Th' incestuous brute, who the veil'd vestal maid But lately to his impious bed betray'd,

Ought to descend alive into the grave'.

But now of slighter faults; and yet the same
By others done, the censor's justice claim.
For what good men ignoble count and base,
Is virtue here, and does Crispinus grace:
In this he's safe, whate'er we write of him,
The person is more odious than the crime.
And so all satire's lost. The lavish slave
Six thousand pieces for a barbel gave:
A sesterce for each pound it weigh'd, as they
Gave out, that hear great things, but greater say.
If, by this bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare
Some sapless usurer that wants an heir,
Or if this present the sly courtier meant
Should to some punk of quality be sent,
That in her easy chair in state does ride,
The glasses all drawn up on every side,
I'd praise his cunning; but expect not this,
For his own gut he bought the stately fish.
Now even Apicius3 frugal seems, and poor,
Outvy'd in luxury unknown before.

Gave you, Crispinus, you this mighty sum;
You that, for want of other rags, did come
In your own country paper wrapp'd to Rome?
Do scales and fins bear price to this excess?
You might have bought the fishermen for less.
For less some provinces whole acres sell!
Nay, in Apulia, if you bargain well,
A manor would cost less than such a meal.

What think we then of this luxurious lord 5 ?
What banquets loaded that imperial board?
When, in one dish, that, taken from the rest,
His constant table would have hardly miss'd,
So many sesterces were swallow'd down,
To stuff one scarlet-coated court buffoon,
Whom Rome of all her knights now chiefest greets,
From crying stinking fish about her streets.
Begin, Calliope, but not to sing:

Plain, honest truth we for our subject bring. -
Help then, ye young Pierian maids, to tell
A downright narrative of what befell,
Afford me willingly your sacred aids,

Me that have call'd you young, me that have styl'd you maids.

When he, with whom the Flavian race decay'd6, The groaning world with iron sceptre sway'd, When a bald Nero reign'd, and servile Rome obey'd,

1 Crispinus had seduced a vestal virgin; and, by the law of Numa, should have been buried alive. 2 Roman sestertii.

3 Famous for gluttony, even to a proverb. See Dr. King's Art of Cookery.

4 Where land was remarkably cheap.

5 Domitian.

6 Domitian was the last and worst of that family. Domitian, from his cruelty, was called a second Nero; and, from his baldness, Calvus.

So many spies and court-informers nigh?
No shore but of this vermin swarms does bear,
Searchers of mud and sea-weed! that would swear
The fish had long in Cæsar's ponds been fed,
And from its lord undutifully fled,
So, justly ought to be again restor❜d:
Nay, if you credit sage Palphurius'9 word,
Or dare rely on Armillatus'9 skill,
Whatever fish the vulgar fry excel
Belong to Cæsar, wheresoe'er they swim,
By their own worth confiscated to him.
The boatman then shall a wise present make,
And give the fish before the seizers take.

Now sickly Autumn to dry frosts gave way,
Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preserv'd the prey;
Yet with such haste the busy fishes flew,
As if with a hot south-wind corruption blew:
And now he reach'd the lake, where what remains
Of Alba still her aucient rites retains,
Still worships Vesta, though an humbler way,
Nor lets the hallow'd Trojan fire decay.

[sort,

The wondering crowd, that to strange sights reAnd choak'd a while his passage to the court, At length gives way; ope flies the palace-gate, The turbot enters in, without the fathers 10 wait; The boatmen straight does to Atrides press, And thus presents his fish, and his address:

'Accept, dread sir, this tribute from the main, Too great for private kitchens to contain. To your glad genius sacrifice this day, Let common meats respectfully give way. Haste to unload your stomachs, to receive This turbot, that for you did only live. So long preserv'd to be imperial food, Glad of the net, and to be taken proud."

How fulsome this! how gross! yet this takes well,

And the vain prince with empty pride does swell.
Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with belief and joy is entertain'd,.
When to his face the worthless wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile court-flattery to a god has rais'd.

But oh, hard fate! the palace stores no dish
Afford, capacious of the mighty fish.
To sage debate are summon'd all the peers,
His trusty and much-hated counsellors,
In whose pale looks that ghastly terrour sat,
That haunts the dangerous friendships of the great.

The loud Liburnian ", that the senate call'd, "Run, run; he 's set, he's set!" no sooner bawl'd, But, with his robe snatcht up in haste, does come Pegasus 2, bailiff of affrighted Rome.

8 A title often assumed by the emperors. 9 Both of consular degree, yet spies and informers.

10 The senate, or patres conscripti. "The Roman criers were usually of this country. 12 A learned lawyer, and prefect of Rome.

