A Poetical Revenge.
WESTMINSTER-HALL a friend and I agreed
To meet in. He (fome bufinefs 'twas did breed
His abfence) came not there. I up did go
To the next court; for tho' I could not know
Much what they meant, yet I might fee and hear
(As moft fpectators do at theatre)

Things very ftrange. Fortune did feem to grace
My coming there, and help'd me to a place :
But being newly fettled at the sport,
A femi-gentleman of the Inns of Court,
In fatin fuit, redeem'd but yesterday,
One who is ravish'd with a cockpit play,
Who prays God to deliver him from no evil
Befides a tailor's bill, and fears no devil
Befides a ferjeant, thruft me from my seat;
At which 'gan to quarrel, till a neat
Man in a ruff (whom therefore I did take
For barrister) open'd his mouth and spake:
Boy! get you gone; this is no fchool." "Oh, no;
"For if it were, all you gown'd men would go

Up for falfe Latin." They grew straight to be
Incens'd; I fear'd they would have brought on me
An action of trespass, till the young man
Aforefaid, in the fatin fuit, began

To ftrike me. Doubtlefs there had been a fray,
Had not I providently skipp'd away
Without replying; for to fcold is ill,
Where ev'ry tongue's the clapper of a mill,
And can outfonnd Homer's Gradivus; fo
Away got I; but e'er I far did go,

I flung (the darts of wounding poetry)
These two or three fharp curfes back: May he
Be by his father in his ftudy took

At Shakespeare's Plays, instead of my Lord Coke.
May he (tho' all his writings grow as foon
As Butter's out of eftimation)

Get him a poet's name, and fo ne'er come
Into a ferjeant's or dead judge's room
May he become fome poor physician's prey,
Who keeps men with that confcience in delay
As he his client doth, till his health be
As far fetch'd as a Greek noun's pedigree:
Nay, for all that, may the disease be gone
Never but in the long vacation:
May neighbours ufe all quarrels to decide;
But if for law any to London ride,
Of all thofe clients may not one be his,
Unless he come in forma pauperis.
Grant this, ye Gods that favour poetry!
That all these never-ceafing tongues may be
Brought into reformation, and not dare
To quarrel with a threadbare black; but spare
Them who bear fcholars' names, left fome one take
Spleen, and another Ignoramus make.

Upon the Shortness of Man's Life.

1.

MARK that fwift arrow, how it cuts the air, How it outruns thy following eye!

On the Queen's repairing Somerset-Houfe. WHEN God (the caufe to me and men unknown) Forfook the royal houfes and his own, And both abandon'd to the common foe, How near to ruin did my glories go! Nothing remain'd t' adorn this princely place, Which cov'tous hands could take, or rude deface. In all my rooms and galleries I found The richest figures torn, and all around Difmember'd statues of great heroes lay; Such Nafeby's field feem'd on the fatal day. And me, when nought for robbery was left, They ftarv'd to death; the gafping walls were The pillars funk, the roofs above me wept, [cleft, No fign of fpring, or joy, my garden kept; Nothing was feen which could content the eye, Till dead the impious tyrant here did lie.

See how my face is chang'd, and what I am, Since my true Mistress, and now foundrefs, came! It does not fill her bounty to restore Me as I was (nor was fmall) before: She imitates the kindness to her fhewn; She does, like Heav'n, (which the dejected throne At once reflores, fixes, and higher rears) Strengthen, enlarge, exalt, what the repairs. And now I dare, (tho' proud 1 muft not be, Whilft my great Mistress I fo humble fee In all her various glories) now I dare Ev'n with the proudeft palaces compare: My beauty and convenience will, I'm fure, So just a boaft with modefty endure; And all must to me yield, when i fhall tell How I am plac'd, and who does in me dwell. Before my gate a street's broad channel goes, Which still with waves of crowding people flows, And ev'ry day there paffes by my fide, Up to its western reach, the London tide,

The fpringtides of the term: my front looks down
On all the pride and bus'nefs of the Town:
My other front, (for as in kings we fee
The livelieft image of the Deity,

We in their houses fhould Heav'n's likeness find,
Where nothing can be faid to be behind)
My other fair and more majestic face,
(Who can the fair to more advantage place?)
For ever gazes on itself below,

In the beft mirror that the world can fhew.

