When thou art asked to sup abroad,
Thou swear'st thou hast but newly dined;
That eating late does over-load
The stomach and the mind.
Then thou wilt drink 'till every star
Be swallowed by the rising sun;
Such charms hath wine we pay not for,
And mirth at others' charge begun.
Who shuns his club, yet flies to every treat,
Does not a supper, but a reck'ning hate.
On Jealousy. BY A LADY.
Oh! shield me from his rage, celestial powers,
This tyrant that embitters all my hours.
Ah, love, you've poorly played the monarch's part,
You conquered, but you can't defend my heart.
So blessed was I, throughout the happy reign,
I thought this monster banished from thy train;
But you would raise him to support your throne,
And now he claims your empire as his own:
Or tell me, tyrants, have you both agreed,
There where one reigns, the other shall succeed?
On Julia's throwing a Snow-Ball.
Julia, young wanton, flung the gathered snow,
Nor feared I burning from the watery blow:
"Tis cold, I cried; but, ah! too soon I found,
Sent by that hand, it dealt a scorching wound.
Resistless fair! we fly thy power in vain,
Who turn'st to fiery darts the frozen rain.
Burn, Julia, burn like me, and that desire
With water which thou kindlest quench with fire.
The poet and the painter safely dare
To form an image of the proudest fair:
Your brighter charms, by lavish nature wrought, Transcend the painter's skill, the poet's thought.
Occasioned by seeing some verses on Calia, written on a pane
of Glass.
Well hast thou drawn, fond youth, in properest place,
The short-lived beauties of false Cælia's face.
When words' obscurities thy sense o'er-shade,
The place gives light to what thou wouldst have said.
Bright as this lucid glass her eyes now seem,
Like this, breathed on by fell disease, grown dim.
Like glass is every strongest vow she makes,
Brittle as that, as easily she breaks;
Such is her honour. Short her fame, we find,
Which cracked, must perish by the first high wind.
On Chloe.
Here Chloe lies,
Whose once bright eyes
Set all the world on fire:
And not to be
Ungrateful, she
Did all the world admire.
On a Riding-House turned into a Chapel. BY MR. FARQUHAR.
A chapel of a riding-house is made,
Thus we once more see Christ in manger laid,
Where still we find the jockey trade supplied,
The laymen bridled, and the clergy ride.
Written extempore, on the Duke of Devonshire's House at Chatsworth.
Qualiter in mediis quam non speraverat urbem,
Attonitus, Venetam navita cernit aquis;
Sic improviso emergens et montibus imis,
Attollis sese Devoniana Domus.
And thus translated by COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.
Not sailors view with more astonished eyes,
In open seas Venetian towers arise,
Than from the mountains strangers, with delight,
See unexpected Chatsworth charm the sight.
George came to the crown without striking a blow:
Ah! quoth the Pretender, would I could do so.
On the Clare-market and other Orators.
To wonder now at Balaam's ass, is weak:
Is there a day that asses do not speak?
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come;
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
Sylvia makes a sad complaint she has lost her lover;
Why nothing strange I in that news discover.
Nay, then thou'rt dull; for here the wonder lies,
She had a lover once!-Don't that surprise?
On a Painter, who stabbed a man fastened to a Cross, that he might draw the picture of the Crucifixion more naturally.
While his Redeemer on his canvas dies,
Stabbed at his feet his brother weltering lies.
The daring artist, cruelly serene,
Views the pale cheek, and the distorted mien;
He drains off life by drops, and deaf to cries,
Examines every spirit as it flies;
He studies torment, dives in mortal woe,
To rouse up every pang repeats his blow;
Each rising agony, each dreadful grace,
Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour's face.
Oh, glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught!
With its full charge of death each feature fraught!
Such wondrous force the magic colours boast,
From his own skill he starts, in horror lost.
On a handsome Idiot. BY MR. CONGREVE.
When Lesbia first I saw, so heavenly fair,
With eyes so bright, and with that awful air,
I thought my heart, which durst so high aspire,
As bold as his who snatched celestial fire;
But soon as e'er the beauteous idiot spoke,
Forth from her coral lips such folly broke,
Like balm the trickling nonsense healed my wound,
And what her eyes enthralled, her tongue unbound.
On a Dumb Boy, very beautiful, and of great quickness of parts.
WRITTEN BY A LADY.
I sing the boy, who, gagged and bound,
Has been by nature robbed of sound;
Yet has she found a generous way,
One loss by many gifts to pay.
His voice, indeed, she close confined,
But blest him with a speaking mind;
And every muscle of his face
Discourses with peculiar grace :
The ladies tattling o'er their tea,
Might learn to charm by copying thee.
If silence thus can man become,
All women beauties would be dumb.
Then, happy boy, no more complain,
Nor think thy loss of speech a pain :
Nature has used thee like good liquor,
And corked thee but to make thee quicker.
Written on the Chamber Door of King Charles II.
BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.
Here lies the mutton-eating king,
Whose word no man relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.
The crimes of men began to grow so great,
That how to punish justly puzzled Fate;
Heaven sighed at last, that to his sons so dear
A punishment's decreed, and so severe :
Go, says eternal justice, hell-hounds, go,
And execute my dread commands below;
Fix your rapacious claws on every door,
Despoil the rich, and poorer make the poor;
Pity not age, add to his weight of years,
And fill the wretched widow's eyes with tears;
Disturb their sleep, and poison every dish,
Nor let them taste, without a doubt, a wish:
The judge supreme, who each effect foresaw,
Cried, Havock, and let loose the dogs of law.
To a young Gentleman who loved to drive hard with a sorry pair of
Thy nags, the leanest things alive,
So very hard thou lov'st to drive,
I heard thy anxious coachman say
It cost thee more in whips than hay.
Solid Worth in a Wife.
When Loveless married Lady Jenny,
Whose beauty was the ready penny;
I chose her, said he, like old plate,
Not for the fashion, but the weight.
Reader, beware immoderate love of pelf:
Here lies the worst of thieves, who robbed himself.
On a crooked Woman.
Nature in pity has denied you shape,
Else how should mortals Flavia's chain escape?
Your radiant aspect, and your rosy bloom,
Without this form, would bring a general doom:
At once our ruin and relief we see,
At sight are captives, and at sight are free.
How old may Phillis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task;
For she really has two ages.
Stiff in brocade, and pinched in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let Envy view her face,
And Phillis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels, laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied,
And Phillis is full forty-three.
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