Poems on several occasions by the right honourable the E. of R-

Satyr.

Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris aut carcere dignum Sivis esse aliquis—indem sat.

Suppos'd to be spoken by a Court Hector.

Pindarique,

Now curses on ye all, ye vertuous Fools. Who think to fetter free born Souls, And tye 'em up to dull Morality, and Rules, The Stagyrite, be damn'd, and all the Crew, Of learned Idiots, who his steps persue; And those more silly Proselites, whom his fond Pre∣cepts drew! Oh had his Ethicks, been with their wild Author drown'd Or a like fate, with those lost Writings found, Which that grand Plagiary, doom'd to Fire, And made by unjust Flames expire, They ne're had then seduc'd Mortality, Ne're lasted to debauch the World, with their lewd Pedantry. But damn'd and more (if Hell can do`t) be that Thrice cursed name, Who e`re the rudiments of Law design`d; Who e`re did the First Model of Religion, frame,

And by that double Vassalage enthrall'd Mankind; By nought before, but their own pow'r, or will confin'd: Now quite abridg'd of all their Primitive liberty. And Slaves, to each capricious Monarchs, Tyranny. More happy Bruits! who the great Rule of sense observe, And nere from their First Charter swerve. Happy whose lives are meerly to enjoy, And feel no stings of Sin, which may their Bliss an∣noy; Still unconcern'd, at Epithets of ill, or good, Distinctions unadult'rate Nature, never under∣stood.

2

Hence! hated Vertue, from our goodly Isle! No more our joys beguile! No more, with thy loath'd presence plague our happy State; Thou Enemy to all, that's brisk, or gay, or brave, or great! Begon! with all thy pious meager Train, To some unfruitful, unfrequented Land, And there an Empire gain, And there extend thy rigor command: There where illib'ral Natures nigradice, Has set a Tax on Vice! Where the lean barren Region, does enhance, The worth of dear intemperance! And for each pleasurable Sin, exacts Excise! We (thanks to Heav'n) more cheaply can offend,

And want to tempting Luxuries. No good convenient Sinning opportunities, Which Natures bounty cou'd bestow, or Heav'ns kindness lend! Go follow that nice Goddess, to the Skies! Who heretofore disgusted at encreasing Vice, Dislik'd the World, and thought it to prophane, And timely hence retir'd, and kindly ne're returnd, again, Hence! to those Airy Mansions rove, Converse with Saints, and holy Folks above! Those may thy presence woe, Whose lazy ease, offords 'em nothing else to do. Where haughty scornful I, And my great Friends, will ne're vouch safe thee Company. Thou art now a hard unpracticable good, Too difficult for Flesh, and Blood, Where all Soul like them, perhaps I'd learn to practice thee.

3

Vertue! thou solemn grave impertinence, Abhorr'd by all the Men of Wit, and Sence! Thou dam'd Fatigue! that clogg'st lifes Journey here, Tho thou no weight of Wealth, or profit bear! Thou puling, fond Green-sicknes of the Minds, That maks up prove to our own selves unkind; Whereby we Coales, and Dirt, for Diet, choose, And pleasures better Food refuse.

Curst Jilt! that leadst deluded Mortals on, Till they too late perceive themselves undone, Chows'd by a Dowry, in Reversion! The greatest Votary, thou e're coud'st boast, Pitty so brave a Soul, was in thy service lost, What wonders he in wickedness had done! Whom thy weak pow'r, cou'd so inspire alone! Though long with fond Amors he courted thee, Yet dying did recant his vain Idolatry; At length (tho late) he did repent with shame: Forc'd to confess thee nothing but an empty name. So was that Letcher, gull'd, whose haugty love, Design'd a Rape, on the Queen Regent of the Gods above. When he a Goddess, thought he had in chase, He found a gawdy Vapor in the place, And with thin Aire, beguild his starv'd embrace; Idly he spent his Vigor! spent his blood, And ty d himself, t'oblige an unperforming Cloud.

