« EelmineJätka »
Written in IRELAND, October 1714.
then why should I repine
To fee my life fo faft decline?
But why obfcurely here alone,
Where I am neither lov'd nor known?.
My state of health none care to learn;
My life is here no foul's concern :
And those with whom I now converse
Without a tear will tend my hearfe.
Remov'd from kind Arbuthnot's aid,
Who knows his art, but not his trade,
Preferring his regard for me.
Before his credit, or his fee.
Some formal vifits, looks, and words,
What mere humanity affords,
I meet perhaps from three or four,
From whom I once expected more;
Which thofe who tend the fick for pay
Can act as decently as they :
But no obliging tender friend
To help at my approaching end.
My life is now a burden grown
To others, ere it be my own.
Ye formal weepers for the fick,
In your laft offices be quick;
And fpare my abfent friends the grief
To hear, yet give me no relief;
Expir'd' to day, intomb'd to-morrow,
When known, will fave a double-forrow.
THE FABLE OF THE BITCHES.
Written in the Year 1715.
On an ATTEMPT to repeal the TEST ACT.
BITCH that was full pregnant grown,
By all the dogs and curs in town,
Finding her ripen'd time was come,
Her litter teeming from her womb,
Went here and there, and every where,
To find an eafy place to lay-her.
At length to Mufick's house * she came,
And begg'd like one both blind and lame;
My only friend, my dear," faid fhe,
"You fee 'tis mere neceflity,
"Hath fent me to your house to whelp;
"I'll die, if you deny your help."
With fawning whine, and rueful tone,
With artful figh and feigned groan,
With couchant cringe, and flattering tale,
Smooth Bawty + did fo far prevail,
That Mufick gave her leave to litter;
But mark what follow'd faith! fhe bit her.
Whole baskets full of bits and scraps,
And broth enough to fill her paps;
The church of England.
A Scotch name for a bitch; alluding to the kirk.
For, well the knew, her numerous brood,
For want of milk, would fuck her blood.
But when the thought her pains were done,
And now 'twas high time to be gone;
My friend," fays fhe,
've had on courtesy ;.
“And now I earnestly desire,
"That you would with your cubs retire:
"For, fhould you ftay but one week longer, "I fhall be starv'd with cold and hunger."
The guest reply'd · "I must a little longer crave;
"Stay till my tender cubs can find
"But, when we 've gather'd ftrength, I swear, "We'll to our barn again repair."
The time pafs'd on; and Mufick came,
Her kennel once again to claim;
But Bawty, loft to fhame and honour,.
Set all her cubs at once upon her;
Made her retire, and quit her right,
And loudly cry'd "A bite! a bite!"
Thus did the Grecian wooden horfe
Conceal a fatal armed force :
No fooner brought within the walls;
But Ilium 's loft, and Priam falls.
HORACE, BOOK III. ODE II.
TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LATE LORD TREASURER.
Sent to him when in the TOWER, 1716.
HOW bleft is he, who for his country dies,
Since death pursues the coward as he flies !
The youth in vain would fly from Fate's attack,
With trembling knees and terror at his back;
Though fear fhould lend him pinions like the wind,
Yet fwifter fate will feize him from behind.
Virtue repuls'd, yet knows not to repine;
But fhall with unattainted honour shine;
Nor ftoops to take the faff*, nor lays it down,
Juft as the rabble please to smile or frown.
Virtue, to crown her favourites, loves to try
Some new unbeaten paffage to the sky;
Where Jove a feat among the gods will give
To thofe who die for meriting to live.
Next, faithful Silence hath a fure reward;
Within our breaft be every fecret barr'd!
He, who betrays his friend, fhall never be
Under one roof, or in one fhip, with me.
For who with traitors would his fafety truft,
Left, with the wicked, heaven involve the juft?
And, though the villain 'fcape a while, he feels
Slow vengeance, like a blood-hound, at his heels.
*The enfign of the lord treasurer's office.
THE PROGRESS OF LOVE. 1716.
ESPONDING Phyllis was endued
With every talent of a prude :
She trembled when a man drew near;
Salute her, and the turn'd her ear;
If o'er against her you were plac'd,
She durft not look above your waist:
She'd rather take you to her bed,
Than let you fee her drefs her head :
In church you hear her, through the croud,
Repeat the abfolution loud:
In church, fecure behind her fan,
She durft behold that monfter man ;
There practis'd how to place her head,
And bit her lips to make them red;
Or, on the mat devoutly kneeling,
Would lift her eyes up to the cieling,
And heave her bofom unaware,
For neighbouring beaux to fee it bare.
At length a lucky lover came,
And found admittance to the dame.
Suppofe all parties now agreed,
The writings drawn, the lawyer fee'd,
The vicar and the ring befpoke:
Guefs, how could fuch a match be broke?