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POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


JOHN       OLDHAM 


LONDON  : 

PRINTED  BY   J.   AND   W.   RIDEE, 

EARIHOLOMEW  CLOSE. 


THE    POEMS   OF 


JOHN      OLDHAM 


EDITED     WITH     A     MEMOIR 

BY 

ROBERT     BELL 


LONDON 

CHARLES    GRIFFIN    AND    CO. 

stationers'  hall  court. 


3605 

CONTENTS. 


Memoib 5 

To   THE  Memory   of  my   dear   Friexd,   Mr.  Charles 

MORWENT 21 

Some  Verses  on  presenting  a  Book  to  Cosmelia  .    .  45 

The  Parting 47 

Complaining  of  Absence    . 48 

Promising  a  Visit ,    ,  49 

A  Dithyrambic 50 

David's   Lamentation    for  the  Death   of   Saul   and 

Jonathan^  paraphrased 55 

Upon  the  Works  op  Ben  Jonson 62 

A  Letter  from  the  Country  to  a  Friend  in  Town    .  72 

Satires  upon  the  Jesuits. — Prologue 80 

„            „            „            Satire  1 85 

>»            >j            »               }>      ■'-'- "^ 

„  ni 104 

»     IV .  ]23 

The  Careless  Good  Fellow 133 

An  Imitation  of  Horace 134 

Paraphrase  upon  Horace. — