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your hand,

Have you observ'd a sitting hare,

But dove, depend on't, finds he none; Listening, and fearful of the storm

So to the bed returns again: Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,

And now the maiden, bolder grown, Afraid to keep, or leave her form?

Begins to treat him with disdain. Or have you mark'd a partridge quake,

I marvel much, she smiling said, Viewing the towering falcon nigh?

Your poultry cannot yet be found; She cuddles low behind the brake:

Lies he in yonder slipper, dead; Nor would she stay, nor dares she fly.

Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd? Then have you seen the beauteous maid;

No, traitor, angry Love replies, When gazing on her midnight foes,

He's hid somewhere about your breast; She turn'd each way her frighted head,

A place nor God nor man denies
Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes.

For Venus' dove the proper nest.
Venus this while was in the chamber
Incognito; for Susan said,

Search then, she said, put in

And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me: It smelt so strong of myrrh and amberAnd Susan is no lying maid.

As guilty I, or free may stand,

Do thou or punish or reward me.
But, since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode:

But ah! what maid to Love can trust; With Cupid let us e'en proceed;

He scorns, and breaks all legal power: And thus to Cloe spoke the god :

Into her breast his hand he thrust;

And in a moment forc'd it lower.
Hold up your head: hold up your hand:
Would it were not my lot to show ye

0, whither do those fingers rove, This cruel writ, wherein you stand

Cries Cloe, treacherous urchin, whither? Indicted by the name of Cloe !

O Venus ! I shall find the dove,

Says he; for sure I touch his feather. For that, by secret malice stirr'd,

Or by an emulous pride invited,
You have purloin'd the favourite bird,

In which my mother most delighted.

The pride of every grove I chose, Her blushing face the lovely maid

The violet sweet and lily fair, Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet ;

The dappled pink, and blushing rose, A rose-tree in a lily bed

To deck my charming Cloe's hair. Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Are you not he whom virgins fear,

Upon her brow the various wreath ; And widows court? Is not your name

The flowers less blooming than her face, Cupid? If so, pray come not near

The scent less fragrant than her breath. Fair maiden, I'm the very same. Then what have I, good Sir, to say,

The flowers she wore along the day: Or do with her you

And every nymph and shepherd said, call your

mother ; If I should meet her in my way,

That in her hair they look'd more gay

Than glowing in their native bed.
We hardly court'sy to each other.
Diana chaste, and Hebe sweet,

Undrest at evening, when she found
Witness that what I speak is true:

Their odours lost, their colours past; I would not give my paroquet

She chang'd her look, and on the ground For all the doves that ever flew.

Her garland and her eye she cast. Yet, to compose this midnight noise,

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, Go freely search where'er you please

As any Muse's tongue could speak, (The rage that rais'd, adorn'd her voice)

When from its lid a pearly tear Upon yon toilet lie my keys.

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks:

Dissembling what I knew too well, Through wardrobe, and through closet bounces ; My love, my life, said I, explain Peeps into every chest and box;

This change of humour: pr’ythee tell: Turns all her furbelows and flounces.

That falling tear-what does it mean?


She sigh’d; she smil'd: and to the flowers

Easy with him, ill us'd by thee, Pointing, the lovely moralist said;

Allow this logic to be good ? See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,

Sir, will your questions never end? See yonder, what a change is made.

I trust to neither spy nor friend.

In short, I keep her from the sight Ah me! the blooming pride of May,

Of every human face.-She'll write. And that of Beauty, are but one :



she's debarr'd.At morn both flourish bright and gay;

Has she a bodkin and a card ? Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

She'll prick her mind. She will, you say :

But how shall she that mind convey? At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung ;

I keep her in one room: I lock it: The amorous youth around her bow'd:

The key (look here) is in this pocket. At night her fatal knell was rung ;

The key-hole, is that left? Most certain. I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.

She'll thrust her letter through.—Sir Martin. Such as she is, who died today;

Dear angry friend, what must be done? Such I, alas ! may be tomorrow:

Is there no way ?- There is but one. Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display

Send her abroad : and let her see,
The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

That all this mingled mass, which she,
Being forbidden, longs to know,
Is a dull farce, an empty show,

Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau ;

A staple of romance and lies,
Miss Danaë, when fair and young,

False tears and real perjuries : (As Horace has divinely sung)

Where sighs and looks are bought and sold, Could not be kept from Jove's embrace

And love is made but to be told; By doors of steel, and walls of brass.

Where the fat bawd and lavish heir The reason of the thing is clear,

The spoils of ruin'd beauty share; Would Jove the naked truth aver.

And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame, Cupid was with him of the party;

Must give up age to want and shame. And show'd himself sincere and hearty;

Let her behold the frantic scene, For, give that whipster but his errand,

The women wretched, false the men : He takes my lord chief justice' warrant;

And when, these certain ills to shun, Dauntless as death away he walks:

She would to thy embraces run; Breaks the doors open, snaps the locks;

Receive her with extended arms, Searches the parlour, chamber, study;

Seem more delighted with her charms; Nor stops till he has culprit's body.

Wait on her to the park and play, Since this has been authentic truth,

Put on good-humour; make her gay; deliver'd down to youth ;

Be to her virtues very kind; Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,

Be to her faults a little blind; Why so mysterious, why so jealous ?

Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
Does the restraint, the bolt, the bar,

And clap your padlock-on her mind.
Make us less curious, her less fair?
The spy, which does this treasure keep,
Does she ne'er say her prayers, nor sleep?
Does she to no excess incline?

Does she fly music, mirth, and wine?

Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Or have not gold and flattery power

Married a lass of London mould: To purchase one unguarded hour ?

Handsome ? enough ; extremely gay: Your care does further yet extend :

Lov'd music, company, and play: That spy is guarded by your friend.

High flights she had, and wit at will; But has this friend nor eye nor heart?

And so her tongue lay seldom still: May he not feel the cruel dart,

For in all visits who but she, Which, soon or late, all mortals feel ?

To argue or to repartee? May he not, with too tender zeal,

She made it plain, that human passion Give the fair prisoner cause to see

Was order'd by predestination ; How much he wishes she were free?

That, if weak women went astray, May he not craftily infer

Their stars were more in fault than they : The rules of friendship too severe,

Whole tragedies she had by heart; Which chain him to a hated trust;

Enter'd into Roxana's part: Which make him wretched, to be just?

To triumph in her rival's blood, And may not she, this darling she,

The action certainly was good. Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,

How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!

By age

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Oh that dear conqueror of the world!

The devil says ; I bring relief. She pitied Betterton in age,

Relief! says Hans: pray, let me crave That ridicul'd the god-like rage.

Your name, Sir?--Satan—Sir, your slave; She, first of all the town, was told,

I did not look upon your feet : Where newest India things were sold:

You'll pardon me:-Ay, now I see't: So in a morning, without bodice,

And pray, Sir, when came you from hell? Slipt sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's;

Our friends there, did you leave them well ? To cheapen tea, to buy a screen :

All well; but pr’ythee, honest Hans, What else could so much virtue mean?

(Says Satan) leave your complaisance : For, to prevent the least reproach,

The truth is this; I cannot stay Betty went with her in the coach.

Flaring in sunshine all the day : But, when no very great affair

For, entre nous, we hellish sprites Excited her peculiar care,

Love more the fresco of the nights; She without fail was wak'd at ten;

And oftener our receipts convey Drank chocolate, then slept again :

In dreams, than any other way. At twelve she rose; with much ado

I tell you therefore as a friend, Her clothes were huddled on by two;

Ere morning dawns, your fears shall end : Then, does my lady dine at home?

Go then this evening, master Carvel, Yes, sure !-But is the colonel come?

Lay down your fowls, and broach your barrel; Next, how to spend the afternoon,

Let friends and wine dissolve your care; And not come home again too soon ;

Whilst I the great receipt prepare : The Change, the city, or the play,

To-night I'll bring it, by my faith ! As each was proper for the day:

Believe for once what Satan saith. A turn in summer to Hyde-park,

Away went Hans; glad? not a little; When it grew tolerably dark.

Obey'd the devil to a tittle; Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain :

Invited friends some half a dozen, Strange fancies come in Haus's brain :

The colonel and my lady's cousin. He thought of what he did not name;

The meat was serv'd; the bowls were crown'd; And would reform, but durst not blame.

Catches were sung: and healths went round; At first he therefore preach'd his wife

Barbadoes waters for the close; The comforts of a pious life :

Till Hans had fairly got his dose : Told her, how transient beauty was ;

The colonel toasted “ to the best :" That all must die, and flesh was grass :

The dame mov'd off, to be undrest: He bought her sermons, psalms, and graces ;

The chimes went twelve: the guests withdrew: And doubled down the useful places.

But, when, or how, Hans hardly knew. But still the weight of worldly care

Some modern anecdotes aver, Allow'd her little time for prayer:

He nodded in his elbow chair; And Cleopatra was read o'er;

From thence was carried off to bed, While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more,

John held his heels, and Nan his head. That teach one to deny one's self,

My lady was disturb'd: new sorrow! Stood unmolested on the shelf.

