Innocui Sales. A collection of new epigrams Vol. I. With a præfatory essay on epigrammatic poetry.

EPIGRAMS.

1. EPIGRAM. To a Friend that ask'd me, Why translating so many EPIGRAMS, I made none.

AMong th' inspired Quire I never sung, Metre, the love of Martial, from me wrung; And imitation has so cramp'd my strain, To seek t' infranchiz't now, were labour vain. I may complain, but cannot mend my state, When I wou'd write, I find I still translate. Harsh is my Style, rough Verse I only know, Nought that is num'rous from my Pen will flow, Which these succeeding Epigrams will show.

2. EPIGRAM. To the same.

WEll, what I write, to print I may be slack, Were I so vain to think, I nought did lack To make a Poet, this wou'd me restrain, A Work and Author new ne'r Praise did gain: He must be One, long to the Town that's known, And much in Vogue, before his Wit they'll own. Candor and Judgment high in them excel, Who, of a Novel Piece dare say, Tis Well.

3. EPIGRAM. To all English Men.

THe pious Jews in times of War did fast, Even when no Foe did lay their Country waste; If, as they spoke, The Sword of Peaee past by Their Coast, their Neighbours were at Enmity;

On such account great Sorrow they express'd, And not endanger'd, held themselves distress'd. What are the Duties then, this Land commands From us? What self-affliction from our hands? Which Turk and Treason, Hell and France with∣stands.

4. EPIGRAM.—His Disciples came by night, and stole him away, while we slept.

ORancorous and unbelieving Jew! Whose deprav'd Heart what words have pow'r to shew? Faithless; yet more false, more perverse, than blind; Blaspheming boldest, when Truth brightest shin'd; Who Miracles forbore not to traduce, To treat Heavens highest Favours with abuse; Who God's own Law, to disannul, essay'd, And holy Truths only more wicked made;

Whose Fathers did their impious Hands embrew I' th' Prophets Blood, you Prince Messiah slew; Convinc'd, his Resurrection durst deny, And bribe the Soldiers to abet the Lye.

The drowsie Guard did not your Trust betray, But while your selves in sinful slumber lay, The faithful Gentiles stole your Christ away.

5. EPIGRAM. On King William.

WHile thine own Sword, brave Prince, main∣tains thy Right, Lewis does only by his Captains fight; He all his Conquests unto them does owe, Himself ne'er saw the Face of any Foe. What's needful for the Field, 's thy Royal Care, Plain are thy Garments, plainer yet thy Fare. Lewis, with all the Luxury of his Court, Marches not forth to fight, but for desport;

With Strumpets takes his Post, from danger far, The Gen'ral? No: The Baggage of the War.

6. EPIGRAM. On King William.

HAd Lewis Heart with Valour been endu'd, His Forces might have many Lands subdu'd: But God, who wisely all things does accord, Put in his Hand a Whip, in thine a Sword. By Bribes, Assassins, he does act his Part, By impious Leagues and such-like treach'rous Art, Scourges the World; makes Millions to deplore. But Thou seem'st born, th' Nations to restore.

7. EPIGRAM. The Virgin Martyr'd.

THe Holy Virgin 'fore the Judgment stood, Bright in her Beauty, brighter in her Blood. When scourg'd and rack'd, branded and scorch'd with fire, With Pincers torn, & ready to expire, Her heav'nly Graces all did yet admire.

Cruel, she said, as born of Rock and Stone, Such Pains can you inflict, resenting none? Think you, because Faith does our Courage steel, Our Flesh, like Iron too, does nothing feel? You urge our Tortures to that high degree, Your Executioners even suff'rers be. But w' are Christians! Ah, knew you what you say! It would your Rage, tho' greater, yet allay. Christians are those, do the True God adore, Mercy for them, that shew them none, implore;

Love all that's Good, hatred they do not know; Friends to Mankind, to Vice alone are Foe; Caesar they worship not, but for him pray, Obey him even, when Death is in their way. Those who do think, Incense is also due, The fab'lous Giants War 'gainst Heaven make true.

Her strength here fail'd. Angels, says she, do call, To joyn them gladly here on Earth I fall. A Gen'ral Groan thro' all the Court did sound, And Converts 'mong the faithless Throng were found, Many with hands stretch't out, aloud did cry I am a Christian too, and I, and I.

8. EPIGRAM. On Jesuits.

O Jesuits! Subtil i' th' Arts and Schools, Knaves in the World, and in Religion Fools; Christ's profest Servants, and the Slaves of Popes, But both defie, when they oppose your Hopes;

Missioners y' are to the Earths utmost ends, Feign'd Lovers of the Faith, Riches true Friends; Who more preferr a Pow'r in Courts to hold, Than even in Heaven to have your Names enrol'd; Who further have prevail'd, Truth to expel The Church of God, than even the Gates of Hell.

9. EPIGRAM. On Julius.

WHen Men to Honour rais'd, I oft did hear, (As then first being) they created were, It sounded strange: But since I Julius knew Ingenious, innocent, obliging, true, And saw that Honour render'd him uncivil, Vicious, false, proud, all that is counted evil, The Man's new made, I cry'd, he's now a Devil.

10. EPIGRAM. On Procula, old and amorous.

FOul Winter cease to think thy Age a Spring, Which nought but Cold and Dirt does with it bring: If it be possible thou canst any please, The same may also dote on a Disease. Thou saist, th'ast Charms; So Witches have theirs too, But such as Toads and Devils only woo.

11. EPIGRAM. On Cotta.

BUsiness th'ast none at Court, nor Place dost hold, Yet none there's seen so busie & so bold; At Entertainments of the King and Queen, Where all forbidden are, thou yet art seen; Others hold Speech with one, at most with two, But with th' intire Assembly thou h'st to do;

Swiftly thou mak'st thy way thro all the Press, Like some important new-arriv'd Express, And whisper'st one, another dost embrace, Kisses't a third, all in a Moment's space. Secrets of all Cabals thou canst relate, As if thou wert o' th' Cabinet of State; The King does favour thee, the Great Ones call Thee Intimate and Friend: But that's not all, Such Places shall be thine, when first they fall.

After full thirty Years thus spent, and more, We see thee still impertinent and poor, Single-sol'd Cotta, as thou wert before.

12. EPIGRAM. On Naevia.

NAevia ill-bred, ill-fashon'd, and ill-fac'd, Not more by Plutus, than by Venus grac'd. Her Mother not more wise, than she was fair, Having a Friend in Court, wou'd place her there;

And thus be-spoke him. 'T has been often seen, Great Fortunes they have reach'd, that serve the Queen. Naevia, suppose, were Maid of Honour made? The Courtier, but no flatt'rer, to her said, Yes; if 'twou'd do her Business, to make Sport, For the Deform'd and Poor are Jests at Court.

13. EPIGRAM. On Demetrius.

DEmetrius fam'd for ev'ry Martial Feat, And in the Wars of Venus no less Great, Engag'd in am'rous Conflicts sev'ral Days, The Mirtle Wreath to win, as well as Bays, The Stratagem of Sickness did devise, His absence from his Father to disguise; Who when to see him came upon the place, Phryne shot forth with more than Star-like Grace.

How is't Demetrius? said his Father then, Your Health's, I hope, return'd to you again. Dem.] The Fever's gone, held me some time before. The King reply'd, I met It at the Door.

14. EPIGRAM. On Phryne, accus'd before the Athenian Senate.

NOne hated Phryne, Phryne ever saw, However wrong'd, endanger'd her by Law; Strangers they were, such Crimes of hers did urge, No Pow'r of Rhet'ric cou'd the Guilty purge. Her non-plust Patron yet had this reserve, When's Art did fail, his Client to preserve. Tropes he renounc'd, and Arguments did wave, And made the Fair One her fair self to save.

My Lords, he cry'd, 'tis fit that you shou'd know Whom you condemn, e'er you to Judgment go.

And from her charming Face the Veil then drew▪ From whence such flashing Beams of Beauty flew, Such fulgor, sweetness, from her radiant Eyes, As all with Love and Wonder did surprise! The Charge she scatter'd, like a metling Cloud, That vainly seeks the mid-day's Sun to shroud. Judges and Plaintiffs unto her did bow, Her Plea admit, and Innocence allow. In Words they did not, but in Heart decree, A Crime, in such Perfection, cou'd not be.

That she escap'd, or was absolv'd, to say Wou'd wrong her Fame, ador'd she went away.

15. EPIGRAM. To Plancus.

THou often Plancus proudly dost complain, While thou the Company wou'dst entertain With something of Delight, or else of Weight, Some Piece of Learning, Wit, or Point of State,

Demas turns all Discourse to what he wears, Or eats, how with the Stone and Gout he fares, His Issue runs, to Stool how oft he goes. What wou'dst thou have? He speaks of all he knows.

16. EPIGRAM. On Lesbia.

BEcause fair Cloris exc'llent Verses writ, And 'bove her Beauty fam'd was for her Wit; As if to make a Poet nought did need, But to resolve to be one, and to speed, Thou tookst a Pen, and setst thy self to write; That is, unspotted Paper didst besh— For to express thy sensless sottish Stuff, Nought can be said, that's barbarous enough. Wer't thou bewitch'd? I sought, thou saist, for Fame. And of the greatest Fool th'ast got the Name.

