May the king live long;
Dong, ding, ding, dong.
_On seeing a Miser at Vauxhall Gardens._
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast,
To calm the tyrant, and relieve the opprest:
But Vauxhall’s concert’s more attracting power
Unlocked Sir Richard’s pocket at threescore:
Oh! strange effect of music’s matchless force,
To attract a shilling from a miser’s purse!
_To a Lady who had very bad teeth._
Ovid, who bids the ladies laugh,
Spoke only to the young and fair;
For thee his counsel were not safe,
Who of sound teeth have scarce a pair.
If thou the glass or me believe,
Shun mirth, as foplings do the wind;
At Cibber’s face affect to grieve,
And let thy eyes alone be kind.
If thou art wise see dismal plays,
And to sad stories lend thy ear;
With the afflicted spend thy days,
And laugh not above once a year.
_On an old Maid’s Marriage._
Celia, a coquet in her prime,
The vainest, ficklest thing alive;
Behold the strange effects of time!
Marries and doats at forty-five.
Thus weathercocks, that for awhile
Have turned about with every blast,
Grown old, and destitute of oil,
Rust to a point, and fix at last.
_A Cure for Love._
Of two reliefs to cure a love-sick mind,
Flavia prescribes despair; I urge, be kind;
Flavia, be kind: the remedy’s as sure;
’Tis the most pleasant, and the quickest cure.
_Under the Picture of a Beau._
This vain thing set up for a man,
But see what fate attends him;
The powdering barber first began,
The barber-surgeon ends him.
_On a Gentleman drinking the Health of an unkind Mistress._
Why dost thou wish that she may live,
Whose living beauties make thee grieve!
Thou wouldst more wisely wish her kind,
That she may change her cruel mind;
Thy present wish but this can gain,
That she may live, and thou complain.
_On a Prize-Fighter._
His thrusts like lightning flew, yet subtle death
Parried them all, and beat him out of breath.
_The Penance._
When Phillis confessed, the father was rash,
And so, without further reflection,
Her delicate skin he condemned to the lash,
While himself would bestow the correction.
Her husband, who heard this, opposed it by urging,
That he, in regard to her weakness,
And to save her soft back, would himself bear the scourging
With humble submission and meekness.
She piously cried, when the priest gave accord,
To show what devotion was in her,
He’s able and lusty, pray cheat not the Lord,
For, alas! I’m a very great sinner.
_On a Gentleman who died the day after his Lady._
She first departed; he for one day tried
To live without her: liked it not, and died.
_On a Welchman._
A Welchman coming late into an inn,
Asked the maid what meat there was within?
Cow-heels, she answered, and a breast of mutton;
But, quoth the Welchman, since I am no glutton,
Either of these shall serve: to-night the breast,
The heels i’ th’ morning, then light meat is best;
At night he took the breast and did not pay,
I’ th’ morning took his heels, and ran away.
_The Fate of Poets._
Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead,
Through which the living Homer begged his bread.
_On an old Woman with false Hair._
The golden hair that Galla wears
Is hers: who would have thought it!
She swears ’tis hers,―and true she swears;
For I know where she bought it.
_On another old Woman._ BY MR. PRIOR.
From her own native France, as old Alison past,
She reproached English Nell with neglect or with malice;
That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste,
Her lady’s complexion and eye-brows at Calais.
_An Epitaph._
Here lies honest Strephon with Mary his bride,
Who merrily lived and cheerfully died;
They laughed and they loved, and drank while they were able,
But now they are forced to knock under the table.
This marble, which formerly served them to drink on,
Now covers their bodies,―and sad thing to think on!―
That do what one can to moisten our clay,
’Twill one day be ashes, and moulder away.
_On an ugly old Woman in the Dark._ FROM MARTIAL.
Whilst in the dark on thy soft hand I hung,
And heard the tempting syren in thy tongue;
What flames, what darts, what anguish I endured!
But, when the candle entered, I was cured.
_On a beautiful and ingenious young Lady._
Minerva, one day, pray let nobody doubt it,
Rid an airing from Oxford six miles, or about it,
Where she ’spied a young damsel so blooming and fair,
That, ah, Venus! she cried, is your ladyship there?
Pray is not yon Oxford?―and lately you sware,
Neither you, nor aught like you, should ever come there:
Do you thus keep your promise? and am I defied?
The virgin drew near her, and, smiling replied,
―My goddess! what have you your pupil forgot?
―Your pardon, my dear,―Is it you, Molly Scot?
_To a Lady who married her Footman._ COLONEL P―.
Dear cousin, think it no reproach,
(Thy virtue shines the more,)
To take black John into the coach
He rode behind before.
_On stealing a Pound of Candles._
Light-fingered Catch, to keep his hand in ure,
Stole anything; of this you may be sure,
That he thinks all his own which once he handles,
For practice-sake did steal a pound of candles;
Was taken in the fact: Oh, foolish wight!
To steal such things as needs must come to light.
_On a very plain Lady, that patched much._
Your homely face, Flippanta, you disguise,
With patches, numerous as Argus’ eyes;
I own that patching’s requisite to you,
For more we are pleased, if less your face we view;
Yet I advise, if my advice you’d ask,
Wear but one patch; but be that patch a mask.
_The Dart._
Whene’er I look, I may descry
A little face peep through that eye;
Sure that’s the boy, who wisely chose
His throne among such beams as those,
Which, if his quiver chance to fall,
May serve for darts to kill withal.
_To L―, the Miser._
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.
_To Zelinda._
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 Cælia, 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 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.
_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.
_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?
_The Numskull._
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come;
Knock as you please, there’s nobody at home.
_Sylvia._
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._