Not Quarrelsome, but Stout enough to Fight;
Loyal, and Pious, Friends to Cæsar true,
As Dying Martyrs to their Maker too;
In their Society, I cou'd not miss
A Permanent, Sincere, Substantial Bliss.
Wou'd Bounteous Heav'n once more Indulge, I'd choose,
(For who wou'd so much Satisfaction lose,
As Witty Nymphs, in Conversation, give,)
Near some Obliging, Modest Fair to live;
For there's that Sweetness in a Female Mind,
Which in a Man's we cannot hope to find:
That by a Secret, but a Pow'rful, Art
Winds up the Springs of Life, and does impart
Fresh Vital Heat to the Transported Heart.
I'd have her Reason all her Passions sway;
Easy in Company, in Private Gay:
Coy to a Fop, to the Deserving Free,
Still Constant to her self, and Just to me.
A Soul she shou'd have, for Great Actions fit;
Prudence, and Wisdom to direct her Wit:
Courage to look bold Danger in the Face,
No Fear, but only to be Proud, or Base:
Quick to Advise, by an Emergence prest,
To give good Counsel, or to take the best.
I'd have th' Expression of her Thoughts be such,
She might not seem Reserv'd, nor talk too much;
That shews a want of Judgment and of Sense:
More than Enough is but Impertinence:
Her Conduct Regular, her Mirth Refin'd,
Civil to Strangers, to her Neighbours kind:
Averse to Vanity, Revenge, and Pride,
In all the Methods of Deceit untry'd:
So Faithful to her Friend, and Good to all,
No Censure might upon her Actions fall:
Then wou'd e'en Envy be compell'd to say,
She goes the least of Woman-kind Astray
To this Fair Creature I'd sometimes Retire;
Her Conversation wou'd new Joys inspire;
Give Life an Edge so keen, no surly Care
Would venture to Assault my Soul, or dare
Near my Retreat to hide one secret Snare.
But so Divine, so Noble a Repast,
I'd seldom, and with Moderation, taste.
For Highest Cordials all their Virtue lose,
By a too frequent, and too bold an Use:
And what wou'd Cheer the Spirits in Distress,
Ruines our Health, when taken to Excess.
I'd be concern'd in no Litigious Jar,
Belov'd by all, not vainly Popular.
What e're Assistance I had Pow'r to bring
T' Oblige my Country, or to Serve my King,
When e're they Call'd, I'd readily afford
My Tongue, my Pen, my Counsel, or my Sword.
Law Suits I'd shun, with as much studious Care,
As I wou'd Dens where hungry Lyons are:
And rather put up Injuries, than be
A Plague to him who'd be a Plague to me.
I value Quiet at a Price too great,
To give for my Revenge so dear a Rate:
For what do we, by all our Bustle, gain,
But Counterfeit Delight, for real Pain?
If Heav'n a Date of many Years wou'd give, Thus I'd in Pleasure, Ease, and Plenty live. And as I near approach'd the Verge of Life,
Some kind Relation, (for I'd have no Wife)
Shou'd take upon him all my Worldly Care,
While I did for a better State prepare.
Then I'd not be with any Trouble vex'd,
Nor have the Ev'ning of my days perplex'd;
But by a silent, and a peaceful Death,
Without a Sigh, resign my Aged Breath:
And when committed to the Dust, I'd have
Few Tears, but Friendly, dropt into my Grave.
Then wou'd my Exit so propitious be,
All Men wou'd wish to Live, and Dye like me.
The English Race
HE Romans first with Julius Cæsar came,
Including all the Nations of that Name,
Gauls, Greeks, and Lombards; and by Computation,
Auxiliaries or Slaves of ev'ry Nation.
With Hengist, Saxons; Danes with Sueno came,
In search of Plunder, not in search of Fame.
Scots, Picts, and Irish from th' Hibernian Shore:
And Conqu'ring William brought the Normans o're.
All these their Barb'rous Offspring left behind,
The Dregs of Armies, they of all Mankind;
Blended with Britains who before were here,
Of whom the Welsh ha' blest the Character.
From this Amphibious Ill-born Mob began That vain ill-natur'd thing, an Englishman. The Customs, Sirnames, Languages, and Manners, Of all these Nations are their own Explainers: Whose Relicks are so lasting and so strong, They ha' left a Shiboleth upon our Tongue; By which with easy search you may distinguish Your Roman-Saxon-Danish-Norman English. The great Invading Norman let us know What Conquerors in After-Times might do. To ev'ry *Musqueteer he brought to Town, Or Archer. He gave the Lands which never were his own. When first the English Crown he did obtain, He did not send his Dutchmen home again. No Reassumptions in his Reign were known, Davenant might there ha' let his Book alone. No Parliament his Army cou'd disband; He rais'd no Money, for he paid in Land. He gave his Legions their Eternal Station, And made them all Freeholders of the Nation. He canton'd out the Country to his Men,
And ev'ry Soldier was a Denizen.
The Rascals thus enrich'd, he call'd them Lords,
To please their Upstart Pride with new-made Words;
And Doomsday Book his Tyranny Records.
And here begins the Ancient Pedigree
That so exalts our Poor Nobility:
'Tis that from some French Trooper they derive, Who with the Norman Bastard did arrive:
The Trophies of the Families appear;
Some show the Sword, the Bow, and some the Spear,
Which their Great Ancestor, forsooth, did wear.
These in the Heralds Register remain,
Their Noble mean Extraction to explain.
Yet who the Hero was, no Man can tell,
Whether a Drummer or a Colonel:
The silent Record blushes to reveal
Their Undescended Dark Original.
But grant the best, How came the Change to pass; A True-Born Englishman of Norman Race?
A Turkish Horse can show more History,
To prove his Well-descended Family.
Conquest, as by the Moderns 'tis exprest,
May give a Title to the Lands possest:
But that the Longest Sword shou'd be so Civil,
To make a Frenchman English, that's the Devil.
These are the Heroes who despise the Dutch,
And rail at new-come Foreigners so much;
Forgetting that themselves are all deriv'd
From the most Scoundrel Race that ever liv'd,
A horrid Crowd of Rambling Thieves and Drones,
Who ransack'd Kingdoms, and dispeopled Towns:
The Pict and Painted Britain, Treach'rous Scot,
By Hunger, Theft, and Rapine, hither brought;
Norwegian Pirates, Buccaneering Danes,
Whose Red-hair'd Offspring ev'ry where remains;
Who join'd with Norman-French compound the Breed
From whence your True-Born Englishmen proceed.
The True-Born Englishman, 1701
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