17. EPIGRAM. On Milton and Marvel.

MIlton and Marvel joyn'd, 'gainst [P.] did thunder But poor Jack Marvel was alone no wonder.

18. EPIGRAM. On Maevius.

REfined Language, and in Mode's thy pride, That all thy Verse in flowing Numbers glide, Thy Wit abounds: But then thou dost not see, That these ought all subservient to be, T' improve and grace a well-conceiv'd Design, Twas this that made the Ancients Works Divine. Wit, for it self, these Sages did deride, Reason they made their Pole-Star, & their Guide; What nought promoted, idle was, or vain, What Nature did distort, or over-strain, They held the Issue of a doting Brain.

'Gainst Laws of Prudence they did ne'r rebel, To make their Fancies, by such means, excel. Their Heroes still were Men, however brave; Perform'd great things, and yet they did not rave

A huffing Phantom, strain'd to th' highest Note Sensless and ranting, nought but Mouth & Throa•• Thou fondly fram'st, who does a while amaze, But Boys do laugh at, while they on him gaze. In Shakespear read the Reason mixt with Rage, When Brutus with fierce Cassius does engage In loud Expostulations in the Tent, The heights of Passion, Turns, and the Descent Observe, and what th' art likely to despise, Is that in which th' Excellence chiefly lies.

Th' Ancients, when a Beauty they'd express, The Graces summon'd the Fair-Piece to dress. A Figure, Indian-like, thou dost expose, With Jewels dangling at her Lips and Nose,

Her Cheeks bor'd-thro' for Pearl & Rings of Gold, Spoiling what Nature did Divine unfold. But if she Gorg'ous be, with Riches flaunt, No Comeliness in her, thou think'st does want.

All Wit misplac'd, the Subject does disgrace, Like Gold that's carv'd into a lovely Face. The Poets Art, not all that read, discry It like a Soul couch'd in each Limb does lie, Seen by its Pow'r, not subject to the Eye. A cry'd-up Wit unto old Hobbs did say, Virgil nor Homer did deserve the Bay, And gave this Reason. 'Cause he could not meet One Epigram, in turning twenty Sheet. Before you judge, said he, go, Sot, to School, Turn them all oe'r, not once they'll play the Fool. Think'st thou such Droll their matchless Works wou'd crown, Which joyns in One the Heroe and the Clown?

19. EPIGRAM. On the Rich and Covetous.

O Wretch! whose Wealth o'er-flows, and yet is scant; Who, all thou hast not, & thou hast dost want; Whose thirst of Gold no Mines of Gold can swage, The more it gets, the more it still does rage. Would'st thou be rich? Content, than Wealth, is more; Not who has little, but who wants, is poor; The Cynic nothing had, nor ought did need; Yet him in Riches he did far exceed, Who unto endless Conquests did aspire, And having one, more Worlds did yet desire.

20. EPIGRAM. On the habitually Vicious.

WHere Vice is lov'd, & in time Nature made, To tax it, seems even Nature to upbraid,

And not the Man: Whom if you guilty show, He thinks you do not find, but make him so; Malice, not Truth, against him does conspire, That Innocent he is, the Charge a Lyer. Did Martial then a thousand Years ago, Bely thy Follies, and thy Person know? Yet he with Spleen this Day against thee writ, Perhaps not half so home thy Follies hit. But a strong Fort more easie 'tis to storm, Than Vice, that's deeply rooted to reform.

21. EPIGRAM. On Sin and Sorrow.

SIn first the World with Sorrow did annoy, But bred a Child, the Parent does destroy.

22. EPIGRAM. To a Friend, to whom he sent the foregoing Epi∣grams for a New-Year's-Gift.

I Have no Turky from the Coop to send, Nor Fatling of the Flock, my dearest Friend; Nor heap of Coin expect, when I do say, I for a Present here before you lay, All that this Christmas I have got by Play.

23. EPIGRAM. On Paula.

PAula, when ever she sits down to eat, A fav'rite Lap-Dog on each Hand does seat; The Children are at greater distance plac'd, And than the Brutes, in all respect, less grac'd, Which with choice Bits she faileth not to treat, While th' others have the coursest of the Meat. Children so Hopeful, Charming, and so Fair, No Wealth, no Jewels, can with such compare!

But these as Burdens she beholds and Clogs. Were these her Issue, or the little Dogs?

24. EPIGRAM. On Lelia.

IF Wrinckles, rotten Teeth, and purchast Hair, If Paint and Patches make a Woman fair, I know not one with Lelia may compare. If Youth it speaks, where Folly does abound, In all the World not One's more youthful found.

25. EPIGRAM. On the gay Ladies of the Time.

WHen this fair Crew had canvast ev'ry Dress, What most becoming was, & what was less: The next Discourse was, Who did most excel In Brav'ry, 'mong the Gallants bear the Bell. One said, My young Lord D's from Travel come, In him you may all Grace and Vertue summ!

It was repli'd, I pitty thy dim Sight. What's he to Hart or Moon? The rest said, Right.

26. EPIGRAM. To my Book.

VVOu'dst skill, what th'ast good or bad? T' J. D. go. All Men judge: But he, how to judge, does know.

27. EPIGRAM. On our Philosophical Atheists.

GReat Lords of Sense, who can no way digest, What in the Sacred Volume is exprest, That an Eternal God the World did frame; From Divine Pow'r and Wisdom all things came; To you 'tis clearer, all from Matter rose, The Dregs o' th' World did the whole World com∣pose, Plants, Angels, Animals, Sun, Moon, & Stars, Nay, what we God do call, to th' knocks and jars

Of Atoms, and their blund'ring Motions owe Their Forms and Beings, these did all bestow. Th' accurate System of the Heaven and Earth. Howe're stupendious, from hence took its Birth, Opificer had here no hand, but Chance, All was produc'd by a blind rambling Dance. (O blessed Trinity! when such things I hear, How easie does thy Mystery appear?)

But all wise Men Creation do disclaim, For out of Nothing, Nothing ever came. Be't so; as far as Nature's Pow'r does reach. Tho' this ore-throws, what they before did teach: For Life, from what it self was dead, they bring; Make wise-Contrivance, from no Thought to spring. But nothing, as absur'd, these Men decry, But what abets and proves a Deity. Omniscience, as Nonsense, they despise, Omnipotent Pow'r, infinitely Wise,

Prescience, gen'ral Providence o'er all, Flatt'ries of God, by brainless Heads, they call. Such Attributes no Mortal can conceive, But were invented Idiots to deceive.

O wond'rous Reasoning! O convincing Plea! A narrow Bucket can't contain the Sea: Therefore there's none. Brutes may as well deny, What does transcend their dull Capacity. Retire into your selves, go there to School, At home you'll find, and not abroad the Fool: That either Singularity and Pride Makes you, what others do revere, deride: Or else the Reason is, no God you own, Your impious Lives require there shou'd be none.

28. EPIGRAM. On a weak Poet.

THat many give thy Verse a high Applause, Thy Treats, and not their Ex'lence, is the cause

Those who eat freely at thy sumptuous Board, The Praise thou lik'st, not what is due, afford. This known, thou say'st, the matter to amend, Th' are good for thee, no great things does pretend. But who, to publish ought, takes up his Pen, Must that produce, that's Good to other Men.

29. EPIGRAM. On Quintus.

WHen thou luxuriously dost drink and eat, And know'st the Gout thou swallow'st with thy Meat, Yet in thy Pains thou never dost express Any dislike to thy belov'd excess: But lest thou sacred Gluttony should'st wrong, Blam'st a cold Night, or say'st, I stood too long.

30▪ EPIGRAM. On the same.

THou termest Hunger, the most sharp Disease, Did not its Remedy as highly please:

Hungry, thou say'st, Provide me what is Good, Search me the Air, the Forest, and the Flood. This Flux and Surfeits often does procure, Thou fear'st them not, thou ha'st for them a Cure' Thy Rosa-Solis, if but for these, were lost, Gelly, and all the Closet's precious cost; Many Good-things Distempers bring in play. Thus eating breeds, and drives thy Griefs away. That Fasting's good, 'twere Treason here to say.

31. EPIGRAM. To Sylvius.

THat I for Hawking do so little care, For hnnting of the Fox, the Stag, or Hare, Thou wondr'st. But to speak the truth to thee, Hunting, a mad Man's journey, seems to me.

32. EPIGRAM. On Cloe.

TH'art mean in Feature, always rich in Clothes, Which do not mend, but thy Defects expose, Thou say'st, when th'art most brave, I laugh or scoul, A Jest, or ominous, all Men count an Owl.

33. EPIGRAM. On Posthumus.

I Early waited, and some Suters more, The op'ning first of the King's Chamber-dore, From whence came forth a Goodly Sir to see, Bulky, and seeming of no low Degree. He turn'd him round, as he a survey took, But rather seem'd to over-look, than look. Him to inform me, I did humbly pray, If such a Lord in the King's Chamber lay.

He gloted on me, but made no reply, And of a Cam'rade ask'd, wh othere stood by, Shall we to Breakfast have the thing you know? And strait into the Chamber back did go.

