On Aristides.

When Aristides, nam'd deserv'dly Just,

Being never known, to warp, in any Trust;

Causes, in Judgment, as he sate to hear,

Two Litigants, before him, did appear;

Favour to gain, one, t'other, did accuse,

That Aristides he did oft abuse.

If you he wrong'd, says he, in ought declare,

His Wrongs to me, whate'er they are, forbear;

[Page] I sit not here, Right to my self to do,

But Justice, unto other Men, to shew.

Epigram 36.
On a very lean Person.

Like to Camelions, do'st thou feed on Air?

So lank thou art, so rarefy'd, and spare;

So faint withal, so feeble, and so wan,

That thou but seem'st the Shadow of a Man.

Thy Body's not a Body all decree,

Only a fleeting Vehicle to be.

Go forth, thou durst not, on a windy Day,

Least thro' thee't blow, or blow thee quite away.

A Surgeon vow'd, he did in thee descry,

More than he learn'd from an Anatomy;

Another meeting thee, did on thee stare

As on a Skeleton, and madly sware,

He wou'd go home, and see if's own were there.

Did not thy Clothes, more than thy Flesh detect

The Truth, all for a Ghost, wou'd thee suspect.

[Page] When Love thou mad'st, the Maid did swoon for fear,

And, sighing, said, I thought not Death so near.

Epigram 37.
On the Grecian and Roman Superstition.

As the great Theban Gen'ral led his Bands,

A profess't Augur thus, his March, withstands.

Your Progress, Captain, I advise, forbear,

Bad Omens I discern, are worth your Care.

Says he, what Omens does your Knowledge see,

Outweigh the Soldiers great Alacrity?

The States Defence, and Justice of her Cause?

The Gods I dread, revere their sacred Laws,

But not a screeching Raven, or an Owl,

A bolting Hare, or when a Wolf does howl.

This said, on's Expedition he did go,

And conquer'd Superstition, and the Foe.

The Roman Piety, on th' other side,

Renounc'd a Victory, if the Gods deny'd;

[Page] Respect chose rather to their Rites to show,

Than even an Enemy to overthrow.

When, with bad Omen, they two Consuls chose,

Home they recall'd them, and did both depose.

Forbid them ought, i'th' publick Name, t' attempt,

Least they it impious made by their Contempt;

And when Flaminius had, in Fight, Success,

A high unfeign'd Displeasure did express.

Declar'd it was more eligible far,

To gain the Temples, than prevail in War;

Tho thousands of the Gauls did find their Graves,

To have the Gods their Friends, than Gauls their Slaves.

Epigram 38.
To Honorius.

When Faction reigns, and Envy does prevail,

As in a Storm, discreetly strike your Sail:

Who in a safe and fearless Posture lies,

Tho' toss'd, the raging Billows, may despise.

Give way, ly by: Do nothing rash, or poor,

Having commanded, sue at no Man's Door;

[Page] This noble way, strive Malice to defeat,

To be made angry, shew you are too great.

Marius, i'th' Camp, both Foes and Friends did fear,

But, like a rusty Harness, did appear

Useless in Peace. And Pompey who did shine

So bright in Arms, his Lustre did decline

I'th' Senate, held not there that high Renown,

But Crassus greater seem'd i'th' civil Gown.

This the wise Theban saw, who rais'd the Fame

Of his Boeotians, 'bove the Spartans Name,

When he th' Arcadian Citys did refuse,

And in the Fields t' incamp, did rather chuse,

Telling his Soldiers, while they Arms did bear,

And their bold Presence, their brave Acts declare,

Their Neighbours, to their Friendship, wou'd aspire,

But if they saw them, slothful, at the Fire,

Parching of Beans, they'd scorn, and not admire.

Erect your Huts, and let them still behold,

As stout 'gainst Foes, y' are hardy against Cold.

Caution and Conduct, with War, do not cease,

But useful Vertues are in Times of Peace;

[Page] When valiant Acts, there is no Place, to shew,

Those Great appear, who nothing meanly do.

Epigram 39.
On Bassa.

Like to the Stone all Metals turns to Gold,

Thou deem'st 'tis Love, if any thee behold.

By others made a Jest, I spake thee fair,

Thou strait conclud'st me caught within thy Snare,

And being old, for fear I shou'd presume,

Worse Looks than yet thy own thou did'st assume.

Love to obtain, may well deserve thy Care,

But to prevent, all Arts, as needless, spare.

Th' art safer far, than Danae in the Tow'r,

Thy Beautys need not fear a Golden Shower.

Epigram 40.
On the same.

Thou hast an Art, that can at distance hold

Thou say'st, a Lover, be he ne'er so bold.

[Page] This Art thou boast'st, I can no way conceive,

A Face, if thou had'st said, I shou'd believe.

Epigram 41.
On a Champion of the Seminary, W. S.

Thy wrangling Sophistry did make some Noise

In Doway,'mong the Novices and Boys;

Puff't up with this, vast Thoughts thou did'st conceive

And Brains and College both behind thee leave,

And to the Field of Honour sally'd'st forth,

Hero in Fancy, Pigmy in thy Worth.

What Spoils from Rome reformed Churches bore,

Resolving, by thy Prowess, to restore.

A patcht, ill-suited Armor thou putt'st on,

Resembling that of the Manchean Don;

Thy Lance was Demonstration, and thy Shield

Tradition, temper'd to no Force to yield,

But Paper found, and Bulrush in the Field.

Sheep, Giants, Windmills, were to thee alike,

Thou against all did'st couch thy daring Pike.

[Page] The Mischief only was, thou did'st not find,

The Christian Giants of the Pagan Kind:

Who, of their Limbs, Knights Errant did bereave,

And with one Blow, in halves their Bodys cleave.