DAMON AND ALEXIS.

DAMON.

TELL me, Alexis, whence these sorrows grow?
From what hid spring do these salt torrents flow?
Why hangs the head of my afflicted swain;
Like bending lilies over-charg'd with rain?

ALEXIS.

Ah, Damon, if what you already see
Can move thy gentle breast to pity me;

How would thy sighs with mine in concert join,
How would thy tears swell up the tide of mine,
Couldst thou but see (but, oh, no light is there,
But blackest clouds of darkness and despair!)
Could'st thou but see the torments that within
Lie deeply lodg'd, and view the horrid scene!
View all the wounds, and every fatal dart
That sticks and rankles in my bleeding heart!
No more, ye swains, Love's harmless anger fear,
For he has empty'd all his quiver here.
Nor thou, kind Damon, ask me why I grieve,
But rather wonder, wonder that I live.

DAMON.

Unhappy youth! too well, alas! I know The pangs despairing lovers undergo ! [Imperfect.]

CELIA AND DORINDA.

WHEN first the young Alexis saw
Calia to all the plain give law,
The haughty Cælia, in whose face
Love dwelt with fear, and pride with grace;
When every swain he saw submit
To her commanding eyes and wit,
How could th' ambitious youth aspire
To perish by a nobler fire?

With all the power of verse he strove
The lovely shepherdess to move:
Verse, in which the gods delight,

That makes nymphs love, and heroes fight;
Verse, that once rul'd all the plain,
Verse, the wishes of a swain.

How oft has Thyrsis' pipe prevail'd,

Where Egon's flocks and herds have fail'd?
Fair Amaryllis, was thy mind
Ever to Damon's wealth inclin'd;
Whilst Lycidas's gentle breast,
With love, and with a Muse possest,
Breath'd forth in verse his soft desire,
Kindling in thee his gentle fire?

[Imperfect.]

No: thanks, kind Heaven, that hast my soul employ'd,

With my great sex's useful virtue, pride:
That generous pride, that noble just disdain,
That scorns the slave that would presume to reign.
Let the raw amorous scribbler of the times
Call me his Cælia in insipid rhymes;

I hate and scorn you all, proud that I am
T' revenge my sex's injuries on man.
Compar'd to all the plagues in marriage dwell,
It were preferment to lead apes in Hell.

TO SOME*

DISBANDED OFFICERS,

UPON THE LATE

VOTE OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

HAVE we for this serv'd full nine hard campaigns?
Is this the recompense for all our pains?
Have we to the remotest parts been sent,
Bravely expos'd our lives, and fortunes spent,
To be undone at last by parliament?

Must colonels and corporals now be equal made,.
And flaming sword turn'd pruning knife and

spade?

T—b, S———, F, and thousands more,
Must now return to what they were before.
No more in glittering coaches shall they ride,
No more the feathers show the coxcombs' pride.
For thee, poor! my Muse does kindly weep,
To see disbanded colonels grown so cheap.
So younger brothers, with fat jointures fed,
Go despicable, once their widows dead.
No ship, by tempest from her anchor torn,
Is half so lost a thing, and so forlorn.
On every stall, in every broker's shop,
Hang up the plumes of the dismantled fop;
Trophies like these we read not of in story,
By other ways the Romans got their glory.
But in this, as in all things, there's a doom,
Some die i' th' field, and others starve at home.

TO A

ROMAN CATHOLIC UPON MARRIAGE. CENSURE and penances, excommunication, Are bug-bear words to fright a bigot nation; But 'tis the Church's more substantial curse, To damn us all for better and for worse. Falsely your church seven sacraments does frame, Penance and matrimony are the same.

CELIA'S SOLILOQUY.

MISTRESS of all my senses can invite,
Free as the air, and unconfin'd as light;
Queen of a thousand slaves, that fawn and bow,
And, with submissive fear, my power allow,
Should I exchange this noble state of life
To gain the vile detested name of Wife;
Should I my native liberty betray,

Call him my lord, who at my footstool lay?

A FRAGMENT.

-AND yet he fears to use them, and be free; Yet some have ventur'd, and why should not all? Let villains, perjur'd, envious, and malicious, The wretched miser and the midnight murderer; Betrayers of their country, or their friend, (And every guilty breast) fear endless torment, Blue lakes of brimstone, unextinguish'd fires, Scorpions and whips, and all that guilt deserves;

Let these, and only these, this plague themselves.
For though they fear what neither shall nor can be,
'Tis punishment enough it makes them live,
Live, to endure the dreadful apprehension
Of death, to them so dreadful; but why dreadful,
At least to virtuous minds?- -To be at rest,
To sleep, and never hear of trouble more,
Say, is this dreadful? Heart, wouldst thou be at
quiet?