Which Hans must answer for tomorrow. An untouch'd Bible grac'd her toilet;

In bed then view this happy pair; No fear that thumb of her's should spoil it.

And think how Hymen triumph'd there. In short, the trade was still the same:

Hans fast asleep as soon as laid; The dame went out: the colonel came.

The duty of the night unpaid : What's to be done ? poor Carvel cry’d:

The waking dame, with thoughts opprest, Another battery must be try'd:

That made her hate both him and rest : What if to spells I had recourse?

By such a husband, such a wife! 'Tis but to hinder something worse.

'Twas Acme's and Septimius' life: The end must justify the means;

The lady sigh’d: the lover snor'd: He only sins who ill intends :

The punctual devil kept his word: Since therefore 'tis to combat evil;

Appear'd to honest Hans again ; 'Tis lawful to employ the devil.

But not at all by madam seen : Forthwith the devil did appear

And giving him a magic ring, (For name him and he's always near):

Fit for the finger of a king; Not in the shape in which he plies

Dear Hans, said he, this jewel take, At miss's elbow when she lies;

And wear it long for Satan's sake: Or stands before the nursery doors,

'Twill do your business to a hair : To take the naughty boy that roars:

For, long as you this ring shall wear, But, without saucer-eye or claw,

As sure as I look over Lincoln, Like a grave barrister at law.

That ne'er shall happen which you think on. Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief,

Hans took the ring with joy extreme

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(All this was only in a dream);

On married men, that dar'd be bad, And, thrusting it beyond his joint,

She thought no mercy should be had; 'Tis done, he cry'd: I've gain'd my point.- They should be hang’d, or starv’d, or flay'd, What point, said she, you ugly beast?

Or serv'd like Romish priests in Swede.You neither give me joy nor rest:

In short, all lewdness she defied: 'Tis done:-What's done, you drunken bear?

And stiff was her parochial pride.
You've thrust your finger God knows where.

Yet, in an honest way, the dame
Was a great lover of that same;

And could from scripture take her cue, PAULO PURGANTI AND HIS WIFE; That husbands should give wives their due.

Her prudence did so justly steer

Between the gay and the severe, * Est enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni virtute, quod

That if in some regards she chose
deceat: quod cogitatione magis à virtute potest quàm re

To curb poor Paulo iv too close,
Cic. de Off. 1. i.

In others she relax'd again,
Beyond the fix'd and settled rules

And govern’d with a looser rein. Of vice and virtue in the schools,

Thus though she strictly did confine Beyond the letter of the law

The doctor from excess of wine: Which keeps our men and maids in awe,

With oysters, eggs, and vermicelli, The better sort should set before 'em

She let him almost burst his belly: A grace, a manner, a decorum ;

Thus drying coffee was denied ; Something, that gives their acts a light;

But chocolate that loss supplied: Makes them not only just, but bright;

And for tobacco (who could bear it?) And sets them in that open fame,

Filthy concomitant of claret: Which witty malice cannot blame.

(Blest revolution !) one might see For 'tis in life, as 'tis in painting:

Eringo roots, and Bohea tea. Much may be right, yet much be wanting ;

She often set the doctor's band, From lines drawn true, our eye may trace

And strok'd his beard and squeez'd his hand: A foot, a knee, a hand, a face;

Kindly complain'd, that after noon May justly own the picture wrought

He went to pore on books too soon : Exact to rule, exempt from fault;

She held it wholesomer by much Yet, if the colouring be not there,

To rest a little on the couch: The Titian stroke, the Guido air:

About his waist in bed a-nights To nicest judgments show the piece,

She clung so close-for fear of sprites. At best 'twill only not displease :

The doctor understood the call; It would not gain on Jersey's eye;

But had not always wherewithal. Bradford would frown, and set it by.

The lion's skin too short, you know, Thus in the picture of our mind

(As Plutarch's morals finely show) The action may be well design'd;

Was lengthen’d by the fox's tail : Guided by law, and bound by duty;

And art supplies, where strength may fail. Yet want this je ne scai quoi of beauty :

Unwilling then in arms to meet And though its error may be such,

The enemy he could not beat; As Knags and Burgess cannot hit;

He strove to lengthen the campaign, It yet may feel the nicer touch

And save his forces by chicane. Of Wycherley's or Congreve's wit.

Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus What is this talk ? replies a friend,

By fair retreat grew Maximus, And where will this dry moral end?

Shows us, that all that warrior can do, The truth of what you here lay down

With force inferior, is cunctando. By some example should be shown.

One day then, as the foe drew near, With all my heart—for once; read on.

With love, and joy, and life, and dear; An honest but a simple pair

Our Don, who knew this tittle-tattle (And twenty other I forbear)

Did, sure as trumpet, call to battle, May serve to make this thesis clear.

