For Plato's fancies what care I? 600 To Heathens in his native Greek : 605 If to be sad is to be wise, I do most heartily despise Or Tully writ, or Wanley read. Dear Drift*, to set our matters right, Remove these papers from my sight; Burn Matt's Descart and Aristotle, Here, Jonathan, your master's bottle. * Asian Drift, Esq. Mr. Prior's Secretary and Executer. 610 A POEM. WRITTEN THREE HUNDRED YEARS SINCE. Be it right or wrong, these men among E On woman do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vaine, To love them wele; for never a dele They love a man againe : For lete a man do what he can, Ther favour to attayne; Yet yf a new do them pursue, Ther furst trew lover than Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banishyd man. I say not nay, but that all day 5 IO It is bothe writ and sayde That woman's fayth is as who saythe, 15 But nevertheless right good witness All utterly decayed. I' this case might be layde, That they love trew, and continew, Which from her love (whan her to prove He came to make his mone) Wold not depart, for in her herte She lovyd but him alone. 20 Wherefore all ye that present be I pray ye give an eare. MAN. I am the knyght, I come by nyght As secret as I can, Saying, alas! thus standeth the case, I am a banishyd man. 30 35 WOM. And I your wylle for to fulfylle In this wyl not refuse, Trusting to shew, in wordis fewe, That men have an ill use, (To ther own shame) women to blame, And causelese them accuse: 'Therefore to you I answere now, Alle women to excuse. Myn own herte dere, with you what chere, 45 I pray you telle anone; For in my mynde, of al mankynde, I love but you alone. MAN. It stondeth so; a dede is do, Wherefore moche harm shall growe; My desteney is for to dey A shameful deth I trowe; Volume III. Q ૩૦ As Brentford kings discreet and wise, After long thought and grave advice, Into Lardella's coffin peeping, Saw nought to cause their mirth or weeping; So Alma now to joy or grief Superior, finds her late relief; Weary'd of being high or great, 520 And nodding in her chair of state, Stunn'd and worn our with endless chat, Of Will did this, and Nan said that, 525 She finds, poor thing, some little crack, Thro' which she wings her destin'd way; O Richard, till that day appears, And give us playthings for our age; 530 535 540 Then, Richard, then should we set down, Far from the tumult of this Town; I fond of my well-chosen seat, My pictures, medals, books, complete ; Which thy own hand had whilom planted, Both pleas'd with all we thought we wanted; 545 550 555 560 Nay, may not time and death remove The near relations, whom I love? And my Coz Tom, or his Coz Mary › Those that could never read their grammar, -570 |