I blam'd my self, that I the Rule had broke Of Distance, to so great a Personage spoke. When, to my wonder, he return'd again, Took up a Broom, without the least disdain, Dog's Turds and Bones into a Shovel swep't, But still his former State and Grandure kept.

34. EPIGRAM.

GAlla wears rich Clothes, bears her self with Pride, Strange Arts! yet us'd, great Poverty to hide. But while she wou'd a Lover thus betray, With too much cost and noise her Lime-twigs lay, She does not catch, but frights away the Prey.

35. EPIGRAM. On Balbus.

BAlbus, who boldly in his Life had taught, The Soul no real substance was, nor ought But the Result of Matter organiz'd, Dissolv'd with it; their Theorem despis'd, (As Nonsense in more specious Terms disguis'd) Who it a Being did Immortal make, Found after Death, too late, his sad mistake; When real Fiends his living Soul did hale To Hell, and all his Sophistry did fail; When he beheld the Ghost without the Glass, He first confess'd, h'ad reason'd like an Ass. Surly yet still, and froward 'mong the dead, To's once deny'd Tormentors thus he say'd.

Forbare accursed and ungrateful Crew, Who, like to me, both of your Prince and you

Has so deserv'd? Who e'er did so refel What Men believ'd of God, of Heaven, and Hell? And while I ridicul'd a Sinners Fate, I vastly have enlarg'd th' Infernal State. 'Tis true, some Ancients did before me write, But weakly 'twas, and in an Age of Night, Not when Truth triumph'd in Meridian height. The Fiends did here with feign'd Obeysance bow, And all he spoke with Rev'rent Meen allow, Told him, to their Dread Lord's Emperial Throne Their Orders were to bring him; where alone Grandees o' th' Realm allowed were the Grace, To share his Honours, and to see his Face; And doubted not, their King to him would doom A Crown of Flames, even 'bove some Popes of Rome.

36. EPIGRAM.

—Crepereius Pollio, qui triplicem Usuram praestare paratus Circuit, & fatuos non invenit—

TWo hundr'd Pound I to a Shop-man owe, Paying of one, the other he'll forgoe, Lay down the Summ, and you the Gain shall have, My present Ease is all that I do crave. Thus Pollio said. To him I did reply, I never had for Gold a greedy Eye. To Merchants go, who for advantage thirst, I hate to trade, and equally to trust.

37. EPIGRAM. On Sextus.

THou sayst, thou hast of Vice the deepest sense, But this a Blind is only, and Pretence; Thou 'dst have it thought, when Partridge thou dost eat, Thou purchas't them as cheap as common Meat;

When thou art drunk, what of the Case to think Thou dost not know, thou didst but so much drink. Thus Vice thou hat'st, but with it dost dispence, And thy whole Life's Apology, and Offence. Knaves sell false Wares, Mountebanks use deceit, But none like Thee, Himself did ever cheat.

38. EPIGRAM. On a decay'd Beau.

DEcrepid I am grown, and more my Purse, I seek not now a Mistress, but a Nurse. Sollicitous I was rare Stuffs to choose, And richest Points, I'm now to mend my Shoes.

39. EPIGRAM. To Festus.

TO thee an Epigram a Satyr seems, That is, an allow'd Libel thou it deems,

Follies, thou sayst, they ever set in view, Which in particular Persons are found true.

He that shall feign a Vice was never known, Indeed, by doing so, will injure none; But then this Error he does not descry, As he no Libel writes, he writes a Lye. That which in Nature never yet appears, And merits to be crown'd with Asses Ears. He sees not too, while his ore-cautious Mind Is none to gall, he slanders all Mankind. While he who in true Colours does expose Vice, but to Contempt no Man's Name disclose, (In that all Vice in many does agree) Tho' some are stung, all from Disgrace are free. The Crime, 'tis true, is set in broadest Light, But still the Man's unknown, and out of sight. And who shall say, such Verses him express? While no way, charg'd, he dOes his Guilt confess.

40. EPIGRAM. To the same▪

I Not deny an Epigram to be A Satyr; but a Satyr unto thee And Libel are the same; to tax a Crime, And Vertue to defame in lewdest Rime All one; a Vice to scourge and to disgrace, And Honours noblest Monuments to deface, As Satyr Vice exposes unto scorn, So it no less all Vertue does adorn: And as best Ages Libellers defame, Among their Priests their Satyrists they name.

41. EPIGRAM. To Sextus.

TO eat what's wholsom is my chiefest Care, What pleases most the Pallate, is thy fare.

Alas, I beg thy Pardon for my Treat, Which did thy self, thy Gout, and Stone defeat.

42. EPIGRAM. To Rufus.

T' Excuse thy silence, thou do'st oft delight. Tho' nought to say. The Fault were then to write

43. EPIGRAM. On Miss Nell.

PRetty Miss Nell, her Mother being dead, Her Father brought to London to be bred. A Friend, 'mong other Sights, shew'd her the Park, Where she beheld each choice and ruffling Spark Of either Sex, and gilded Coaches full, Of Fops, and Beaus, and many a Gold-lac'd Trull.

The gaudy Pageantry she did much admire, And their loose Courtship set her Heart on fire To bear a Part, tho' hopeless her desire. Returning home, her state she 'gan compare With what sh'ad seen, and ready to despair, An unknown Hand Relief to her did bring.

'I saw you, Sweet, say'd one, in Hide-Park-Ring, 'In a vile Hackny, with a Bag of Hay, 'And Figures at its Tale: If me y' obey, 'There's not a Gaz'd-at Piece in all the Town, 'Shall equal you in Glory and Renown. She had no strength 'gainst such a Powerful Spell, But closed streight, and bid no one farewell.

Er'e many Days did pass, the Country Girl Was richly Coach't, set by a bare-head Earl. Her flaunting Gallantry you might see a-far, Whore now her self, a Wonder, and a Star.

44. EPIGRAM. On Amarillis.

LOose Amarillis, conscious of her Vice, Brands all her Sex, even the most chaste & nice. If you say, Fulvia bears a modest Brow, No modesty in her she will allow; That Marcellina's of unblemish'd Fame, She knows with whom she lost her vertuous Name; That Dian's self, than Silvia's not more pure, We err, she says, then most, when most secure;

If you shou'd reckon-up a hundr'd more, 'Twixt Woman she no diff'rence makes, and Whore. In Vertue 'cause with none she's equal found, With Guilt all Womens Honour she'd confound, To make them stand with her on level Ground,

45. EPIGRAM. On Miss Nell.

HOw is't, Miss Nelly? you seem wond'rous sad. The wonder is, say'd she, I am not mad. I am undone, and by a paultry Jade, My Lord has cast me off, and ta'ne my Maid. Think not your Case o're-strange, your Shoulders shrug, Beauty enjoy'd, is after but a drug.

46. EPIGRAM. Miss Nell reveng'd.

MIss Nell, altho' forlorn and discontent, Home to return, her Heart would not con∣sent: But after some debate, and inward strife, What Course to take, 'fore all an Actors Life Most took. In her gay Days some Plays sh'ad seen, And the Thought pleas'd, but even to act a Queen.

Her Youth was fresh, her Fault did not impare Her Beauty, lovely she was still and fair; Nor readier this way she her self t' engage, Than they concern'd t' admit her on the Stage. Where while she stood a Mute, boldness to acquire, Th' Aud'ence, 'bove all that spoke, did her admire. And when set-off w' th' Magick of a Part, All Eyes she daz'll'd, ravish'd every Heart. The House, new Plays and Scenes, sometime might spare. 'Twas Call enough, if Nell appear'd there: Nor fear'd she now again to b' out of date, Her a new Creature each Day did create, A Nymph, a Goddess, Heroine, or Queen, All which she suited with a charming Mein. And none was found this Idol to adore, Like her false Lord, that slighted her before. He woos, he offers Land, for Love now dies, And her Turn 'twas, th' Inconstant to despise.

47. EPIGRAM. On Zoilus.

WHen thou nor Wealth, nor Beauty can'st pretend, Thy self by Birth or Bravery commend, Which are the things take with the fairer Sex, Them, with thy hourly Courtship, why do'st vex? The young and old thy very sight detest, Thy Rivals thee affront, and make their Jest. A Lover's high Ambition's to be priz'd; Is thine alone to be of all despis'd?

48. EPIGRAM. On Bassus.

WHo the Philosopher does so much affect, Comport so truly with in Words and sage Aspect, As Bassus does? so sharply who declames 'Gainst Vice, the trifling'st Over-sights so blames?

And then the frailer Sex are most his Care, In Vertues Paths to guide the Young and Fair. These he instructs, chides, of't in fervent Zeal Upon their Necks a Spiritual Kiss will seal. But this is far from any Wanton Feat, But done in Transport of a Holy Heat, When his Reproofs and Counsels are most warm, And far surmount the Pow'r of Beauties Charm. If any start, or a dislike do show, What he has done, he least himself does know, Amaz'dly ask's, with an astonish'd Mein, Not discompos'd, while they to Blush are seen. Then what he seems, nor should I judge him other, As Nell he kiss'd, if he had kist her Mother.