Thought it extremely a propos, A doctor of great skill and fame,

To ward against the coming blow : Paulo Purganti was his name,

To ward: but how? Ay, there's the question; Had a good, comely, virtuous wife;

Fierce the assault, unarm'd the bastion. No woman led a better life :

The doctor feign’d a strange surprise : She to intrigues was ev'n hard-hearted:

He felt her pulse; he view'd her eyes: She chuckled when a bawd was carted;

That beat too fast, these rollid too quick; And thought the nation ne'er would thrive,

he said, or would be sick; Till all the whores were burnt alive.

He judg'd it absolutely good,

She was,

That she should purge, and cleanse her blood.

HER RIGHT NAME. Spa waters for that end were got:

As Nancy at her toilet sat, If they past easily or not,

Admiring this, and blaming that, What matters it? The lady's fever

Tell me, she said ; but tell me true; Continued violent as ever.

The nymph who could your heart subdue, For a distemper of this kind

What sort of charms does she possess ? (Blackmore and Hans are of my mind),

Absolve me, fair-one ; I'll confess If once it youthful blood infects,

With pleasure, I reply'd. Her hair, And chiefly of the female sex,

In ringlets rather dark than fair, Is scarce remov'd by pill or potion;

Does down her ivory bosom roll, Whate'er might be our doctor's notion.

And, hiding half, adorns the whole. One luckless night then, as in bed

In her high forehead's fair half round The doctor and the dame were laid;

Love sits in open triumph crown'd: Again this cruel fever came,

He in the dimple of her chin, High pulse, short breath, and blood in flame.

In private state, by friends is seen. What measures shall poor Paulo keep

Her eyes are neither black nor gray; Witha madam in this piteous taking ?

Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray ; She, like Macbeth, has murder'd sleep,

Their dubious lustre seems to show And won't allow him rest, though waking.

Something that speaks nor yes, nor no. Sad state of matters! when we dare

Her lips no living bard, I weet, Nor ask for peace, nor offer war;

May say, how red, how round, how sweet; Nor Livy nor Comines have shown

Old Homer only could indite What in this juncture may be done.

Their vagrant grace and soft delight: Grotius might own, that Paulo's case is

They stand recorded in his book, Harder than any which he places

When Helen smil'd, and Hebe spokeAmongst his Belli and his Pacis.

The gipsy, turning to her glass, He strove, alas! but strove in vain,

Too plainly show'd she knew the face; By dint of logic to maintain

And which am I most like, she said,
That all the sex was born to grieve,

Your Cloe, or your Nut-brown Maid?
Down to her ladyship from Eve.
He rang'd his tropes, and preach'd up patience,
Back'd his opinion with quotations,

Divines and moralists; and run ye on

To the tune of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan.

1715. As much in vain he bid her try To fold her arms, to close her eye ;

I sing not old Jason, who travellid through Greece, Telling her, rest would do her good,

To kiss the fair maids, and possess the rich fleece; If any thing in nature could :

Nor sing 1 Æneas, who, led by his mother, So held the Greeks quite down from Galen,

Got rid of one wife, and went far for another. Masters and princes of the calling :

Derry down, down, hey derry down. So all our modern friends maintain (Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane.

Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam, Reduce, my Muse, the wandering song:

Ulysses by name, who ne'er cry'd to home, A tale should never be too long.

But rather desir'd to see cities and men, The more he talk'd, the more she burn'd,

Than return to his farms, and converse with old Pen. And sigh'd, and tost, and groan'd, and turn’d: At last, I wish, said she, my dear

Hang Homer and Virgil! their meaning to seek, (And whisper'd something in his ear)

A man must have pok'd into Latin and Greek ; You wish! wish on, the doctor cries:

Those who love their own tongue, we have reason Lord! when will womankind be wise ?

to hope, What, in your waters? Are you mad?

Have read them translated by Dryden and Pope. Why poison is not half so bad. I'll do it-but I give you warning:

But I sing of exploits that have lately been done You'll die before tomorrow morning.–

By two British heroes, callid Matthew and John; 'Tis kind, my dear, what you advise ;

And how they rid friendly from fine London town, The lady with a sigh replies !

Fair Essex to see, and a place they call Down. But life, you know, at best is pain; And death is what we should disdain.

Now ere they went out you may rightly suppose So do it therefore, and adieu:

How much they discours'd both in prudence and For I will die for love of you.


(certed, Let wanton wives by death be scar'd:

For, before this great journey was thoroughly conBut, to my comfort, I'm prepar’d.

Full often they met, and as often they parted.



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