How lik'st thou this sermon? 'Tis out of my reach.
His is one way, said Willis, and ours is another:
I care not for carping; but this I can tell,
We preach very sadly, if he preaches well.
EPIGRAM ON BISHOP ATTERBURY.
MEEK Francis lies here, friend: without stop or stay,
As you value your peace, make the best of your way.
Though at present arrested by death's caitiff paw,
If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law.
And in the King's Bench should a verdict be found,
That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,
He will claim to himself what is strictly his due,
And an action of trespass will straightway ensue,
That you without right on his premises tread,
On a simple surmise that the owner is dead.
ON BISHOP ATTERBURY'S BURYING THE
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM MDCCXX.
'I HAVE no hopes,' the duke he says, and dies;
In sure and certain hopes,' the prelate cries:
Of these two learned peers, I pr'ythee, say, man,
Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman?
The duke he stands an infidel confessed,
'He's our dear brother,' quoth the lordly priest.
The duke, though knave, still 'brother dear,' he cries;
And who can say, the reverend prelate lies?
HONOUR, I say, or honest fame,
I mean the substance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of tawdry wares,
Of ermine, coronets, and stars,
Which often is by merit sought,
By gold and flattery oftener bought;
The shade, for which ambition looks
In Selden's1 or in Ashmole's2 books:)
But the true glory, which proceeds,
Reflected bright, from honest deeds,
Which we in our own breast perceive,
And kings can neither take nor give.
By birth I'm a slave, yet can give you a crown;
I dispose of all honours, myself having none;
I'm obliged by just maxims to govern my life,
Yet I hang my own master, and lie with his wife.
When men are a-gaming, I cunningly sneak,
And their cudgels and shovels away from them take.
Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get,
And pick off their diamonds, tho' ne'er so well set.
For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands,
Then presently take off your lands from your hands.
But, this fury once over, I've such winning arts,
you love me much more than you do your own hearts.
1 Titles of honour.- Order of the Garter.
FORMED half beneath, and half above the earth,
We sisters owe to art our second birth;
The smith's and carpenter's adopted daughters,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.
Swifter they move, as they are straiter bound,
Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground;
They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes swim.
THE OLD GENTRY.
1 THAT all from Adam first began,
None but ungodly Woolston doubts; And that his son, and his son's son,
Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.
2 Each, when his rustic pains began,
To merit pleaded equal right;
'Twas only who left off at noon
Or who went on to work till night.
3 But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court's affection; By nature we are Adam's sons,
And sons of Anstis 1 by election.
4 Kingsale! eight hundred years have rolled, Since thy forefathers held the plough;
When this in story shall be told,
Add, that my kindred do so now.
5 The man who by his labour gets His bread, in independent state, 1 Garter King at Arms.
Who never begs, and seldom eats,
Himself can fix or change his fate.
THE INSATIABLE PRIEST.
1 LUKE PREACH-ILL admires what we laymen can mean;
That thus by our profit and pleasure are swayed,
He has but three livings, and would be a dean;
His wife died this year, he has married his maid.
2 To suppress all his carnal desires in their birth,
At all hours a lusty young hussy is near;
And, to take off his thoughts from the things of this
earth,
He can be content with two thousand a year.
A FRENCH SONG IMITATED.
1 WHY thus from the plain does thy shepherdess rove,
Forsaking her swain, and neglecting his love!
You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,
Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.
2 How can you complain, or what am I to say,
Since my dog lies unfed, and my sheep run astray! Need I tell what I mean, that I languish alone, When I leave all the plain, you may guess 'tis for one.
1 Now how shall I do with my love and my pride; Dear Dick,1 give me counsel, if friendship has any;
Pr'ythee purge, or let blood, surly Richard replied, And forget the coquette in the arms of your Nanny.'
2 While I pleaded with passion how much I deserved, For the pains and the torments of more than a
She looked in an almanack, whence she observed, That it wanted a fortnight to Barthol'mew-fair.
3 My Cowley and Waller how vainly I quote,
While my negligent judge only hears with her eye! In a long flaxen wig, and embroidered new coat, Her spark saying nothing talks better than I.
UPON PLAYING AT OMBRE WITH TWO
LADIES.
I KNOW that fortune long has wanted sight,
And therefore pardoned when she did not right;
But yet till then it never did appear,
That, as she wanted eyes, she could not hear;
I begged that she would give me leave to lose,
A thing she does not commonly refuse!
Two matadores are out against my game,
Yet still I play, and still my luck's the same;
Unconquered in three suits it does remain,
Whereas I only ask in one to gain;
Yet she, still contradicting, gifts imparts,
And gives success in every suit--but hearts.
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