Dost thou thus beat for rest, and long for ease,
And not command thy friendly hand to help thee?
What hand can be so easy as thy own,

To apply the medicine that cures all diseases?

AN EPISTLE'

TO MR. OTWAY.

DEAR Tom, how melancholy I am grown Since thou hast left this learned dirty town', To thee by this dull letter be it known. Whilst all my comfort, under all this care, Are duns, and puns, and logic, and small beer. Thou seest I'm dull as Shadwell's men of wit, Or the top scene that Settle ever writ: The sprightly court that wander up and down From gudgeons to a race, from town to town, All, all are fled; but them I well can spare, For I'm so dull I have no business there. I have forgot whatever there I knew, Why men one stocking tye with ribbon blue: Why others medals wear, a fine gilt thing, That at their breasts hang dangling by a string; (Yet stay, I think that I to mind recal, For once3 a squirt was rais'd by Windsor wall). I know no officer of court; nay more, No dog of court, their favourite before. Should Veny fawn, I should not understand her, Nor who committed incest for Legander. Unpolish'd thus, an arrant scholar grown, What should I do but sit and coo alone, And thee, my absent mate, for ever moan. Thus 'tis sometimes, and sorrow plays its part, Till other thoughts of thee revive my heart. For, whilst with wit, with women, and with wine, Thy glad heart beats, and noble face does shine, Thy joys we at this distance feel and know; Thou kindly wishest it with us were so.

Then thee we name; this heard, cries James, "For him,

Leap up, thou sparkling wine, and kiss the brim:
Crosses attend the man who dares to fliuch,
Great as that man deserves who drinks not Finch."
But these are empty joys, without you two,
We drink your names, alas! but where are you?
My dear, whom I more cherish in my breast
Than by thy own soft Muse can be exprest;.
True to thy word, afford one visit more,
Else I shall grow, from him thou lov'dst before,
A greasy blockhead fellow in a gown,
(Such as is, sir, a cousin of your own)
With my own hair, a band, and ten long nails,
And wit that at a quibble never fails.

In answer to one in Otway's Poems. • Mr. Duke was then at Cambridge. 3 Sir Samuel Moreland. DUKE.

AD THOMAM OTWAY.

MUSARUM nostrûmque decus, charissime Thoma, O animæ melior pars, Otoæe, meæ; Accipe quæ sacri tristes ad littora Cami Avulsi vestro flevimus à gremio. Quot mihi tunc gemitus ex imo pectore ducti, Perque meas lacrymæ quot cecidere genas, Et salices testes, & plurima testis arundo, Et Camus pigro tristior amne fluens. Audiit ipse etenim Deus, & miserata dolores Lubrica paulisper constitit unda meos. Tunc ego; vos nymphæ viridi circumlita musco Atria quæ colitis, tuque, verende Deus, Audite O qualem absentem ploramus amicum, Audite ut lacrymis auctior amnis eat. Pectoris is candore nives, constantibus arcti Stellam animis, certâ fata vel ipsa fide; Ille & Amore columbas, ille & Marte leones Vincit, Pierias ingenioque Deas, Sive vocat jocus, & charites, & libera vini Gaudia, cumque suâ matre sonandus Amor. Ille potest etiam numeros æquare canendo Sive tuos, Ovidi, sive, Catulle, tuos. Sive admirantis moderatur fræna theatri, Itque cothurnato Musa superba pede, Fulmina vel Sophoclis Lycophrontæasve tenebras,

Carminis aut fastus, Eschyle magne, tui,
Vincit munditiis & majestate decorâ,

Tam bene naturam pingere docta manus,
Hæc ego, cum spectans labentia flumina, versus
Venere in mentem, magne poeta tui.

Quos tibi pro tali persolvam carmine grates,
O animi interprés, magne Poeta, mei!
Nos neque solicita Natura effinxit ad urbis
Officia, aut fraudes, Aula dolosa, tuas :
Nos procul à cœno, & strepitu, fumoque re-
motos,

Cum Venere & Musis myrtea scena tegat!
Nos paribus cantare animis permittat Apollo
Flammas meque tuas, teque, Otoæe, meas.
Ergone me penitus vestris hærere medullis,
Ergone sincerus me tibi junxit Amor?
Tu quoque, tu nostris habitas, mea vita, me-
dullis,

Teque meo æternus pectore figit Amor.

In another place.