49. EPIGRAM. On Rodia.

IF ought to Rodia you do give in Charge, And leave the thing to her to do at large,

No thought about it she at all will take: But act like one, that is but half awake. Knowing of this, if you to her shall say, I'd have it done precisely such a way: Then she begins to think, each Stone to turn, An other way to do't, and yours to shun. If this displeases, she her Case bewails, Thinks you to blame, and that she never fails. There's no so awkward and vexatious Tool, As an unthinking or a thinking Fool.

50. EPIGRAM. The Grove.

RAck'd with sharp Pains, and quite cast-down with Grief, Into a Grove I walk'd, to seek relief. In a close shade a wanton Couple lay, I fled the sight, as they did fly the Day,

And turn'd my steps into a pleasant Glade, Where the fresh Spring in gorg'ous Robes arrai'd, The Air, the Flow'rs, and charming Sylvan Choir, To make a Paradise did all conspire. Among the Bows a wond'rous Bird did sing, Brief Joys eternity of Woe do bring; Which answer'd was by one of the like kind, Suff'rings, tho' short, eternal Bliss do find. E're my distracted Thoughts collect I cou'd, A third Voice said, proceeding from the Wood, Both Songs are true, if rightful understood.

Musing on what these Voices did relate, I found they Humane Joys and Griefs did state, Declar'd their present Lot, and future Fate. And tho' my Pains still urg'd me as before, Home I return'd, and them more eas'ly bore, And than the Wantons Bliss esteem'd them more.

51. EPIGRAM. To the Vertuous▪

'TIs said of Caesar, That he set at nought, The most Heroick Actions he had wrought, And still at Greater aim'd, at the same rate Men Others do, Himself did emulate.

In Vertues Race the like Ambition shew, Think nothing's done, while more thou ha'st to do. Those that stand still, this detriment have found, They ever lose, when they advance no Ground, Caesar ne'r stop'd, till he attain'd a Crown, And thou, on this side Heaven, wilt sit inglorius down.

52. EPIGRAM. On C. O. being very Ingenious, and dying young.

UNder this Leaf of Marble I do lie, Early I liv'd, as early I did die;

As soon as I cou'd read, I sought to know, Not Childish Tales, but how the World did go; How with the King the Houses did comply, What Interest France unto the Port did tie,

The School was my Delight, the dread of Boys, But Sickness twice did snatch me from those Joys, My Spirit broke, and kep't me ever low, Where I shou'd soar, 'twas well if I cou'd go. A pow'rful Preacher I did more admire, In Gifts, as Place, than's Hearers mounted higher Than all the Stages Gauds, and glitt'ring Attire.

In my ninth Year I felt the Flame of Love, All what that Passion had Divine, did prove; In an Abyss of Beauty I was lost, A brighter Form or Soul none e're did boast, And none cou'd say, which spoke the Angel most. Much I experienc'd in my Life's short span, Some threescore Years show not so much of Man,

My Days were few, yet I out-liv'd my Date, Great Care and Love did so contest with Fate.

53. EPIGRAM. On Mrs. S. H.

WHo Amber chafes, does nought but Odor find, Because the Mass is all of one rich kind: So who bright (H.) shall prove, will nought but Grace And Vertue find, what suits a Cherubs Face. And as the Angels, when on Message sent, Did Heaven bear with them, wheresoe'er they went: So such an Air of Ex'llence she does show, A Court seems with her, nay a Heaven to go. And when her Beauties neer her any draw, Whom they attract, they also keep in awe; And all they act or speak is mix't with fear Wrapt, e'er aware, in so Divine a Sphere.

54. EPIGRAM.

GReat Lights o' th' Church, Glory o' th' latter Age, Who Popish Falshood, and Schismatick Rage, So strongly stemm, Hooker, Hammond, Ʋsher, Morton, Andrews, Chillingworth, and Taylor, Jackson, Patrick, Stillingfleet, Cudworth, More. You few I name out of the mighty store, Not aiming a just Cat'logue to recite, But a short curtail Epigram to write: And that your Names in Rythm I not reherse, Too Grave they are to gingle in a Verse. Nor hope I vainly here t' argument your Fame, But raise mine own, while you I barely name.

55. EPIGRAM. To the Muses.

NOt unto you, nor yet unto my Brain, I owe these Shreds of Verse, but unto Pain:

Nor have I cause to grieve, if none they please, Since Laudanum and Rythm of't gave me Ease.

56. EPIGRAM. To Admiral Killigrew.

THe Standard bear aloft, and boldly show, Th' Ocean's Glory, Terror of the Foe; With outward Pride and Dread to all appear, And where thou ought'st, be a true Cause of Fear, But kind and civil unto all draw-near. Firmly thy just Authority maintain, But Insolent Command as much disdain. When thou assault'st, let th' Adversary find, Storm, Thunder, Lightning, in thy Ship combin'd. Should an unequal Force chance to distress, There let thy Courage rise, but not grow less; Buoy-up what's weak, bravely make good the spot, Valour has often turn'd in Fight the Lot.

Thy God's, thy King's, thy Country's Interest bear In mind, with them let thine own Honour share, And what with these can poise, or yet compare? Alone then fear, when not, wou'd Rashness show, When Danger's high, th' Advantage mean & low. Malice and Envy with Scorn only treat, Like little Billows 'gainst thy Ship that beat.

Shall I now say, I'ave taught thee here thy Part? No: I have spoke, but what in truth Thou art.

57. EPIGRAM. To the Poets of the Time.

NO Age 'fore this so many Poets bred, Nor Wit was known to have so large a Spred; Time's past't, who writ, rarely did miss of Fame, Good Verse now's read, & not th' Author's Name; What Works were then admir'd, & brightly shon, Are now new writ, eclips't, and far out-done;

The Classics we not only English't see, But whom themselves Virgil's and Ovid's be; Nor Pindar's, nor Lucilius's are scant, Plautus and Sophocles yet less we want, The Stage was never in so high a Flaunt.

But what's defective, and with-all more strange, In this so large and bold Poetick Range, Not one attempts the Epigrammic strain, Has try'd his Force in Martials sprightly Vein. Malice nor Slander dares this thing avow, None do his Wit conceive, or it allow. How comes it then, that he neglected stands, Or what's all one, left to Unskilful Hands? Is't Johnson does in Epigram excel? Be it so: Yet where he has writ as well, With Good Success some bravely have essay'd, And Noble Voyages have also made.

It Satyr were, if I the Cause shou'd say, 'Tis not in Mode, France has not led the Way. Let France teach Fops to Dance, & Girls to Dress, Preside ore Shoe-tyes, not controul our Press.

58. EPIGRAM. To the same.

I Here invite, if that won't do, I dare, The keenest Wits with Martial to compare. If with my self, you do suspect, I mean, I'll bear-up like Aspasia in the Scene, However weak, provoke, affront, defie, M' Aim being not to fight, but nobly die; Write therefore, nay abuse, I have my End, Whose Pen wounds deepest is my dearest Friend.

59. EPIGRAM. To Linus.

WHy ragest thou, when counsell'd for thy good? Have I traduc'd thee, or mis-understood?

Expos'd to shame, or what's more hardly bore▪ Not sought thy Cure, but thee insulted ore? If none of these, why without care of Right, Do'st thou recriminate, to show thy Spight? Make me in thine, and yet worse Follies share? Triumph when done, as all with thee were fair? Can'st thou believe, thy Spleen did'st justly vent, An other's Guilt can make thee Innocent?

60. EPIGRAM. To the same.

COnfute and Error in an honest Mind, Honour and Love you in return will find. But where Truth's hated, Error rooted-in, They hate those bring a Light upon their Sin.

61. EPIGRAM. On Goodness.

GOodness o' th' Good does work, rarely on the Evil, An Angel first in Heaven became a Devil.

62. EPIGRAM. The General Lover.

I All do love are Excellent and Fair, My Mistresses, not knowing it, such are; The Witty, Shapely, Gallant, Brown and Bright, Their various Graces variously delight; When they are best set-forth for Publick view, And most ambitiously their Glories shew, 'Tis me they court, tho' nought they less design, Nor use I any Means to make them mine. If any scorn, and to shew Pride affect, I pay them, unconcern'd, the same Respect. Where Beauty reigns, I there no Fault do find, Th' are all alike to me Kind or Unkind.

But thou who unto One thy Heart do'st tie, Even those excel, disgust thy partial Eye; And if this One be moody or disdain, Thy Peace is lost, and wretched Thou art slain.

But then thou say'st, while All I thus approve, Not One does me reciprocally love, Which thou esteem'st the Quintessence of Joy, But I a fond and despicable Toy. Beauty, at distance, Divine Rays does shed, But none e'er met a Goddess in his Bed; Tho' Eyes, we Stars do call, when they are bright, A vulgar Error 'tis, they shine by Night.

63. EPIGRAM. On Sextus.

WHat ever Sea or Land do rare afford, In Season's serv'd at thy volupt'ous Board; Thy Cook with no less Art does these prepare, And for thy self is all this costly Fare: Yet thou a Glutton's Name in ill-part tak'st, And tell'st what sober Meals thou often mak'st. Were't thou not sick? or else dislik't thy Meat? And think'st th'art temperate, when thou can'st not eat.