Hammond and Bramhall, all thou did'st attack,

Baffl'd, unhors'd, and laid thee on thy Back,

If to assault a Fort thou did'st aspire,

Like a Fascin wert cast i'th'Ditch and Mire:

But after bastinado'd, and defeat,

Invincible remain'd, in thy Conceit.

None, like to thee, so well deserv'd the Fame,

Of Quixot of the Schools, to bear the Name.

Epigram 42.
On a Champion of the Conventicle, R. B.

This Champion strip't, dares Multitudes defy,

On a steel'd Heart, not Armour, does rely;

Inspir'd with Error, and enflam'd with Zeal,

No Foe's so strong, with whom he doubts to deal;

Gainst Sword and Spear he enter will the Lists,

Encounter Canon with his naked Fists.

[Page] That is, no Depth of Science does him daunt,

Who has his Lights, can no Assistance want;

Small learning, and much tongue, speak greater Grac [...]

Than Greek and Hebrew, 'mong the canting Race.

He, Spider-like, intangl'd Gnats and Flies,

And thinks, his Nets, and Eagle cou'd surprize.

'Gainst Stilling fleet his Force he dares oppose,

Who when the sacred Truth he does disclose,

It seems but Sham, if more than what he knows.

His Pearls of Knowledge, saving and divine,

Into the Dirt are trampl'd by this Swine;

And Folly he returns him, Scorn and Spite,

Venom, or Cobweb, Summs what he does write.

Epigram 43.
On the Leviathan.

I once did wonder, that no pious Hand,

In a just Work, this cursed Piece did brand:

Since I perceive, the Task they did not shun,

But 'tis a Work, that is not to be done.

[Page] From off the Earth, if Footing cou'd be found,

An Artist said, he'd turn the Globe of't round.

No Footing's here, for any to dispute,

No maxim, Medium, whereby to confute.

All Reasoning Aristotle does decide,

And, in his Dixit, Litigants abide.

The sacred Writ all Controversies end,

Which on religious Theories depend:

But the Leviathan no Rule does own,

A Law and Rule unto it self alone.

The Monster, in the Seas, as soon will brook,

To be controuled by a Line and Hook.

The Author Scripture quotes, but 'tis to show,

With their own Weapons he can overthrow

Fools, and Believers: And if's Proofs seem weak,

He'd have it thought, the Truth he durst not speak.

The whole Oeconomy of Faith's a Scheme

To him, no better than an idle Dream.

His Atheistic Ramble who'll declare,

And answer; Unto him we may compare,

One who in Christmas Pastimes does behold,

The Dance of Trenchmore led thro' Snow and Cold,

[Page] Thro thick and thin, o'er Tables and o'er Chairs,

Down to the Cellar, up the Garret Stairs,

And at th'Extravance does gravely say,

Thro' the Mid-Room there lay a fairer Way,

When the Design, a Gambol, was to play:

That Zeal for Truth is foolish, does aspire

To answer Blasphemy with ought, but Fire.

Epigram 44.
On mean Poetry.

Of a mean Artist, in a useful Trade,

Horace observ'd, some use might yet be made.

A Lawyer might, his Clients Cause defend,

Who, unto Tully's Fame, did not pretend:

But Poets and Musitians, who produce

What meerly tends to Pleasure, not to Use,

If mean and common, the judicious slight,

And Fools alone, a vulgar Strain, delight.

Of a bad Poet Martial smartly said,

He does not write, who is by no Man read.

[Page] As done, that ought not stand upon the List,

Which, the whole Purpose of its doing, mist.

Epigram 45.
To my Precisian Censurer.

What thee concerns, thou say'st, thou do'st despise,

All that I write's Hyperboles and Lyes:

Strict Mathematick Truth thou do'st require,

As all who, to an honest Name, aspire:

What thou exacts, thy Phrensy does not see,

Tho' highest Caution us'd, yet cannot be;

Figures, thou think'st, in Verse are only found,

In common Speech and Converse they abound,

Without them Men in no Affairs cou'd deal,

What they approve, or disapprove, reveal;

They give to things of Moment the due Weight,

Vertue and Vice decypher to the height;

Myst'rys ineflable, by them, are shown,

God's Glory, Mercys, and his Judgments known;

Thou'd'st see, were not a Mist before they Eyes,

Truths self wou'd suffer, were't not for these Lyes.

[Page] Evils wou'd reign, which by these Spells are crost,

Pow'rful Instruction and Reproof be lost.

When Ely thus reprov'd in simple sort,

His impious Sons, “Nay, but no good Report

“I hear—In Figure had he shew'd them Hell,

How in its Confines, their bold Crimes, did dwell,

The Ark had not been ta'n, nor they in Battel fell.

Epigram 46.
On Popular Men.

I Master of my Cattel seem to be,

Said the old Herdsman in the Tragedy:

But my Attendance on them, makes me know,

I Servant am, who follow, where they go.

So Demagogs a Shadow, entertain

Of Sovereign Pow'r, but ware the Vulgar's Chain;

Conceive they bear o'er all a mighty Sway,

While the Mob rules, and meanly they obey.

Epigram 47.
On old Leda.

[Page]

What do'st thou tell me of ten thousand Pound?

For any Price will Men be hang'd, or drown'd?

Gold has its Charms, but Beauty has far more;

Were thy Wealth trebl'd, thou wou'd'st still be Poor.

Know that fair Flavia does my Heart surprize,

Who brings the Indies in her charming Eyes;

Who her beholds, disdains the Thoughts of Pelf,

Inestimable, as Peerless, in her self.

Thy Earth, thou hop'st, can yet eclipse this Sun,

Wert wise, thou from her splendid Beams wou'd'st run,

And not expose thy self in so great Light,

Devils brook only to be seen by Night.

Epigram 48.
To Honorius.