4

If Humane kind to thee e're Worship paid, Then were by ignorance misled; That only them devout, and thee a Goddess made: Known hap'ly in the Worlds rude, untaught, In∣fancy, Before it had out-grown its Childish innocence; Before it had arriv'd at sense, Or reach'd the Manhood, and discretion of De∣bauchery: Known in those Antient Godly duller times, When crafty Pagans, had engros'd all Crimes:

When Christian Fools, were obstinately good, Nor yet their Gospel freedom understood. Tame easie Fops, who cou'd so prodigally bleed, To be thought Saints, and dye a Kalender with red No prudent Heathea, e're seduc'd cou'd be, To suffer Martyrdom for thee, Only that Arrant Asse, whom the false Oracle cal'ld wise: (No wonder if the Devil utter'd Lyes) That sniv'ling Puritan, who spight of all the Mode. Wou'd be unfashionably good; And exercis'd his whining gifts, to rail at Vice, Him all the Wits, of Athens damn'd. And justly with Lampoones, defam'd. But when the mad Fanatick, cou'd not filenc'd be, From broaching dangerous Divinity, The wise Republick, made him for prevension dye, And kindly sent him to the Gods, and better Com∣pany.

5

Let fumbling Age, be grave, and wise, And Virtues poor contemn'd Idea prize, Who never knew, now are past the sweets of Vice; Whilst we whose Active Pulses beat, With lusty youth and vig'rous heat, Can all their Birds, and Moralls too despise? Whilst my plump Veines, are fill'd with lust and Blood, Let not one thought of her intrude, Or dare approach my Breast; But know 'tis all possest,

By a more welcome Guest; And know, I have not yet the leisure to be good. If ever unkind Desteny, Shall force long life on me; If e're I must the curse of Dotage bear, Perhaps I'll dedicate those Dregs of time, to her, And come with Crutches, her most humble Votary. When Sprightly Vice, retreats from hence, And quits the ruines of decayed sense, She'll serve to Usher in a fair pretence, And varnish with her Name, a well dissembled Im∣potence! When Ptisick, Rheums, Catarrhs, and Palsies, seize, And all the Bill of Maladies, Which Hav'n to punish over-living Mortals sends; Then let her enter, with th' num'rous infirmitis, Her self the greatest plague, which wrinckles, and gray Hairs, attends.

6

Tell me ye Venerable Sots who court her most, What small advantage can she boast, Which her great Rival, has not in a greater store engross'd? Her quiet, calm, and peace of Mind, In Wine, and Company, we better find, Find it with pleasure, to combind! In mighty Wine, where we our Senses steep: And lull our cares, and Consciences asleep! But why do I, that wild Chimera name? Conscience! that giddy Airy Dream;

Which does from Brain-sick-heads, or ill digesting Stomachs, steam. Conscience! the vain fantastick fear, Of punishments, we know not when, or where: Project of crafty States-men, to support weak Law, Whereby they slavish Spirits awe, And dastard Souls, to forc'd obedience draw. Grand Wheadle! which our Gownd-Impostors use, The poor unthinking Rabble, to abuse: Scare-Crew, to fright from the forbidden fruit of Vice, Their own beloved Paradice! Let those vile Canters, wickedness decry, Whose Mercenary Tongues take pay For what they say; And yet commend in practice, what their words deny. While we discerning Heads, who farther pry, Their Holy Cheats desie, And scorn their frauds, and scorn their sanctify'd Cajollery. None but dull unbred Fools, discredit Vice, VVho act their wickedness, with an ill grace; Such their profession scandalize, And justly forfeir all their praise, All that esteem, that credit, and applause. VVhich we by our wise Manage, from a Sin can raise. A true, and brave transgressor ought, To Sin with the same height of Spirit, Caesar fought. Mean-soul'd, Offenders, now no Honor gain, Only Debauchees of the Noble strain;

Vice, well improv'd, yeelds Bliss, and Fame beside, And some for Sinning have been Deify'd! Thus the lewd Gods, of old, did move, By these brave Methods, to the Seats above! Ev'n Jove himself, the Sov'raign Deity, Father, and King, of all th'immortal Progeny, Ascended to that high degree, By Crimes above the reach of weak Mortality: He Heav'n, one large Seraglio, made, Each Goddess, turn'd a glorious Punk, 'oth Trade, And all that sacred place, Was fill'd with Bastard Gods, of his own Race! Almighty Letch'ry got his first repute, And everlasting Whoring, was his chiefest Attri∣bute.

8

How gallant was that Wretch, whose happy guilt, A fame upon the ruines of a Temple built? Let Fools, (saith he) impiety alledge, And urge the no great fault of Sacriledge? I'll set the sacred Pile, on flame, And in its Ashes, write my lasting name! My Name! which thus shall be, Deathless, as its own Deity! Thus the vain glorious Carian, I'll out do, And Egypts, proudest Monarchs too! Those lavish Prodigals, who idely did consume, Their lives, and Treasures to erect a Tomb, And only great, by being buried wou'd become.

At cheaper rates than they, I'll buy renown, And my lowd Fame, shall all their silent glories drown! So spake the daring Hector, so did Prophecy, And so it prov'd—in vain did envious Fate, By fruitless Methods try: To raise his well built Same, and Memory Amongst Posterity: The Beautifeu, can now immortal write, While the inglorious Founder, is forgotten quite.

9

Yet greater was that mighty Emperor, (A greater Crime, befitted his high pow'r) Who sacrific'd a City, to a jeast, And shew'd he knew the grand Intrigues of humor best! He made all Rome, a Bonfire to his Fame! And sung, and plaid, and danc'd amidst the Flame! Bravely begun! yet pitty there he staid, One step to glory more he shou'd have made! He shou'd have heav'd the noble Frollick higher! And made the People, on that Fun'ral Pile expire! Or providently with their Blood put out the Fire! Had this been done, The utmost pitch of glory he had won! No greater Monument cou'd be, To consecrate him to Eternity! Nor shou'd there need another Herald, of his praise but me!

10

And thou yet greater Faux, the glory of our Isle Whom baffled Hell, esteems its chiefest Foyle; (Twere injury, shou'd I omit thy name) Whose Action, merits all the breath of Fame! Methinks I see the trembling Shades below, Around in humble rev'rence how, Doubtful they seem, whether to pay their Loyalty, To their dread Monarch, or to them! No wonder he grown jealous, of thy fear'd success, Envy'd Mankind. the honor of thy wickedness, And spoyl'd that brave attempt, which must have made his grandeur less. How e're regret not mighty Ghost. Thy Plot by treach'rous Fortune crost. Nor think thy well deserved glory lost! Thou the full praise of Villany, shalt ever share, And all will judge thy Act compleat enough, when thou coudst dare. So thy great Master, fear'd; whose high disdain. Contemn'd that Heav'n, where he cou'd not reign. When he with bold ambition strove, T'usurp the Throne above, And led against the Deity, an Armed Train. Though from his vast designs he fell, O're pow'rd by's Almighty Foe, Yet gain'd he Vict'ry in his overthrow; He gaind sufficient Triumph, that he durst rebel, And 'twas some pleasure, to be thought the great'st in Hell!

11

Tell me ye great Triumvirate, what shall I do, To be Illustrious as you? Let your example move me with a gen'rous Fire! Let'em into my daring thoughts inspire! Some what compleatly wicked, some vast Gyant Crime, Unthought, unknown, unpattern'd, by all past and present time! 'Tis done, 'tis done, me thinks I feel the pow'r∣ful Charmes! And a new heat of Sin, my Spirits warms! I travel with a glorious Mischief, for whose Birth My Souls too narrow, and weak Fate too feeble, yet to bring it forth! Let the unpitty'd Vulgar, tamely go, And stock for company, the wide Plantations below Such their Vile Souls, for viler Barter sell, Scarce worth the damning, or their room in Hell We are its Grandees, and expect as high perfer∣ment there, For our good service, as on Earth we share. In them, sin is but a meer privative of good, The frailty aud defect, of Flesh, and Blood; In us 'tis a perfection, who profess A study'd, and Elaborate wickedness: Wee're the great Royal Society of Vice. Whose Talents, are to make discoveries, And advance Sin, like other Arts and Sciences. 'Tis I, the bold Columbus, only I,

Who must new Worlds, in Vice descry, And fix the Pillars, of unpassable Iniquity.

12.

How sneaking was the first Debauch that sinn'd, Who for so small a sin, sold Human kind! How undeserving that high place, To be thought Parent, of our sin, and Race; Who by low guilt, our Nature doubly did debase. Unworthy was he to be thought, Father, of the great first-born Cain, which he begot. The Noble Cain! whose bold, and gallant Act, Proclaim'd him of more high Extract! Unworthy me, And all the braver part of his Posterity; Had the just Fates design'd me in his stead, I'd done some great, and unexampled Deed! A Deed! which shou'd decry, The Stoicks dull Equality, And shew that Sin admits transcendency! A Deed! wherein the Tempter shou'd not share, Above what Heav'n, cou'd punish, and above what he cou'd dare! For greater Crimes than his, I wou'd have fell, And acted some what, which might merit more than Hell.