64. EPIGRAM. To Sillius.

SIllius, of late, it was my chance to meet, Who with surprizing Kindness did me greet, He hugg'd me, kiss't me, even for Joy did weep. My best of Friends, say'd he, you'll also steep Your Eyes in Tears, when I shall let you know, What I in Persia late did undergo. Oh, the vast Deserts! Oh, the dang'rous Sand! The Hardships I sustain'd by Sea and Land!— In short, his Carr'age had such tender Charms, As forc'd me sympathize in all his Harms.

But when within my Mind I did revolve Our kind Encounter, it pos'd me to resolve, When our huge Amity at first began, All I cou'd say, was, I had seen the Man; And wonder'd much at such his Magick Pow'r, Cou'd perfect Friendship less than in an Hour.

While thus the Novelty did me confound, He did the Mystery himself expound. Thou needs, says he, must lend me Twenty∣pound.

65. EPIGRAM. On Zoilus.

ZOilus, how do you? I did only say. My Lust, he answer'd, does not yet decay, Vastly I eat; and, laughing, did disclose, After a Feast, what late befel his Hose— Hold, I then cry'd, I see your Hand is inn— Plain Truth, I ne'r before, did think a Sin.

66. EPIGRAM. On Bibulus.

BIbulus, mean of Birth, but high in Place, Scarce to the Nobl'st will vouchsafe the Grace To re-salute, or answer, when they speak, But from their Court regardlesly does break:

While with Caresses some make humble suit, All Complement, but unto all he's mute. Uneasie shews, even at a kind Address, As Courtecy it self did him oppress.

As I did muse, who was the happy He, Cou'd to's fastidious Humour grateful be, Into the Room there came an uncouth Wight, Known by Instinct, I think, e'er come in sight: For Bibulus, e'er you cou'd say, What's this? Found him, embrac'd him, met him with a kiss; Hands they did shake, and for a pretty space, One's rube Nose joyn'd t'other's purple Face.

They smil'd, that cou'd the Myst'ry unfold. The Man, it seems, drunk stiff, and good Wine sold. Lovers and Courtiers Rivals do not brook, But Drunkards kindly on their Rivals look.

67. EPIGRAM. To the Generous.

THe Jew all Interest was forbid to take, Advantage, from his Brothers Want, to make. Their wise Men, from this Law, did thus decree, Thy Brother Jew shall not Obsequious be, For any Loan pay servile Usury, Crouch, or demean himself more abject low, Pay a Respect, before he did not owe.

68. EPIGRAM. On a Lady's Musick-Book richly bound.

WHoever takes me in his Hand, These things I give him in Command. That he not, idly, let me fall, Nor hold me yet for good and all; That he defile me with no Smutch, My Gilding was not lay'd for such;

That he transcrib's, by stealth, no Air, My Leaves, for any uses, tear; That he fills not my void-Spaces▪ With the Draughts of filthy Faces; No, nor insert his Mistress Name, Or yet his own. Go seek thee Fame On Greenwich Leads, or top of Pauls, Where such-like Worthies make their Scroles, There leaving carv'd their Names and Feet, Monuments for their Glories meet. Art and Cost made me thus fair, To treasure, like my self, things rare; To serve a Mistress of Great Name, Of so Divine a Voice and Frame, That neither can the Ears or Eyes Say in which most the Angel lies. If then what's artless, vile, or rude, A brutish Hand shall here obtrude,

Know, where Excellence high appears, There hideous show the Asses Ears.

69. EPIGRAM. On Rufus.

THou often boast'st, how free thou art from blame, If none do praise thee, none can also shame. Boast thy good Luck, that th'art not understood, There must be Evil, where is found no Good.

70. EPIGRAM. On the same.

NO Drunkard, nor Adulterer thou art, With Cheat▪ or Robber ever act'st a part. The Riddle's dark, in truth, I can't deny: Faith, now expound, where-in thy Vices lie.

71. EPIGRAM. On Frances.

FRances advanc'd to Chamber-Maids degree, Vouchsaf'd sometimes her Country Friends to see: And more to shew her Courtly Air and Art, As she wore Silks, she acted too the Part Of a fine Lady. On a sultry day, As soon as come, her Neck she did display, Much better hid, gave one her Scarf to hold, Her Fan and Gloves to those that were so bold (Which all were not) to touch such precious things. She stript-up high her Arms, brandish't her Rings, Toss't her Locks, flounc't t' express a gallant Mein, Tho' to say truth, not over-sweet nor clean. Talk't loud and fulsom, wry'd her Mouth & Face, What ere she thought wou'd add the greater Grace.

To taste of their course Fare, they her did pray. Which squemishly, good Breeding to betray,

She did accept: But like a Wolf did eat, (Lac'd Shoes at home abounded more than Meat.) When she was gone, and all began t' admire Her stately Way, Genteelness, and Attire, A Girl there said, Mother, what e'er you think, I, for my part, smelt Mistress Frances stink.

72. EPIGRAM. On Scipio Africanus.

ANtiochus chose rather to defie The Roman Pow'r, than with it to comply: His Forces broke, and utterly defeat, In this submissive manner he did treat. Not what before the War you did demand, We yield, but all you shall beside command.

The Noble Scipio thus did answer make, Rome no Advantage does from Fortune take, As she does scorn to stoop to adverse Fate, By Prosp'rous she is never more elate.

Our Actions Justice, not Success, does guide, We ask the same, which you before deny'd.

73. EPIGRAM. On Claudia.

FAir Claudia wants no sweet and pow'rful Charms, Her Eyes wound deep, and cure the pleasing harms; None can her Graces with such truth impart, As I that feell them in my captiv'd Heart. Yet when Divine Emilia does appear, Claudia, so many aws, her self does fear; Sighs and sheds Tears to see her Empire wain, A greater Ex'lence o'er her lesser Reign.

While thus I spoke, the smart and angry twang Of Cupid's Bow-string i' the Air loudly rang. Traitor, said he, and can'st thou then approve, An others Grace 'bove hers that thou dost love?

74. EPIGRAM. On a feign'd Friend.

WHen ought thou need'st, thou do'st it so de∣mand, Not as one sues, but one that does command In Friendship's Name. Thou say'st, a Friend is known, When in Distresses he his Friend will own. This is a Truth, which all will thee allow: But then at other times, I know not how, So strange thou art, thou scarce do'st know my Face, Or with a bare Good-morrow wilt me grace; Ore-see'st me oft, industriously do'st shun, Is't Friendship only then, to serve thy turn?

75. EPIGRAM. On Dionysius.

DIonysius, ambitious was to be, Tyrant no less o'er Wit, than Sicily:

As he his Countries Laws had broke before, The Muses he as barb'rously ore-bore. A Poem to Phyloxenes did show, Commanding there-upon his Thoughts to know, Who true to's Judgment, to his Safety rash, Defac'd the whole Performance with one dash. For which the Tyrant did in rage confine His Judge to dig in Fetters in the Mine. But disciplin'd, did him again restore, And shew'd him other Verses, as before, Reading them now, the better to display, Wherein their Grace and Elegancy lay. Phyloxenes, e'er half the Book was done, On's own accord, beckon'd the Guards to come, And back convey him to the Mine again, To dig, than hear, holding it lesser Pain.

76. EPIGRAM. On Dr. Rugely, robb'd and wounded.

GReat Nat'ralist, good Christian, and Divine, Tho' rarely seen, in thee they all combine. So knowing, yet so tender in thy Art, That Patient and Physician both thou art; And tho' Oracular th' Advices are, Yet for the Sick thou of't vouchsaf'st to fear. As robb'd and wounded, had'st thou too been slain, How many Hundreds had receiv'd their Bain? Thy Goodness weigh'd, and Good that thou do'st do, Death had been Sacriledge and Murder too. Fit Veng'ance for this Crime no Tongue can tell, As it was hatch'd, it must be purg'd in Hell.

77. EPIGRAM. On the young Man in the Gospel.

THe rich young Man, who in the Gospel thought No Terms were hard, which unto Heaven Men brought, When our Lord say'd, If thou wilt perfect be, Sell all thou ha'st, and come and follow me. He thought even Heaven cou'd not his loss repay: And tho' he briskly came, dejected went away.

78. EPIGRAM. On Dionysius.

PHyloxenes no Cruelties cou'd tame, Or scorn the Tyrant Dionysius shame: But Verses on him he wou'd still obtrude, How'ere before his Censure had been rude. The Tyrant oft, reciting, drop'd a Tear, Phyloxenes, affected to appear, Said, Me too, what you read, it pity'd much to hear.

79. EPIGRAM. On Madam Pen.

WHy, Madam Pen, in such a fume and pet? Th' Affront, said she, wou'd make even Pati∣ence fret. 'Tis bad enough to call one Trapes and Jade, Insufferable, old and ancient Maid.