When the Philistins drew, in Michmash, near,

Saul, guilty of Impatience and of Fear,

[Page] Distrusting God, and dreading of their Host,

Usurp'd the Priesthood, and his Kingdom lost.

More nobly far himself Pausanias bore,

Altho a Heathen, when he stood before

The Altar, what the Gods decreed to know,

And Scouts, th' Approach o'th' Enemy, did show:

Let none, says he, their Coming on affright,

But firmly stand, undaunted, in their Sight;

At's Feet, let ev'ry Man, cast down his Shield,

Until the Gods their Answer to us yield.

Which known, and good: They rais'd a chearful Shout,

And the opposing Foe did with great Slaughter rout.

Like as a stubborn Rock unmov'd does stand,

[...] Shocks both from the Sea and Land.

[...] Mount'nous Billows of the raging Main,

Winds, Thunder, Lightning, Hurricans, sustain,

And when the Sky's again serene and clear,

Just as before, unalter'd does appear.

So Constancy, Honorius, does despise

Tho Storms from Malice which combin'd, arise.

Things safe and common, common Men can do,

What's hard and dangerous, the brave alone force thro.

[Page] With Steel in War, in Peace with Vertue, arm,

Tempests bring greater Noise with them, than Harm.

Epigram 49.
On our common Atheists.

Tho 'tis but to an impious Name y' aspire,

You are below the Name, that you admire.

To be an Atheist, Knowledge asks and Skill,

'Tis not the Brat of Ignorance and Will.

Those who, of old, were branded with this Name,

Came not behind the Learned'st in their Fame;

Nor vicious were they, Error they did teach,

Because the Truth was 'bove their Humane Reach.

Have you, like them, the Scheme of Heaven and Earth.

Consider'd, and well weigh'd their Rise and Birth?

Objections in this Case, can you revolve?

All the Phoenomena, in Nature, solve?

Alas, your Strength is only to blaspheme,

What checks your Vice, to make a drolling Theme.

A Brothel was your School, Excess of Wine

Turn'd you Philosophers, in plain Terms, Swine.

[Page] Your Predecessors did, at most, but Doubt,

The Being of a God, but you without

All Proof or Search, boldly dare one deny,

With Impudence as great, as your Impiety;

By Learning, nor Civility, confin'd,

Saucily affront the Sense of all Mankind;

The fond Credulity of Faith deride,

Blind to discern, 'tis only on your Side;

Who do believe, while you a God disown,

Him, 'tis sufficient also, to unthrown.

Thus, when 'twas said, the Roman Host drew near,

Tigranes, to declare he nought did fear.

The Scout beheaded, as a noble Deed,

And in Debauch and Riot did proceed,

Ambitious, by a sottish Scorn, to teach,

Danger despis'd, his Safety cou'd not reach.

But few Hours after, he as basely fled,

Casting the Royal Band from off his Head.

Epigram 50.
To Marcellus.

[Page]

Take here th' Advice, thou say'st, was thy Intent

T'ave ask'd, before thou unto Flanders went.

No Nations Martial Fame let thee dismay,

This Deference to thy native Country, pay.

'Tis not the Danube, Rhine, the South, the North,

From their mere Climate, valiant Men send forth.

But Education works this high Effect,

Which teaches Men their Honour to respect

'Bove Life; in a just Cause to choose to die,

Rather than live, at ease, with Infamy.

Orders receiv'd: Dispute not, but obey;

Let not thy Tongue, what's thy Swords Duty, pay:

If, with unequal Force, thou art o'erlaid,

I am a Soldier say, Danger's my Trade.

But private Quarrels, and vain-glorious Strife

Avoid; Hazards not worthy of thy Life.

Not only Fighting does Applause deserve,

But a Man's self, in Safety, to preserve.

[Page] More favourable, th' ancient Greeks, were far,

To him that lost his Sword, than Shield in War;

Professing, when within their Pow'r it lay,

A Citizen to save, or Foe to slay,

The last they wou'd permit to scape away.

Let none debauch, and lead thee into Vice,

Listed a Soldier, still to sin, be nice.

Iphicrates, the Athenian, chose to fill

His Troops with those, were most addict to ill.

Saying, That such, were greedy'st of the Prey,

Their Lusts to feed, all Dangers wou'd assay:

But tho such Villains valiant may be found

To storm a Temple, they in Fight give Ground.

'Tis Innocence alone, that knows no Fear,

The Spirit, when all's desp'rate, up will bear;

When thirst of Fame, Dominion, Riches, fail,

Will all supply, and will alone prevail.

Epigram 51.
On a young Soldier.

[Page]

When Victors are allow'd, Trophies to raise,

Thou askest, why thy self thou may'st not praise?

Praise made thee Valour, in great Dangers, show,

And does engage thee greater things to do;

Honour i'th' Field, thou did'st, b' Example, teach,

And now, by Glorying, Honour thou do'st preach.

Be't so: Yet nobler's he, no Acts does tell,

But 'counts all Duty, when he does excel.

To God alone just Glory does belong,

Because his Glorying can no others wrong;

Competitor with him, none's found to be

Satan's a Rebel, but Slave-Enemy:

Again, when God, his Mightniess, does show,

'Tis infinitely, to what he is, below;

And did he not, in Part, himself reveal,

Immensness wou'd the Deity conceal.

Unless thy Deeds are such, none can declare,

If thou art wise, to trumpet them, forbear.

Epigram 52.
To Sextus.

[Page]

I send thee here, all I have publick made,

Except one Piece, which with my Will, is straid,

Twenty two Sermons, in one Volume bound,

What I have done in Verse, in two are found.

Thou hum'st, and say'st, my Present thee does grace,

But wou'd I'd sent a Capon in its Place.

Epigram 53.
On Bastwick Oats.

