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Much he would fain have spoke: but fate, alas !
Would ne'er again consent to let him pass.
Thus twice undone, what course remain’d to take,
To gain her back, already pass'd the lake?
What tears, what patience could procure him ease?
Or, ah! what vows the angry pow'rs appease?
'Tis said, he sev’n long moons bewail'd his loss
To bleak and barren rocks, on whose cold moss,
While languishing he fung his fatal flame,
He mov'd ey'n trees, and made fierce tygers tamen

So the sad nightingale, when childless made
By some rough swain who stole her young away,

Bewails her lofs beneath a poplar shade, Mourns all the night, in murmurs wastes the day; Her melting songs a doleful pleasure yield, And melancholy mufick fills the field.

Marriage, nor love, could ever move his mind; But all alone, beat by the northern wind, Shiv'ring on Tanais banks the bard remain'd, And of the Gods' unfruitful gift complain d. Ciconian dames, enrag'd to be despis'd, As they the feast of BACCHUS solemniz'd, Slew the poor youth, and trew'd about his limbs; His head, torn off from the fair body, swims Down that swift current where the Heber flows, And still its tongue in doleful accents goes. Ah, poor EURYDICE! he dying cry'd ; EURYDICE resounds from every side.

AN

E S S

AY

S A TI

T I RE.

Written in the Year 1675.

How

OW vain, and how insensible a beast

Is man! who yet would lord it o'er the rest! Philosophers and poets vainly strove, In ev'ry age the lumpish mass to move: But those were pedants, if compar'd with these, Who knew not only to instruct, but please: Poets alone found the delightful way, Mysterious morals gently to convey In charming numbers, that when once men grew Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wiser too.

SATIR E has always shin'd among the rest, And is the boldelt way, perhaps the best, To lhew men freely all their foulest faults; To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.

In this great work the wife took diff'rent ways, Tho' each deserving its peculiar praise :

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Some did our follies with just sharpness blame;
While others laugh’d, and scorn'd us into shame;
But, of these two, the last succeeded best;
As men hit rightest, when they shoot in jest.

Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides,
And censure those who censur'd all besides :
In all things else they justly are preferr'd;
In this alone methinks the ancients err'd:
Against the groffest follies they declaim,
Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game.
Nothing is easier than such blots to hit,
And but the talent of a vulgar wit:
Besides, 'tis labour loft; for who would teach
W sly to write, or TE-to preach?
'Tis being devout at play, wife at a ball,
Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall.

But, with sharp eyes those nicer faults to find,
Which lie obscurely in the wiseft mind,
That little speck, which all the rest will spoil;
To wash off this, would be a noble toil ;
Beyond the loose-writ libels of this age,
Or the forc'd scenes of our declining stage:
Above the reach of ev'ry little wit,
Who, yet, will smile to see a greater hit.
But ev'n the greatest, tho'expos'd the most,
Of such correction should have cause to boast;
In such a fatire they might court a share,
And each vain fool would fancy he was there,

Old storytellers then will pine and die,
To find their antiquated wit laid by;
Like her who miss'd her name in a lampoon,
And ligh'd, to find herself decay'd fo foon.

No common coxcomb must be mention'd here,
Nor the dull train of dancing sparks appear;
No feather'd officers, who never fight;
of such a wretched rabble who would write?
Much less half-wits; that's more against our rules;
For they are fops, the others are but fools:
Who would not be as Glly as DR,
Or dull as W-LY, rather than COOR!

The cunning courtier should be flighted too,
Who with doll knav'ry makes so much ado,
Till the shrewd fool, by thriving too too fast,
Like Esop's fox, becomes a prey at last.

Nor should the royal mistresses be nam’d;
Too ugly, or too easy to be blam'd;
With whom each rhiming fool keeps such a pother,
They are as common that way as the other :
While fauntring CHARLES, betwixt somean a brace,
Meets with diffembling still in either place,
Affected humour, or a painted face.
In loyal libels we have often told him,
How one has jilted him, the other sold him ;
How that affects to laugh, and this to weep;
But who so long can rail, as he can keep ?
Was ever prince by two at once misled,
Foolish and false, ill-natur'd and ill-bred ?

E-Yand Ay, with all the race
Of formal blockheads, shall have here no place;
At council fet, as foils, on DA's score,
To make that great falfe jewel Chine the more ;
Who all the while is thought exceeding wise,
Only for taking pains, and telling lies.

But there's no meddling with such nauseous men;
Their very names have tir'd my nicer pen;
'Tis time to quit their company, and chuse
Some nobler subject for a sharper muse.

And first, behold the merriest man alive
Against his careless genius vainly strive;
Quit his dear ease fome deep delign to lay,
Appoint the hour, and then forget the day.
Yet he will laugh, ey'n at his friends, and be
Just as good company as Nokes or Lee;
But when he would the court or nation rule,
He turns himself the best to ridicule.,
When serious, few for great affairs more fit;
But shew him mirth, and bait that mirth with wit,
That shadow of a jeit shall be enjoy'd,
Tho' he left all mankind to be destroy’d.

So Pufs, transform’d, fat like a mumping bride,
Pensive, and prudent, till the Mouse she spy'd;
But soon the lady had him in her eye,
And from the board did just as oddly fly.

Straining above our nature does no good;
We must sink back to our old flesh and blood.

As by our little MATCHIAVEL we find,
That nimblest creature of the busy kind :
His legs are crippled, and his body shakes,
Yet his bold mind, that all this bustle makes,
No pity of its poor companion takes;
What gravity can hold from laughing out,
To see that lug his feeble limbs about?
Like hounds ill-coupled, Jowler is so strong,
He jades poor Trip, and drags him all-along,

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