80. EPIGRAM. On Rome.

WE grudge not Rome thy Secular Renown, Usurped Primacy, or Triple-Crown; Right of Communion we do only claim, While with the ancient Church our Faith's the same, While her three Creeds and Councils we embrace, In all things strictly do her Foot-steps trace; The Scripture Canon, which thou call'd'st thine own Four hundred Years, is that we also own,

Enrag'd, thou say'st, What is all this to thee? Where is thy claim'd Infallibility, Thy Purgatory, Power to dispence, With whatsoe'er the Scripture makes Offence? Thy Image-Worship, Worship of the Cross, Of Saints and Angels, be it with the loss Of a Commandment? Let Tramontans rebel, Thy Pow'r does yet extend to Heaven and Hell. Think we, 'cause Christians, to avoid the Doom Of Hereticks, while Enemies to Rome? Thy Artifices we have all disclos'd, Thy Cheats and Novelties to' th' World expos'd, Open'd all Nations Eyes, and made them see, How weakly thy Pretences founded be. But what's our Gain? b' th' Pains we have employ'd, W' have that confirm'd, we hop'd to have destroi'd. What by a Criple-Faith thou had'st before, Thou hold'st by Int'rest now, a Nobler Score:

All Kings and States are at this Day thy Friends, Not as, Times past, deceiv'd, but for their Ends. Peter, his Keys, consigned in a Mist, And lost they h'd been, and perhaps never miss't, Had'st thou not found & seiz'd them: for a while, An ignorant World these served to beguile: But now thou do'st not on such shifts rely, No Pow'r's so Great, thou dare'st not to defie. W' are sawcy therefore thus to claim Communion, To hold with Thee a Parity and Union. Do we for Pardon sue, and for Protecttion? What we Communion call, shou'd be Subjection.

81. EPIGRAM. To Lelia.

THou wou'dst my Love I shou'd to thee engage, Because we both do suit so well in Age: But my own Wrinkles me offend and fright, Expect'st thou then I shou'd in thine delight?

The Motive us'd, ought rather us to sever, Or else to bed us in a Grave together.

82. EPIGRAM. To my new Lord—

BEcause thou saw'st I pay'd thee a Respect, Thou therefore did'st return me thy Neglect: As if thy Honour were not thee allow'd, Unless to those thou meet'st, thou might'st be Proud. Civil to be, I ever held my part, Not that I valu'd thee, or what thou art. When next I meet thee, I'll no Cap afford. Sensless a 'Squire; but down-right Brute, a Lord.

83. EPIGRAM. On a Lyer.

WHen 'tis a Lye, thou tell'st it with that Art, Thou winn'st belief from ev'ry Ear & Heart: But Truth so lamely always do'st report, Because it needs no Wit for its support,

That none receive the things that they do hear, But with a wrong and a mistaken Cheer. Held in the dark by that which thou do'st tell Rejoyce in Evil, mourn when all is well, Thou bane of Converse, and thou greatest Curse, Who stiflest Good, and of't mak'st Evils worse.

84. EPIGRAM. By way of Dialogue between the Author and his Friend.

Fr.]

WHat makes thee, Probus, in thy latter days, As youthful still, covet a Wreath of Bays?

Prob.]

Some hours, in serious reading, I can spend, But long my Faculties I cannot bend, As in times past: Tir'd, I Refreshment find, In the Amusements of a roving Mind. All Pleasures of the World from me are fled, And (I rejoyce) some Years before me dead.

Friends say they come Respect and Love to pay, But glad they are, when they can get away: And 'twere a shame, at this my Age to show, Content to any, but my self, I owe. Epigrams afford a great Variety, And ne'er are tir'd, or tiring Company: The Wise, the Foolish, Jocular, and Sad, The Noble, Serious, I see here, and Mad. And like a Farce, if some appear but mean, Others display again a Glorious Scene. My Life I not with thine, but theirs, compare, Who droop their Days out in a sleeping▪ Chair.

85. EPIGRAM. On Demas.

ARt thou so mope't, past fourscore Years, to wed? A Woman to betray (as may be said) Unto a Grave, not to a Nuptial-Bed?

Thou call'st thy walking Skelliton, a Life; And avow'd Baud'ry, by the Name of Wife.

86. EPIGRAM. On Laura.

MOst lovely Maid! of so Divine a Frame, We see in thee, all we can Ex'llent name; The sweetness of a Spring thy Youth does summ, And promis'd Blessings of the Year to come. Yet thou wert slighted lately on the score, A Bunch-Back brought upon't two thousand more. With whom thy cautious Gallant did engage: But shortly after, purchas't from the Stage A Prostitute, set all, for her, at nought, And thought his Rotten-Ware was cheaply bought. Thus, when to seek a Wife, such Muck-Worms go, You'd swear they went to Market, not to woo;

They do so huckster, bargain, and demur, Vertue and Beauty are not any Spur, To make their Earthy sordid Minds lay-hold On that, which gain'd, wou'd all they have turn Gold.

87. EPIGRAM. On Theonina.

IN Censure spiteful, Defamation bold, Young but in Years, and yet in Mischief old; Lyes are thy Pastime, Slander is thy Food, To hatch some Evil thou do'st always brood; Thou fear'st no Sin, where thou do'st fear no Law, Punishment may, but Conscience ne'er did awe. Since in what's Bad thou glory'st to excel, There is a King: Be thou the Queen of Hell.

88. EPIGRAM. To Decius.

WHen thy rash Tongue 'gainst Vertue does transgress, Thus thou do'st speak, to make thy Folly less. I never am strait-lac'd, Probus, 'fore thee, No Pedant, Noble, one of our Degree.

What e'er thou mak'st me to thy self-appear, Noble I am, when Vertue I revere.

89. EPIGRAM. On a debauch'd Wit.

'T H'ast read some Poets, that the Grape adore, Idolize Wit, loose Life, a rampant Who— Despise all Vertue, as below their Care, And high, on these accounts, their Heads they bear. These thou admir'st; their Lessons do'st transcribe, And glori'st to be listed of their Tribe.

Drink'st, rant'st, blasphem'st, & often do'st complain When thou do'st want thy Vices to maintain, None do true Worth regard: and full of Wine, Think'st thou art Great in Parts, something Di∣vine. Had'st thou thy due, thou shou'd be rank'd with Swine,

90. EPIGRAM. On an Old Dotard.

I'M fourscore Years & more: yet I wou'd wed, Tho' past the Duties of the Marr'age-Bed. And sham'st thou not, such Thoughts to entertain, Which thy Religion, Honour, Age, do stain? Ha'st thou no Moral Strength, if not Divine, That thus below a Man thou do'st decline? Let no false Principle thy Heart abuse, Marr'age it self will not thy Lust excuse. It was ordain'd this raging Sin to tame, Not to foment and keep alive its Flame.

91. EPIGRAM. On a drunken Quack.

BƲtler, Great Butler, thou do'st often say, I make my Rule, his Method, and his Way! He, a Good-Fellow was, and lov'd good Wine, Nor to Morosness will I e'er incline. Thus Idle-hours, that is, thy Life, thou spend'st, The Day in Drink begin'st, and in Drink end'st. Soak'st it like Butler, not like him do'st read, A Bottle mak'st all Books to supersede. A Great Drunkard thou may'st arrive to be, But a Great Doctor we shall never see.

92. EPIGRAM. The Invitation of a Friend.

COme dine with me to day, and you'll revive, Those drooping Spirits, are but just alive.

All sweet and pure you ev'ry where shall find, The Senses pleas'd, do recreate the Mind; Your Sight and Smell luxuriously I'll treat, E'er I do set before you ought to eat. Nor shall your Welcome yet be wholly airy, As if I feasted not a Man, but Fairy. Ven'son I have, young Partidges, and Hare, Some Home-Provisions, that may prove as rare; Wine from the Soil immediately that's brought Of various Kinds, all Presents, and not bought. Choice Fruits and Herbs I not vouchsafe to name, Aiming to day to reach Lucullus Fame.

We'll eat alone, unless a Third appear, That will not check our Mirth, but mend our Chear: Prudence in whom does so out-vie what's fair, You'll think all Vertue present, when she's there.

She'll not importune with her Speech or stay, Tho' all be Ex'llent that you hear her say, And sad you'll be, when she does go away.

The Board remov'd, the sober Fumes of Wine Our Thoughts shall wing to something that's Di∣vine, We'll that discourse, which Vertue may improve, Even at our Years, our Knowledge, & our Love; Confer what eithers Muse▪ did late inspire, Thou mine shalt judge, while I do thine admire.

93. EPIGRAM. To the Jealous Reader.

EV'ry new Epigram that thou dost see, Without all Cause thou fear'st decyphers thee. But the Satyrick-Mirror shews the Case, Or Vice, never reflects Mens outward Face.

94. EPIGRAM. On Criticus.

MArius, thou say'st, in Knowledge not abounds, His Books are few, and weak in Arts his Grounds; Thou, in all Learning and all Tongues, art skill'd, Thy Shelves with num'rous & best Authors fill'd. Yet whatsoe'er Marius does undertake, The most Judicious high Account of't make, And thy profound pretending Works despise, As Dulness clothed in a Learn'd Disguise.

I thus in other Trades have seen such Fools, Who Bunglers are, yet proud of Ex'llent Tools.

95. EPIGRAM. On the Wicked in the highest degree.

VIcious, conceited, insolent, and proud, Void of all Worth, yet positive and loud;

Ill Master, Father, Husband, Neighbour, Friend, Whom sense of Right or Wrong cou'd never bend; Who God unseen not only do'st despise, But fatten'st i' th' Oppressed's Tears and Cries; And smiling ask'st, What's, after all, the Evil? None: 'cause 'tis hop'd, thou't fright from Earth the Devil.