The Name I give, because your Nature Shapes,

For, tho less witty, thou art Bastwick's Ape;

As scandalous and scurrilous in thy Phrase,

Both holding Impudence, the highest Praise;

That Mountebank's mere Zany and his Fool,

Preserver of his Excrements, his Close-stool.

Worse utter'd, from good Manners wou'd not stray,

Unto foul Language give too free a Way;

Speaking of Oats, none in this Point can fail,

So base, to call him by his Name, 's to rail.

Epigram 54.
On an Independant.

[Page]

When Charles the first, I Saint and Martyr nam'd,

Affirm'd none higher, in the Diptics, fam'd;

Firm in Religion, in all Vertues strong,

None Love deserving more, or suff'ring Wrong;

In Scorn thou said'st, Canst thou the World acquaint.

With any Wonders for this Martyr Saint,

To testifie his Faith, Heaven ever wrought?

Yes: On three Realms his Blood Destruction brought,

With-held before, Oppression, Tyranny,

Prophaneness, Sacriledge, and Anarchy,

The Cov'nant, Cromwell, Blasphemy, and Thee.

Epigram 55.
On the Covenant.

This Monster, Scotland brooded, at the first,

Revolting England foster'd up and nurst;

[Page] The Rebel offspring of a Rebel Race,

In which the Parents Features you may trace;

Contempt of Pow'rs, the Height of Tyranny,

Mocking of God, profound Hypocrisie.

Christ's Natures both have been, by some, deny'd,

One, as too much; t'other, too mean, decry'd;

His Actions and himself allegoriz'd.

But he who shall the Covenant dissect,

Will yet much greater Blasphemys detect.

This does not Errors and Mistakes disclose,

But, wittingly, enormous Sins impose.

Christ's Kingdom and a King, in Words, it owns▪

And, by rebellious Actions, both dethrones;

Calls Heaven to witness, it true Duty pays,

When it, most impudently, disobeys;

Episcopacy, Antichristian, stiles,

And Regicide, to th' Gospel, reconciles.

Engins have made whole Fleets and Armys quake,

But this is one, the Christian World, to shake.

Whose furious Operation knew no Bound,

Till its wild Ravage, and destructive round,

The Authors, with two Nations, did confound.

[Page] Like to the seven times heated Furnace slew,

Those, who into its Flames, the Faithful threw.

Epigram 56.
On Rushworth's Collections.

Was't not enough, that Faction did run down

A righteous King, seize both his Life and Crown?

By diabolick Acts and Arts translate

Into Confusion, the best model'd State?

A Church of pure and Apostolick Frame,

Babylon, Whore, and Antichristian Name,

Her learned Teachers slaughter and defame,

Unless thou rear'd'st, false Rushworth, to the Skies,

Th' impious Actors of these Tragedys?

Zeal and Ambition, set on fire by Hell,

Like Furies, drove two Nations to rebel.

But what mov'd thee, in calm and sober Mood,

The Truth to stifle, and a Lie to brood?

Th' innocent Party, guilty to declare,

Th' execrable set off upright and fair?

[Page] However foul a Sin is in the Act,

His is yet fouler, justifies the Fact.

Had not a faithful and industrious Hand,

By Records shew'd, how falsly thou did'st brand

That suff'ring Age, Posterity, the Right

Had never known, bewilder'd in thy Night.

I can't expose thy Treach'ry to the Height,

Of lay upon it the deserved Weight:

But Treach'ry is vile, however great,

And Stocks, not Death, 'awarded to a Cheat;

Invectives, like a nobler Doom, wou'd grace

What's disingenuous, and in Nature base.

For an Eternal Record of thy Shame,

The P [...]n shall stand, that's woven in thy Name.

Epigram 57.
On Moil the Grasier.

For Sheep, for Hogs, a Wife, Moils way of Trade▪

Was much alike, and the Respect he paid.

Into a House he stept, where he was told,

Out of great Choice a Wife he might behold.

[Page] [...]our comely Maids their Father made appear,

All sightly in their Persons, and their Gear.

Round them he walk'd, and after shook his Head,

Mutt'ring, I find, I shall not here be sped.

Their Father ask'd, If he could shew him more?

As if, like Sheep, he Daughters had by th' Score.

The Good-man said, the eldest kept his House,

[...]rew'd, bak'd, made Butter, Cheese; in Winter, Souce.

But he'd not deal, she look'd so poor and lank,

A Wife he chose, like Bullocks, by the Flank.

And to the Door, like a true Churl, he drew,

Father nor Daughters bidding once adieu.

I'th' Corner of a Close, as he did pass,

Pitching of Dung, there was a sturdy Lass,

Her Sleeves tuck'd up, her Coat not much below

Her Knees, whose Legs did, like two Mill-posts show:

Her Arms, like those of Oak; her Skin, like Bark,

As rough and chop'd, as scurfy and as Dark;

Aloud she baul'd, Hodge, let not out the Cow—

And like to one, seem'd not to speak, but low.

This precious Piece was, in his Eye, a Pearl,

Long known, and fancy'd by him, from a Girl.

[Page] How do'st thou Meg? Says he.—Thanks, Master M [...]

Come, go with me, and leave off here to toil.

What to do Master? If thou do'st agree,

Forthwith I purpose, Meg, to marry thee.

In earnest, say you? Even with all my Heart,

There shall not any Stop be on my Part,

'Parrel I'll only fetch. There is no need,

'Twill raise but Talk, and trash our purpos'd Speed▪

The Courtship ended, they both jogg'd along,

He with his Padlestaff, she with her Prong:

At's Farm, with nappy Ale, he did her treat,

Kept by his private Key, and pouder'd Meat.

Their Bellys full, they hasted both to bed,

And some Weeks after, were, at leisure, wed.

