HEROE. See Butcher, Fortune.
HONEST.
I pay my Debts,

I fteal from no Man; would not cut a Throat,
To gain Admiffion to a great Man's Purse,
Or a Whore's Bed: I'd not betray my Friend,
To get his Place or Fortune: I fcorn to flatter

A

Honeft as the Nature

A blown-up Fool above me, or crush the Wretch beneath me. (Otw. Ven, Pref. Of Man first made, e'er Fraud and Vice were Fashions.

HONOUR.

Honour! a raging Fit of Virtue in the Soul; A painful Burthen which great Minds muft bear;

Obtain'd with Danger, and poffefs'd with Fear. Dryd. Ind. Emp.
Honour is like a Widow, won

With brisk Attempt and pushing on;
With entring manfully, and urging,
Not flow Approaches, like a Virgin.

O Honour! frail as Life, thy fellow-Flow'r,
Cherifh'd, and watch'd, and hum'roufly efteem'd;
Then worn for fhort Adornment of an Hour;
And is, when loft, no more to be redeem'd!

Honour is like that glaffy Bubble
Which finds Philofophers fuch Trouble:
Whofe leaft Part crackt, the whole does fly,
And Wits are crackt to find out why.

That Man is fure to lofe

That fouls his Hands with dirty Foes;
For where no Honour's to be gain'd,
'Tis thrown away in being maintain'd.
Honour in the Breech is lodg'd,

As wife Philofophers have judg'd;
Because a Kick in that Part, more
Hurts Honour, than deep Wounds before.
Honour, the Errour and the Cheat,

Of the ill-natur'd bufie Great!
Fond Idol of the flavish Croud!
Nonfenfe invented by the Proud!

Oh curfed Honour thou who firft didft damn
A Woman to the Sin of Shame!
Honour, who firft taught lovely Eyes the Art,
To wound and not to cure the Heart;
With Love t'invite, but to forbid with Awe,

And to themselves prefcribe a cruel Law.
His chiefest Attributes are Pride and Spight;
His Pow'r is robbing Lovers of Delight!
Honour, that puts our Words that fhould be free,
Into a fet Formality!

Hud.

D'Aven.

Hud.

Hud.

Hud.

Thot

Thou bafe Debaucher of the gen'rous Heart,
'That teaches all our Looks and A&tions Art!
What Love defign'd a facred Gift,
What Nature made to be poffefs'd,
Miftaken Honour made a Theft:

Thou Foe to Pleasure! Nature's worst Disease!
Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings!
Be gone to Princes Palaces;
But let the humble Swain go on

In the bleft Paths of the firft Race of Man

That nearest were to Gods ally'd,

And, form'd for Love, difdain'd all other Pride.
Have I o'ercome all real Foes,

And fhall this Phantom me oppofe?

Noify nothing! Stalking Shade!
By what Witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty Cause of folid Harms!

'Tis Pride's Original, but Nature's Grave,
Scorn'd by the Bafe, 'tis courted by the Brave;
The Heroes Tyrant, and the Coward's Slave.
Born in the noify Camp, it lives on Air;
And both exifts by Hope, and by Defpair :
Angry whene'er a Moment's Eafe we gain;
And reconcil'd at our Returns of Pain.
It lives when in Death's Arms the Heroe lies,
But if his Safety he confults, it dies.
Bigotted to this Idol we difclaim
Reft, Health, and Eafe, for nothing but a Name.
What is this vain, fantastick, pageant Honour,
This bufy, angry thing, that scatters Difcord,
'Amongst the mighty Princes of the Earth,
And fets the madding Nations in an Uproar?
This Honour is the verieft Mountebank;

It fits our Fancies with affected Tricks,

And makes us freakish. What a Cheat muft that be,
Which robs our Lives of all their fofter Hours?
Beauty, our only Treafure, it lays wafte;
Hurries us over our neglected Youth,
To the detefted State of Age and Uglinefs:
Tearing our deareft Heart's Defire from us ;
Then, in Reward of what it took away,
Our Joys, our Hopes, our Wishes and Delights,
It bountifully pays us all with Pride.

Poor Shifts! ftill to be proud, and never pleas'd!
Yet this is all your Honour can do for you.

Roch. Valent

Not

Not all the Threats or Favours of a Crown,
A Prince's Whisper, or a Tyrant's Frown,
Can awe the Spirit or allure the Mind,
Of him who to ftri& Honour is inclin'd.
Tho' all the Pomp and Pleafure that does wait
On publick Places and Affairs of State,
Should fondly court him to be base and great;
With even Paffions and with fettled Face,
He would remove the Harlot's falfe Embrace..
Tho' all the Storms and Tempefts should arife
That Church Magicians in their Cells devife,
And from their fettled Basis Nations tear,
He would unmov'd the mighty Ruin bear;
Secure in Innocence, contemn them all,
And, decently array'd in Honour, fall.
Honour, that Spark of the celeftial Fire,
That above Nature makes Mankind aspire,
Ennobles the rude Paffions of our Frame
With Thirft of Glory and Defire of Fame;
The richest Treasure of a gen'rous Breast,
That gives the Stamp and Standard to the reft.
Wit, Strength, and Courage are wild dang'rous Force,
Unless this foften and direct their Course.