96. EPIGRAM. On the like.

POor in thy Youth, sharking, and profligate, Unjust & proud, when rais'd to high Estate; Which thou conceiv'st thy Parts did bring thee to, But want of Wit did plainly thee undo. And when thou lay'st under the sadest Cross, The Vice of all three Fortunes did'st engross.

97. EPIGRAM. On a Lady Painter.

WIth excellent Mast'ry thou draw'st the Face▪ Each Feature do'st express, and nat'ral Grace. Were th' Inward-Man as well by me design'd▪ I shou'd be stil'd, the Titian of the Mind.

98. EPIGRAM. On the Enamour'd of a false Beauty.

A Well-bred Virgin, Vert'ous, Noble, Wise, Most Beautiful withall, thou dost despise. But Players, Dancers, Singers do'st admire, These thou confessest, set thy Heart on fire. Did'st never hear, how by a Magick-Spell, Dead-Bodies have been rais'd, and made to tell Some things above themselves, and then have sunk Again into a Gastly loathsom Trunk?

Such, if thy blindness wou'd allow thee prove, Thou'dst find th' admired Object of thy Love; The Persons self, strip't of adult'rous Art, Scarce wou'd make good the Carcass of her Part; With-draw the Poets Words, the Stage Attire, And thou wilt loath, what thou do'st now admire. She, like the Scenes, appears a glorious Sky, A Sun, what not? false Lights deceive thine Eye, Both, Paint and Trash, are found, examin'd nigh.

99. EPIGRAM. On a Coward.

LIke thee, in safety, none's so fierce and bold, Danger approaching, none so faint and cold; The Brave, in Perril, do consult which way They may orecome; thou, which to run-away; They only ask, what is their Duty here; Thou, what's suggested by thy treach'rous Fear;

They face to face confront a daring Foe, Thy Malice, hid and sculking, thou do'st show; When they subdue, their Anger they asswage, But here thy Fury first begins to rage, The Rancour Fear did in thy Heart suppress, Without all Mercy now thou do'st express. In Private Converse th' art to all a slave, And certainly, in Publick Trust, a Knave.

100. EPIGRAM. What is Sweetest.

VVHat is so sweet, nought with it can com∣pare? By Love perfum'd, a vertuous Maid and fair.

101. EPIGRAM. On a conceited Person.

PErsuaded of thy Worth, thou long'st to see, What some do sear, an Epigram on thee.

But little Bad or Good of thee I know, And none delighted are with what's so so. This vulgar Proverb by thy self discuss, Souce a Sows Ear, 'twill ne'ér make Velvet Purse. Those Subjects I pass-by, have no eselat, In Vice and Vertue common are and flat.

102. EPIGRAM. On my Censorious Reader.

THou saist, I'm full of malice and of Spight, Ill-nature's seen, in all that I do write: Thy Censure does not wound, but me delight. 'Gainst Vice I have, 'gainst Men I never wrote, Nor will for any Wrong or Price be brought, Be thou Good-natur'd then, to what is naught.

103. EPIGRAM. On the same.

MOre close and home thou yet do'st me accuse, Say'st, in an Epigram, thy Words I use; Nay, a known Vice of thine display. Be 't so, Must I remember unto whom I owe All I have heard or seen? Or must Men know A Person by a Speech or Act? 'Tis true, By'th Lions Claw, a skilful Artist knew His bulk: But who shall only draw thy Toe, Thy Manners or thy Face will never show.

104. EPIGRAM. On the same.

DIspleased at the Freedom of my Pen, Which thou conceiv'st defects so many Men,

Thou ask'st, If I my self from Vice am free? I wish I were: But what is this to thee? Why, thou woud'st have me my own Follies show. Alas, who is so happy them to know? But while thou think'st my self I do conceal, All that I write, my secret Thoughts reveal; What I do love, despise, admire, or hate, When least designing, I do truly state. One Epigram may on some One reflect, But they all joyn my Nature to detect.

105. EPIGRAM. On a mistaken Epigrammatist.

THou stil'st, what's nothing like, an Epigram, And may'st as well, a Chicken term a Ram; Or draw an Ape, and then upon't endorse, The Animal you see, I call a Horse.

On this, thou do'st retort to me in spite, My Verse are harsh: Nor do I Sonnets write. My Bark oft buffets with a rugged Stream, And I must suit my stile unto my Theam. Painters, with flowing Oil, their Figures draw. But Carvers use the Chisel and the Saw.

106. EPIGRAM. On an ungrateful Visitant.

I'M often troubl'd when I see thee here, Too soon or late thou always do'st appear: But the Myst'ry of this, in brief to summ, Thou can'st not possibly in Season come.

107. EPIGRAM. On the same.

MAny Excuses thou do'st often frame, For thy slack Visits, & thy self do'st blame, You'd mend all Faults, if that you never came.

108. EPIGRAM. More Cupid's than one are blind.

TH' imposing Gang of those the World counts Wise, Only to Venus Son allow no Eyes, While each their Cupid has, that's more a Child, And far more dark and witless may be stil'd: The Envious, Covetous, and Ambitious, Gluttonous, and who other ways are Vicious. For shall we say, Who Beauty loves is blind? Who dotes on Sin, has a discerning Mind?

109. EPIGRAM. On Sempronia.

THy tender Years had a strong bent to go An Evil way, e'er thou didst Evil know. Th' Examples ever pleas'd thee of the worst, What noble Virgins trembl'd at, thou durst. Thy Beauty thou didst early understand, And gav'st the Reigns, to that thou shoud'st com∣mand. Thy Clothes excessive were, loose thy Address, All a close wanton Mind might loud express. Thus thy first Days in Luxury were spent. In Amorous Stealths all of thy Age out-went.

Thy Flow'r of Youth and Beauty when decay'd, With these all sense of Shame did also fade, And leud Affections thee did only sway, The Laws of Lust bare-fac'dly to obey,

Thy House thou mad'st a profest School of Vice, The Rendezvous of Riot, Whoredom Dice. Which those of either Sex that did not shun, Were in their Vertue, Fame, and State undone. Arm'd Cat'line made the Roman Hearts to quake, But thy Debauch did Rome's Foundations shake.

110. EPIGRAM. On an old Amorous Cockscomb.

TH'st thrown-away thy Night-Cap, bought a Wig, Thy stumbling Gate converted to a Gig; Ty'd a broad flaunting Ribond in thy Hat, One, that out-stares thy self, at thy Cravat. And now do'st hope, that the most searching Eyes, Cannot discern thy Age thro' this disguise; But joyn'd with Wealth, thou'lt make a pow'rful Court Unto the Fair. Thou'lt make at least good sport.

111. EPIGRAM. On the same.

I Heard thy Rhume defeated thy Disguise, And that a Lady so did thee despise, She said, Old Sir, blow both your Nose, & Eyes.

112. EPIGRAM. The Young and Old Schismatick.

Jun.]

I Have been lately, where my Ears did glow, To hear the praise of one that was our Foe.

Sen.]

Our Foe? Some Child of Hell, be sure, a Dog, A Reprobate, in Scripture stile, a Frog Of the deep Pit, a Jacobite, and Traitor. He must be these, profess'dly if our Hater, One that will set his Country at a Price.

Jun.]

I do not find he's charg'd with any Vice.

Sen.]

But you shall find. I'll black him with all Evil, If he be ours, he's God's Foe, and a Devil.

113. EPIGRAM. The Reflection.

AS from the shoar I safely did behold, (My own days spent) how mortal Men were roll'd, With the Worlds Billows, some for Riches moil'd, Others for Honour, with more hazard, toil'd, While they their Lusts and Vanity to please, Oft lost the Life, they sought to spend in ease. I say'd, were I again my Race to run, What Troubles and what Dangers cou'd I shun?

First, I wou'd weigh the shortness of my Days, Yet, well employ'd, the Pow'r they had to raise

Their Length 'bove what Arithmetick can count. Yet ne'er their Glory and their Bliss surmount. By this I'd steer my Course, here fix my Eye, Renounce what with this Truth did not comply; No avaritious or ambitious Itch Shou'd my stay'd Mind with their false Charms be∣witch.

Next in what State Providence me had place't, I wou'd regard, and with what Parts had grace't; These I'd improve, aiming at no Employ, Admit none offer'd with least sense of Joy. Yet on my Charge I'd ever be intent; Duty secure, what e'er were the Event. So that what e'er Misfortune hap't to be, Men shou'd reproach the Chance, not censure me.

114. EPIGRAM. On Lewis XIV.

THe Life, the Soul, Upholder of the Port, Whose Arms the Crescent 'gainst the Cross sup∣port; Want of true Greatness, and the thirst of Sway All that is Sacred makes thee to betray, Faction and Treason to foment and nurse In ev'ry Land, Europe's, even France's, Curse; For thou no less thy Agents do'st employ, Thy Subjects, than thy Neighbours, to destroy; Myriads of harmless Souls thou hast undone, With loss of Justice their Land from them won; And while they mourn, thy Pleasure thou dost take, Upon a Couch War with the World do'st make; Sloathful thy self, by others gets Renown, Thou winn'st a Game at Cards, while they a Town.

Empire alone is that with thee does weigh, Which, so thou get'st, it matters not which way, No scruple mak'st, so that thou hast success, Whether 'tis Heaven or Hell thy Forces bless. Lucifer to justifie, thy Actions tend, 'Tis hop'd, thou see'st thy fall, and mak'st a Friend.