Epigram 58.
On Fabella.

Where-e'er thou com'st, thy Face assumes a Jeer,

As if that something did absurd appear,

Which others does invite, the Cause to see,

But looking round, the Jest they find in thee.

Epigram 59.
On Priscus.

[Page]

That the Satyrick Mirror I do place

Before my Books, them out of Hopes to grace,

Whether more Pride or Folly I do show,

Both are so eminent, thou do'st not know:

For tho the Fancy well with Martial suits,

My Epigrams, the meaning in't, confutes.

Counsel I'll here return thee, for thy Scorn.

Thy self with fair and borrow'd Plumes adorn,

If they'll engage thee, 'bove thy self, to live,

Such Pride and Folly, all will thee forgive.

Epigram 60.
On Mercia.

Three snotty Girls, and two can wipe their Nose,

Th'art Mother of, and do'st thy self suppose

A kind of Niobe; ambitious art,

That these thy beauteous Offspring bear a Part

[Page] Among the Deitys, that rule this Town,

Thinking, a Country Life, of no Renown.

If this Conceit does from thy self arise,

Whate'er thou dream'st, thou art not over wise.

If from thy Children; to comply, were cruel:

To please the younger, in their Watergruel,

Allow more Plums and Sugar; a Lace more

Or Fringe, unto the elder, on this score.

A London Goddess, is a Bully's Whore.

Epigram 61.
To Justus.

Where my best Pow'rs, thou say'st, shou'd all combine,

T'extol the Great, my Verse does most decline.

My Care's not less, but such above it shine.

Epigram 62.
On the Present Parliament.

The factious Members, the Year Fourty, met,

The Ship o'th' State, when tight and stanch, o'erset:

[Page] But when, by Storms, ready to bulge or strand,

You, like good Pilots, brought her safe to Land;

When Shelves and Rocks did her Destruction doom,

Worse than the Ocean knows, those in the See of Rome.

The Dangers of the Main she easier bore,

Than the fierce Hurricanes she met on Shore.

But no black Clouds, your Counsels, overcast,

Sent forth no▪ ruffling, no seditious Blast;

Feign'd Jealousies, in you, no Place cou'd find,

Ambition, or base Int'rest, taint your Mind;

But as the King, his Person, did expose,

Your Aids, brought double Terror on our Foes;

The Wants in which our Fleet or Army, stood,

Next Loyal Session, constantly, made good;

Even Mines, you feem'd to spring, of richest Oar,

In this our Isle, were never known before;

The Kingdoms Strength we, to your Wisdoms, owe,

Which, till you taught, our selves we did not know;

Th' insuperable Burdens we did fear,

Easy and practicable, made appear

Which Acts have purchas'd you this rare Renown,

The Darling of the People, and the Crown.

Epigram 63.
On a Wittall.

[Page]

Vast in Estate, in Heart and Stature small,

A Wife was given thee proud, majestick, tall;

Who, o'er thee, eas'ly did the Empire gain,

Her Presence aw'd thee, to resign the Rein.

Me, thy Comrade, thou brought'st with thee to dine,

But did'st in this, I found, transgress thy Line:

For when thy haughty Wife approach'd the Board,

Led by two Gallants, she did not afford

A Look to thee or me, her Bullys did caress,

And all thy Servants did to them address;

They rul'd, commanded, revell'd in thy Cheer,

Thou did'st the Guest, and they the Lords appear▪

Both shameful and deplorable's thy Case,

They seem'd to cuckold thee before thy Face;

And tho they planted on thy Brow the Horn,

To flatter and collogue with thee did scorn.

Aesop's old Fable's moral'd in thy House,

The Marriage of the Lioness and Mouse.

Epigram 64.
On a Coward.

[Page]

Thy brawny Limbs, thee to bear Arms, betray'd,

A Soldier first, and then a Captain, made;

Upon the Court of Guard, not any He

Dares more profess, or durst do less, than thee;

Foe thou ne'er saw'st, but in a Fortress lay,

For if thou had'st, thou wou'dst have run away;

Too good a Christian art, to fight a Duel,

But where thou might'st with Safety, to be cruel

Thou think'st it brave, also to rant and swear,

If these are Crimes, know'st not what Vertues are.

Drunk, on a Time, thou rudely did'st assay,

The Vintner's Wife, but sorely for't did'st pay;

Her Husband wou'd not pass it for a Slip,

But his blew Apron drub'd thy Captainship;

Nor offer'd'st thou to draw, when he did rout thee,

Thy Wits tho' lost, the Fears thou had'st about thee.

Epigram 65.
On three little Boys.

[Page]

Coming from Church upon a Holy-day,

Their Father ask'd, What did the Vicar say?

What have you brought o' th' Sermon? One did tell

The Text, Chapter and Verse, and that was well,

Apologiz'd, by Silence, for the rest:

The Mother hugg'd the younger in her Breast,

And ask'd, what have you brought my Joys and Loves?

He meekly said, my Handkercher and Gloves.

Epigram 66.
To Lupus.

Thou call'st my Verses nought, and so much more,

Because they come from fourscore Years and four.

Name 'em not Verse, but Anguish and Disease,

And then, perhaps, they will the better please;

For tho but mean vile Epigrams they prove,

Groanings and Coughings th' are a Strain above.

Epigram 67.
On a conceited Poet.

[Page]

Conceit, like thee, did never Man deceive,

Of Modesty and Judgment so bereave.

Thou do'st avow, with Pride so over-grown,

Mens Works thou read'st, but only lov'st thine own.

Think'st that Apollo cannot reach thy Strain,

Shou'd he attempt, he wou'd attempt in vain.