Of Honour, Men at firft, like Women nice,
Raife maiden Scruples at unpractis'd Vice;
Their modeft Nature curbs the ftruggling Flame,
And ftifles what they wish to act, with Shame :

But once this Fence thrown down, when they perceive
That they may tafte forbidden Fruit and live;
They ftop not here their Courfe, but fafely in,
Grow ftrong, luxuriant, and bold in Sin;
True to no Principles, prefs forward ftill,
And only bound by Appetite their Will;
Now fawn and flatter while this Tide prevails,
But fhift with ev'ry veering Blaft their Sails..
On higher Springs true Men of Honour move,
Free is their Service, and unbought their Love:
When Danger calls, and Honour leads the way,
With Joy they follow, and with Pride obey.
HOPE.

Hope, of all Ills that Men endure

The only cheap and univerfal Cure!

Thou Captive's Freedom, and thou fick Man's Health!
Thou Lofer's Victory, and thou Beggar's Wealth!

Thou Manna, which from Heav'n we eat ;
To ev'ry Tafte a feveral Meat!

Thou ftrong Retreat! thou fure-entail'd Eftate,

Which nought has Pow'r to alienate! Thou pleasant honeft Flatterer; for none Flatter unhappy Men but thou alone!

Hope, thou firft Fruits of Happiness,
Thou gentle Dawning of a bright Succefs,

Who out of Fortune's Reach doft ftand,
And art a Bleffing ftill in Hand.
Happiness it felf's all one

In thee, or in Poffeffion:

Only the Future's thine, the Present his ;

Thine's the more hard and noble Blifs.
Beft Apprehender of our Joys, which haft
So long a Reach, and yet canft hold fo faft!
Hope, thou fad Lovers only Friend!
Thou Way that may'ft difpute it with the End!
Men leave thee by obtaining, and ftrait flee
Some other Way again to thee.
Hope, whofe weak Being ruin'd is

Alike, if it fucceed, and if it mifs!

Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,

And both the Horns of Fate's Dilemma wound!

Vain Shadow, which do'ft vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfe& Night!

Hope, thou bold Tafter of Delight!

Who, while thou should'ft but tafte, devour'ft it quite!
Thou bring'ft us an Eftate; yet leav'ft us poor,

By clogging it with Legacies before.

The Joys, which we intire should wed,

Come deflour'd Virgins to our Bed:

Hope, Fortune's cheating Lottery!

Where for one Prize, a hundred Blanks there be :
Fond Archer Hope! who tak'ft thy Aim fo far,
That ftill, or fhort, or wide, thy Arrows are.

Thin empty Cloud! which th'Eye deceives
With Shapes, that our own Fancy gives:
A Cloud, which guilt and painted now appears,
But must drop prefently in Tears.
Brother of Fear! More gaily clad!
The merrier Fool o'th'Two, but quite as mad?
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Defire!
Thou blow'ft the Chymicks and the Lovers Fire!
Leading them ftill infenfibly along,

By the strange Witchcraft of Anon!

Col.

By thee, the one does changing Nature thro

Her endlefs Labyrinths pursue:

And th'other chafes Woman, while fhe goes

More Ways and Turns than hunted Natures knows.

Cowl. Hope

Hope with a goodly Profpect feeds the Eye,
Shews, from a rifing Ground, Poffeffion nigh:
Shortens the Distance, or o'er-looks it quite :
So eafy 'tis to travel with the Sight!

Our Hopes, like tow'ring Falcons, aim
At Objects in an airy Height;
But all the Pleasure of the Game,
Is afar off to view the Flight.
The worthless Prey but only fhews
The Joy confifted in the Strife:
Whate'er we take as foon we lofe,
In Homer's Riddle, and in Life.

Dřjd. Aureit.

So whilft in feav'rith Sleeps we think d
We tafte what waking we defire
The Dream is better than the Dri
Which only feeds the fickly Fire.
To the Mind's Eye things well appear
At Distance, thro' an artful Glafs .
Bring but the flatt'ring Object near,
They're all a fenfelefs gloomy Mafs.
HORSE. See the Centaur Gyllaris.
Upright he walks, on Pafterns firm and straight,
His Motions eafy, prancing in his Gate;

The first to lead the Way, to tempt the Flood,

Priori

To pass the Bridge unknown, nor fear the trembling Woods
Dauntless at empty Noifes, lofty neck'd,

Sharp-headed, barrel-belly'd, broadly back'd:
Brawny his Cheft, and deep; his Colour grey;
For Beauty dappled, or the brightest Bay:
Faint white and dun will fcarce the Rearing pay.
The fiery Courfer, when he hears from far
The fprightly Trumpets, and the Shout of War,
Pricks up his Ears, and trembling with Delight,
Shifts Place, and paws, and hopes the promis'd Fight:
On his right Shoulder his thick Mane reclin'd
Ruffles at fpeed, and dances in the Wind.
His horny Hoofs are jetty black and round;
His Chine is double: Starting with a Bound,
He turns the Turf, and fhakes the folid Ground.
Fire from his Eyes, Clouds from his Noftrils flow;
He bears his Rider headlong on the Foe.

Drid Virg.
The trembling Ground th'outrageous Courfers tear,
And fnorting, blow their Foam into the Air.
Their fervid Noftrils breath out Clouds of Smoke,
And Flames of Fire from their hot Eye-balls broke :
With furious Hoofs o'er flaughter'd Heaps they fly,
And dash up bloody Rain amidst the Sky.
Q

Recking