115. EPIGRAM. On Lamia.

DEform'd th' art seen to be in ev'ry Part, Beyond the Remedy of Wit and Art; Cease then to jet, and tweer, and make a-do, Ugly thou can'st not be, and Pretty too.

116. EPIGRAM. On the same.

OLd crooked Claudia has a sober Grace, And honour'd is, where e'er she comes in place; What she was made, she is content to be, And none do want of Beauty in her see;

Prudence and Goodness all Defects supply, Even pleasing make her to a curious Eye.

But thou, tho' most deform'd, do'st not despair, Agreeable to be, tho' nothing fair, By acting what thou see'st the Fair to do, As if the same, the same were, done by two: But fall'st so short of that which thou do'st hope, Thou plai'st Jack-Pudding on the lower Rope; And what w'ad admire in Clora, when we see, Our Stomach turns, when we behold in thee. The Charms, th' Affects, the Sweetness, & the Grace, Essential are unto a Lovely Face; Which when thou ape'st, and vilely do'st repeat, 'Tis much that thou escap'st from being beat.

117. EPIGRAM. On the same.

OF thine own self thou such Conceit do'st hold, That Buckram on thy Back seems Cloth-of-Gold; Whereas o' th' contrary, it is enough, Tissue to make the vilest of all Stuff If worn by thee: But Garbe, and thy Grimmace For Beauty, thou believ'st, with all do pass: Tho' these all loath, destest, and ev'ry Tongue Swears, as th' art Ugly, thou wert never young.

118. EPIGRAM. On Nanus.

NAnus, tho' little, yet is fierce and bold, Scorns by the Proudest He to be control'd, And braves all Men, while such a Foe they shun, By whom Disgrace may be, no Honour won.

119. EPIGRAM. On a young She-Libertine.

Lib.]

WHo did this Law impose upon our Sex, Our Peace, our Lives eternally to vex, That Maids, forsooth, must die in deep Despair, Rather than love, to those they love, declare?

Friend.]

Nature her self.

Lib.]

Nature I never saw, Nor will I be a Slave unto her Law; By Looks, Address, I will my Mind impart, These failing, speak in plainest Words my Heart. Shall Princes noble be, and States-Men wise, Tho' they miscarry in an Enterprize, And I alone, deterr'd by the Event, Desist, cause New, to make a brave Attempt?

120. EPIGRAM. On a high-kept Miss.

COstly in Clothes, and haughty in thy Mein, Thou woud'st be thought to be a petty Queen; Contemn'st thy Betters, boast'st of what's thy shame, As if by Birth thy Greatness to thee came: When all that know thee, this truth also know, Thy Glory unto Baseness thou do'st owe; And that thy Sin's the same, with that o' th' Poor, Tho' Madam thou art stil'd, & they term'd Whore. Tho' Coach and Palace varnish ore thy Blot, The Stocks and Bride-well are those Wretches Lot. Thou liv'st by Lust, while they but make a slip, And more deserv'st the Cart-tail, and the Whip.

121. EPIGRAM. On my Epigrams.

I Only Vice at random do rehearse, 'Tis Guilt that makes a Libel of my Verse; The Good and Sound, with what they read, are pleas'd, The Grieved are the Vicious & Diseas'd,

122. EPIGRAM. On the unworthily Fortunate.

WHile that a prosperous & fore-right Gale, Fills the expanded Bosom of thy Sail, Thou happy seem'st, and all to thee do bow, All, but thy self, thy Glories do allow: But while they stoop, applaud, and matter find T' extol, thou sadly want'st it in thy Mind.

123. EPIGRAM. On Paris.

FOrbear to boast thy infamous success, That thou the Great Achilles did'st suppress, When hid, and trembling thou did'st only act, And 'twas, in truth, a Goddess did the Fact, Guided thy poyson'd Arrow to his Heel, While the brave Heroe to the Gods did kneel.

124. EPIGRAM. On Sir Irus.

A Noble Lady at her gen'rous Board Access to half-starv'd Irus did afford, As old as poor, to these, as little wise, Her Goodness did not yet the Wretch despise▪ A Knight he was, but not of antick Fame, Who Giants split, and Monsters us'd to tame.

But his Adventures now he first began, And much like Him, who at the Wind-Mill ran. Heartn'd and warm, by being daily fed, The Snake aspir'd unto the Ladies Bed. 'Twou'd honour him to say, He was defeat, And lost his Aim. No: but he lost his Meat. Tho' Dotage be high rank'd in Cupid's School, He thence expels an aged, needy, Fool.

125. EPIGRAM. On the Shepherds, Luke 2.

WHile on soft Plumes the Rich did sleep, Or Riot them did waking keep, Consuming in Debauch the Night, Acting black Sins in Chambers bright: We poor and hardy Shepherd Swains, Freed at no Season from our Pains,

Under the shelter of a Rock, In Winter Nights did guard our Flock; When, lo, a bright and glorious Ray, The Sun out-shining at Mid-day, Surrounded us with great Dismay. A Choir of Angels thus did sing, Good Tidings to the Earth we bring, A Saviour to the World is born, There never rose so Bless'd a Morn! Peace unto Earth, Good Will to Men. Glory, i' th' highest be to Heaven! The Child to know, we give this Sign, A Manger holds the Babe Divine!

We found that true the Angels said, And our Account fill'd all with Dread. The Vision thus when we had spread, Ador'd, and offer'd up a Lamb, Back to our Folds with Joy we came,

Our honest Labour eas'ly bore, Finding Heavens Shepherd self was poor.

126. EPIGRAM. On the wise Men, Matth. 2.

THe Eastern Sages came from far, Led by Devotion and a Star, And Heavens King did Homage pay, When Poor he in a Stable lay! To Gentiles God did thus reveal, What from proud Jews he did conceal: But these embroil'd in factious Wars, In cov'tous and ambitious Jars, Wise to the Earth, were blind to Stars.

127. EPIGRAM. On Spurius.

MUch thou do'st glory in thy Father's Name, Ore-seeing of thine own, & Mothers shame: The sway of Lust lodg'd in thy spurious Blood, To Vice ore-bears thee, like a Potent Flood: Nor known's the Crime th' art not engulfed in, A Grandee seen, and Prince in ev'ry Sin. Would'st thou be truly Great? Vertue em∣brace, Rescind the Curse intail'd on Bastard-Race.

128. EPIGRAM. The Prisoner.

THe Court was up, and I had ta'ne a stand, (Being a stranger) to behold neer hand The Prisoner, and besought my Friend to show By some Remark, how I the Man might know.

That's he, he said, which you see march alone, Whom many bow to, tho' they fear to own.

What, he that bears such Brightness in his Face, Such high Assurance, and serene a Grace? That's sure the Judge, his Guard, that armed Throng.

It is the Prisoner that they lead along. O blessed Land! I cry'd, if such I see Be Criminals, thy Just must Wonders be! I hardly spoke, when I was bid to view A sneaking, abject, and down-looking Crew, Whose Malice the brave Prisoner had run-down, Having no other Crime, but his Renown. Let mean Men Vice avoid, the Gen'rous Fame, There's nought more dang'rous, than a Noble Name.

129. EPIGRAM. To Silius.

THoud'st have a hundred Pound by way of Loan, In greatest need I this way trouble none, And to deny such Suits, shame not to own. Ten pound thou say'st I lent thee. To a Friend What I can loose, I am content to lend.

130. EPIGRAM. On the like.

A Noble Lord five hundr'd Pounds did lend, Out of meer Greatness, to a slipp'ry Friend, Who, beyond hope, the Money did repay; But, in few days, a larger summ did pray, Which was deny'd, and that upon the score, He had so much deceiv'd the time before. Which when the wond'ring Borrower did deny! My Lord faceciously did thus reply.

The Money lent, I never hop'd to see, But twice deceiv'd I'll ne'er consent to be.

131. EPIGRAM. On Pompillius.

POmpillius has attain'd, at last, his Post, As he complain'd, as much he now does boast; A Charge he has at Court, no common Grace, And his Success is pourtrai'd in his Face; Ore-looks not only such as you, and me, But his Great-Self does also over-see; Usurps the Parts he has not, and the Pow'r, Fancies he's Wise, and Potent in an hour, When Sawcy, Witty; Courtly, when most rude; Obliging, where his Folly does obtrude.

Some smile, some jest: All, he believes, admire, And ne'er will see, till he's again i' th' Mire.

132. EPIGRAM. On Fungus.

A Truant Youth, and Loyt'rer in the Arts, Trifling that time, shou'd have improv'd thy Parts, Th'uncultivated Mind now nothing breeds, But the most vicious, rank, and poysonous Weeds; And Idleness, which thee times past did please, Is now a burdensom and sore Disease. Labour does not the Ploughman so annoy, As Rest does thee, and want of all Employ. In Drink, or worse Debauch, thou spend'st the Day, The next thou plai'st at Dice, or see'st a Play; The third, and fourth, and fifth being at a loss, Thou scarce, without a Halter, bear'st the Cross. Physicians, in this Malady, abjure, Seek not the Wells, but Galleys, for thy Cure.

FINIS.