Reciting ought, thou strangely do'st rejoyce,

And shew'st it in thy Gestures, Looks, and Voice,

At ev'ry Verse, behold'st the Hearers Face,

How he approves th' inimitable Grace;

Thy Betters, Brother Poets, deign'st to call,

Thinking the Honour, thou confer'st, not small;

Demand'st, if any equal thee in Wit?

When all's Cacata Charta thou hast writ.

This Lesson to thy self for Cure reherse,

A Fool in Morals, is an Ass in Verse.

Epigram 68.
On Thyrsis.

[Page]

Sitting with Thyrsis by a purling Brook,

In's well tun'd Verses, I great Pleasure took.

So soft, so gentle, so harmonious sweet,

They mov'd like Down, which has the Air for Feet.

He sung the Wonders in Amintas Face,

Her charming Speech, and captivating Crace;

Shew'd her a Miracle awake, a-sleep,

A seeming Goddess, when she drove her Sheep;

From Gems, from Flow'rs, from Stars their Beauty drew,

Which brighter in her Form, than in themselves did shew.

Astonish'd and transported with his Song,

Thyrsis, said I even raving, how I long

To learn thy Skill—He bid me take for Theme,

Th' adjoyning Grove, and gently flowing Stream.

My boist'rous Verse, of Leaves, bereav'd the Wood,

And swell'd the gliding Waters to a Flood.

My Friend, said he, your Metre wou'd not fail,

To raise a Tempest in a Milk-Maid's Pail;

[Page] To Love, I soft and melting Numbers, owe,

They not from reading, but from Passion flow;

Your Head is h [...]ary—Yet again I'll try—

But doting thus, within a Covert nigh,

Both Cupid and my Muse I did espy,

Her angry Sense, with Frowns, she did deliver,

He laugh'd, and shook the Shafts from out his Quiver.

Epigram 69.
On a decay'd Beauty.

Pouder'd and patch'd, thick laid with white and red,

One of those Dames, feign Beauty, when 'tis fled,

Besought me with a quaint, well-bred Address,

Her little Cur to celebrate in Verse;

Hoping, at least, I'd make her hold the Dog.

Embarras'd worse, than sunk into a Bog,

Said I, no Mastiff, Madam, have you, nor a Hog?

Epigram 70.
On the same.

[Page]

Without Resentment, tho thou did'st depart,

My Answer vext thee to the very Heart.

What? Say'st thou, rather praise a filthy Hog,

Or Mastiff, than my self, and genté Dog?

He shews, beside, a Person meanly bred,

That talks, at such a rate, of white and red:

Smutty were more agreeable Discourse,

Than Language so uncourtly and so course.

Epigram 71.
On a Bumkin.

There came, upon a Law Suit, to the Town,

One, Master, call'd for's Wealth, by Birth a Clown;

He ask'd a Friend, where he might daily eat?

Who answer'd, Ord'naries, at all Rates, treat.

But there, I hear, they swagger and they fight,

And I, in broken Pates, take no Delight.

[Page] Be not then positive, no Man gainsay,

Take care, a fair Respect to all you pay.

'Gainst Quarrels this he found a good Defence,

Only his Stomach gave my Host Offence,

Who often wish'd him, and his twelve pence thence.

And once, sharp set on Beef, to none a Foe,

One coming in, gave him aswinging Blow,

But strait profess'd, it was upon Mistake,

Nor know I, I protest, what of't to make,

Said he; fed on, and the King's Peace ue'er brake.

Epigram 72.
On Lewis the 14th.

While thou art safe, thy Soldiers, on thy score,

By Thousands fall on Heaps all Europe o'er;

Th' Assassins undergo just Princes Rage,

'Tis pitty, thou thy self dost ne'er engage.

Epigram 73.
Censorinus.

[Page]

Thou say'st, on trivial Subjects I do write,

Things, of too mean a Nature, bring to light.

What wou'dst thou have? I shew the Ways of Me [...]

And must, what's wise, only take up my Pen?

Th'are Epigrams, to say no more, I frame,

And Titles, of all sorts, answer their Name.

Nor Martial, more than Nugae, his did call:

Tho' things of Bulk vail oft', to what are small.

A Spark of Di'mant set in Gold by Art,

Excells a Freestone, that will load a Cart;

A Piece by Browar, but of one Foot square

In Worth, with vast Designs, of Rubens may compare

If Storms, feign'd Wars, as great things, thee delight

Virgil consult; but Martial, why do'st slight?

Follys are trifling, nothing is more true,

But trifling 'tis not, them aright to shew,

All Vice is mean, degen'rate, low, and base,

Yet noble it may be, Vice to uncase.

[Page] I rake in Mire, but not immer'st am seen,

Dunghills I turn, but keep my self still clean,

Favour no Crimes, nor am I found obscene.

That Epigrammatist, he might appear,

Soure Beza, to write Baudry, did not fear.

Epigram 74.
To Priscus.

Thus [to one David] did a Person say,

" Renowned David! famous to this Day!

" Son of Goliah, who did Sampson slay.

Epigram 75.
On Planca.

Thou laugh'dst aloud, to see Addresses paid

To a fair Widdow, and thou by a Maid:

But tho thou feign'dst to scorn, thy Heart is wrung,

Youth was thought old, and Beauty ever young.

Epigram 76.
On the Poems on the Affairs of State.

[Page]

My Sense, Calenus, freely to relate

O'th' Poems [stil'd] on the Affairs of State,

Lampoons and Libels they, to me, do seem,

The Church, the King, the Monarchy, their Theme▪

But as they these, themselves they also brand,

Malice and Lewdness going Hand in Hand.

I thought at first, they were a mere Contest,

Whether smooth Verse, or rough and strong were best,

Denham's and Dryden's, Waller's Names were glad

To see, but reading, this Conceit I had,

Dryden writ young, Denham when he was mad.

From Muse's Laws, the Waller ne'er did range,

He, a wrong Cause to varnish, made not strange.