And here behold, in a long bending row,
How two joint cities make one glorious bow;
The midft, the nobleft place, poffefs'd by me,
Beft to be feen by all, and all o'erfee.
Which way foe'er I turn my joyful eye,

Here the great Court, there the rich Town, I spy;
On either fide dwells Safety and Delight,
Wealth on the left, and Pow'r upon the right.
T' affure yet my defence, on either hand,
Like mighty forts, in equal distance stand
Two of the beft and ftatelieft piles which e'er
Man's lib'ral piety of old did rear,
Where the two princes of th' apostle's band,
My neighbours and my guards, watch and com-
mand.

My warlike guard of fhips, which farther lic,
Might be my object too, were not the eye
Stoop'd by the houses of that wondrous street,
Which rides o'er the broad river like a fleet.
The ftream's eternal fiege they fix'd abide,
And the fwoln ftream's auxiliary tide,
Though both their ruin with joint pow'r confpire,
Both to outbrave, they nothing dread but fire.
And here my Thames, though it more gentle be
Than any flood fo ftrengthen'd by the fea,
Finding by art his nat'ral forces broke,
And bearing, captive-like, the arched yoke,
Does roar, and foam, and rage, at the difgrace,
But recompofes ftraight, and calms his face,
Is into reverence and fubmiffion ftrook,
As foon as from afar he docs but look
Tow'rds the White Palace, where that Ling does
reign,

Who lays his laws and bridges o'er the main.

Amidst thefe louder honours of my feat,
And two vaft cities, troublefomely great,
In a large various plain, the country, too,
Opens her gentler bleffings to my view;
In me the active and the quiet mind,
By different ways, equal content may find.
If any prouder virtuofo's fenfe

At that part of my profpect take offence,
By which the meaner cabins are defcry'd
Of my imperial river's humbler fide;
If they call that a blemish, let them know
God, and my godlike Mitrefs, think not fo;
For the diftrefs'd and the affied lie
Moft in their care, and always in their eye.
And thou, fair River! who ftill pay'ft to me
Juft homage in thy paffage to the fea,
Take here this one inftruction as thou goeft:
When thy mix'd waves fhall vifit ev'ry coaft,
When round the world their voyage they fhall

make,

And back to thee fome fecret channels take,

On the praife of Poetry.

'Tis not a pyramid of marble stone, Though high as our ambition;

"Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can
Give life to th' afhes of a man,

But verfes only; they fhall fresh appear,
Whilft there are men to read or hear,
When time shall make the lafting brass decay,
And eat the pyramid away,

Turning that monument wherein men truft
Their names, to what it keeps, poor duft;
Then fhall the epitaph remain, and be
New graven in eternity.

Poets by death are conquer'd, but the wit
Of poets triumph over it.

What cannot verfe? When Thracian Orpheus

took

His lyre, and gently on it ftrook,

The learned ftones came dancing all along, And kept time to the charming fong.

WHAT fhall I do to be for ever known,
And make the age to come my own?
I fhall like beafts or common people die,
Unless you write my elegy;

Whilft others great by being born are grown,
Their mother's labour, not their own.

In this fcale gold, in th' other fame does lie;
The weight of that mounts this fo high.
These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright,
Brought forth with their own fire and light.
If I, her vulgar ftone, for either look,

Out of myself it must be ftrook.

Yet I muft on: What found is 't ftrikes mine ear?

Sure I Fame's trumpet hear:

It founds like the laft trumpet, for it can

Raife up the bury'd man.

Unpafs'd Alps ftop me, but I'll cut through all,

And march, the Mufe's Hannibal,

Hence, all the flatt'ring vanities that lay

Nets of rofes in the way;

Hence, the defire of honours or estate,

And all that is not above Fate;

Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days,

Which intercepts my coming praise.

Come, my best Friends! my books! and lead me 'Tis time that I were gone.

Welcome, great Stagirite! and teach me now
All I was born to know:

[on,

Thy fcholar's vict'ries thou doft far out-do;
He conquer'd the earth, the whole world you.
Welcome learn'd Cicero! whose bless'd tongue
and wit

Preferves Rome's greatnefs yet:
Thou art the first of orators; only he

Who beft can praise thee next must be.
Welcome the Mantuan fwan! Virgil the wife,
Whofe verfe walks highest, but not flics;

Piij