Rochester, 'mong the best, I wou'd reherse,

Were he as great in Vertue, as in Verse;

And noblest Wits wou'd sweat to reach his Praise,

No Head, than his, deserving more the Bayes.

[Page] In Marvels Vein, I fancy'd that I saw,

The Chains in Bedlam, Ravings, and the Straw,

As dark and mystical, as fierce and Wood,

There ever best, where he's least understood.

Milton is also mention'd in the List,

And present, but involv'd as in a Mist,

And you may sep'rate Water mix'd with Wine,

Sooner than's Pen, from that before, disjoyn,

Tho far unlike, as Sense, and empty prate,

Milton the Venom adding and the Weight:

Like Heat and Cold they, joyn'd together, thunder,

But Marvel single, ne'er appear'd a Wonder.

I doubt not but these Pieces were compos'd

For sev'ral Ends, tho now, for one expos'd;

And Mastery in Verse is least design'd,

Treason's the Business, Poetry's the Blind:

For not to name, what's scurrilously writ

O'th' Church [late Ages common place of Wit.]

W' are told, if just and great things we affect,

The State of Monarchy we must reject

Such Blessings from a Commonwealth expect.

[Page] That noble Monk play'd but the perjur'd Knave,

When Rebels he deceiv'd, and did his Country save.

Portentous Times! that can produce thing thing,

Friends joyn'd with Foes, to abrogate a King.

Even those the King, Heaven's highest Blessing, own,

With France and Rome, plot to subvert his Throne;

The Hellish Fogs of Forty One, arise,

Threatning, a second Time, t' o'erspread our Skys.

No Place is here, the Satyrist to play,

Forbear my Muse, tehse Days call more to pray.

Epigram 77.
On Baccha.

I know no Tyranny that can compare,

With Kindness from a Woman that's not fair.

Probus, says Bacchae, tho you will not dine,

Sit by me yet, and take a Glass of Wine.

Vastly she eat, and did as largely drink,

Broke Wind for Ease, and scrupl'd not to st—k.

All she cought up, or from her Brain did flow,

She swallow'd, which for second Course did go.

[Page] Of green-fin'd Oysters sh'ad a double Bed,

One is her Stomach, t'other in her Head.

Feeling a Qualm, abruptly I with-drew,

Else, as I saw her eat, she'ad seen me sp.—

Epigram 78.
On the Priest's Girdle.

The glorious God that did the World create,

That those at's Altar serv'd, might suit his State,

Himself prescrib'd the Garments, they should wear,

Nor were the Robes of Kings so gorgeous fair.

The smallest Piece, the Girdle, did unfold

Scarlet and Purple, interwove with Gold:

Habits, not only made to take the Sight,

But Rev'rence to conveigh with the Delight.

This Age, whatever's holy dares defame,

A Surcingle, the Sacerdotal Girdle, name;

And for a Myst'ry, the Reproach, must pass,

It girds a Priest, that is, a blockish Ass.

When Gentiles did the Deity display,

Like to a Man, or Ox that eateth Hay,

[Page] Well may his Servants the Disgrace digest,

That Atheists martial them among the Beast.

Epigram 79.
To Eudora and Silvia.

Prob.] Most justly (excellent and matchless Pair)

On your fair Arms you each a Garland wear!

Eudo.] Without consulting, by our Genius led,

We both conspir'd, with them to crown thy Head.

Prob.] No, glorious Nimphs! Whose he, that dires deface

Such divine Trophies, to assume their Grace?

Those, who your Vertues know, and Beautys see,

These Laurels to your Merit will decree,

Silv.] Ambitiously we Honour came to pay,

But more adorn'd our selves we go away.

Epigram 80.
On Damon and Phillis.

Phillis, as proud in Youth, as she was fair,

Fond Damon brought, well nigh, unto Despair;

[Page] Time did his Peace restore, her Grace decay,

The Maid remain'd, when Beauty fled away:

Disdaining now, he turn'd aside his Eye,

And said, Times past how great a Fool was I?

Epigram 81.
On Thyrsis and Alinda.

Alinda, constant Thyrsis, did adore,

And the bright Maid from all Pretenders bore.

Grown grey himself, and she 'mong Matrons nam'd,

He ne'er forgot, Times past, how she was fam'd;

But said, when all the Nymphs he did behold,

None my Alinda equals, tho she's old.

Epigram 82.
On Bardus.

The noblest Marts of Books in all the Town

Thou haunt'st, among the Learn'd to get Renown,

[Page] Spend'st many Hours, in turning o'er and o'er

Both Greek and Latine Authors a vast Store;

Feigning to read, but dost (in truth) but pore.

Understand'st none, writ'st in a Book contains

Just such a Treasure as thy worthless Brains:

Exhaust'st thy Spirits, altho hail and strong,

A Dog 'twoul'd tire, that did not sleep so long.

The Pains thou tak'st thy Ign'rance to disguise,

If well employ'd, wou'd make thee learn'd and wise.

Epigram 83.
A Farewel to Poetry.

I yield at length: Reason and Age conspire,

To quench the Flame of my Poetick Fire.—

These Words, my Muse, scarce utter'd, yet did hear,

And charm'd up, like a Spirit, did appear:

Roses and Laurel were her Heads Attire,

Her pearl-trimm'd Harp was strung with Golden Wyer.

The Myst'ry in her Garments none cou'd spell

Such wond'rous Fancy did in them excel.

[Page] Thus in her Glory she her self array'd,

More powerfully my fleeting to upbraid.

Ingrate, she said, what is it you propose?

With what Support will next your Dotage close?

Who shall your Pains divert? Droopings revive?

Men will say, There you sit, but not alive.—

This, and much more, enraged and high-flown,

She fiercely spoke, supposing me alone:

But when she paus'd, surpriz'd, she did behold

A rev'rend Dame, of Heav'nly Form, the old;

Her Hand a Book, her Mantle Stars adorn'd,

Her Visuage, Moses like, was ray'd and horn'd,

With God, as he, she nearly did converse,

And of his Glory bore a bright Impress,

DEVOTION was her Name. The Muse abash'd,

Her Figure, 'fore she spoke, her Boldness dash'd,

The Freedom she had shew'd, she blushing, blam'd,

Even of her Youth and Beauty seem'd asham'd.

Within your Bounds, the Matron said, contain,

Divine Effects ascribe not to what's vain;

Your Art cou'd Pains divert, but cou'd not cure,

A Flash of Life infuse, not make t'endure;

[Page] The Ill-at-ease joy'd of't to take the Air,

In your rough, jolting, Epigrammic Chair

Which vary'd Griefs, but did not them impair.

On downy Wings I'll bear him far above

All that is Mundane, Pain, Ambition, Love;

Where all delights; and nothing does annoy,

Sorrows are drown'd in Extasies of Joy.

These Words had Force, the Muse her self t'inspire;

Who to a higher Key strait wound her Lyre,

And proselyted on the Earth cast down,

Low at Devotions Feet, her Laurel Crown,

Resolv'd hereafter ne'er to wear the Bayes,

But on account of singing Heavenly Layes.

ERRATA.

PAge 3. line 7. read bear, p. 9. l. 14. r. Tables, p. 9. l. 16. r. Beauty, p. 45. l. 13. r. Y' exalt, p. 50. l. 12. f. it r. and, p. 53. l. 11. r. dar'st, p. 72. l. 11. r. Natures Shape, p. 84. l. 10. f He r. One, p. 94. l 10. r. theie days.

FINIS.

Books Printed for Henry Bonwicke, at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard.

[Page]

EPigrams of Martial Englished, with some other Pieces ancient and Modern. 8o.

Pia Desideria, or Divine Addresses; in 3. Books. 1. Sighs of the Penitent Soul. 2. Desires of the Religious Soul. 3. Exstacies of the Enamoured Soul. Illustrated with 47. Copper Plates. Written in Latin: Englished by Edm. Arwaker. M. A. In 8o.

A New Description of Paris, containing a particular Account of all the Churches, Palaces, Monasteries, Colleges, Hospitals, Libraries, Cabinets of Rareties, Academies of the Virtuosi, Paintings, Medals, Statutes, and other Sculptures, Monuments, and Publick Inscriptions, with all other remarkable Matters in that great and famous City. Translated out of French. To which is added a Map of Paris. 12o.

Country Conversations, being an Account of some Discourses that happened in a Visit to the Country last Summer, on divers Subjects, chiefly of the Modern Comedies, of Drinking, of Translated [Page] Verse, of Painting, and Painters, of Poets and Poetry. 8o.

Letters of Religion and Vertue to several Gentlemen and Ladies to excite Piety and Devotion, with some short Reflections on divers Subject In 12o.

FINIS.

[Page]

The Kings-Bench Cabal, A SONG.

[Page]

To the Tune, hark, hark, I hear the Cannons rore

I.

ETernal Whig that still depends

On Old Sham-Plots & perjured ends,

Toth' Kings-Bench amongst your friends

Repair to make new Orders:

Make haste, contrive some better way,

Or by the Gods you'll loose the day,

Great York is now above half way,

To Revenge all Rape and Murthers.

II.

We're the best House of Commons now,

That once have made three Kingdoms bow

Put in, spew out, as you know how,

fear Popery the old Notion:

Let's purge the House of all that's good,

That have our Cause so long withstood,

And dares not thirst for guiltless blood,

E'r York's upon the Ocean.

III.

Great Hamden, Rouse, thy wonted strain,

Bring Trenchard into play again;

Vote down the guards and ev'ry swain,

That dares oppose our pleasure:

For to submit they would be loath,

Thy Father and thy Grand-Sire both,

To have ones hands ty'd up by Oath,

That may be loose at leisure.

IV.

Let's Vote the Duke out of the Town,

The King out of both Life and Crown▪

Vote Death to all that keeps us down,

To leave the Cause a bleeding,

Shall we lie here ty'd up like Dogs,

Only Croaking our minds like Frogs,

While here the Doctor swears and flogs▪

And leaves off all proceeding.

V.

Come Speak and Bradon, Arnold too,

Colt, and Caldron what shall's do,

Shall's lie like Oysters here in stew?

And ne'r look out for help for't;

Let's send for Oxford Parliament,

With all their Guards for murther bent,

Come let's attempt e'r Coin be spont,

Tho' each one Damn himself for't.

VI.

Shall we who were so great before,

Have neither power to plot nor whore,

Come let's resolve, break down the dore,

And joyn the Kent-street Rable.

Then Wapping and the Rump will rise,

The Tower and Westminster surprise,

While Charles and York at Windsor lies,

We'll make this Town like Babel.

LONDON Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-street near Newport House in Leicester Fields, 1684.

Information about this book

Title statement

A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial.

Killigrew, Henry, 1613-1700.

Edition statement

1697

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2004-08 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A70401

ID [STC]

Wing K443A

ID [STC]

ESTC R213555

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99825908

ID [PROQUEST]

99825908

ID [VID]

30300

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Early English books online.

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A70401)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 30300)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1795:43)

Source

— A court of judicature in imitation of Libanius. With new epigrams. By the hand that translated Martial., Killigrew, Henry, 1613-1700..

Extent

[2], 100, [2] p.

printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-yard,. London :: 1697.. (Hand that translated Martial = Henry Killigrew.) (Advertisement: [2] p. at end.) (Reproduction of the original in the Harvard University Library.)

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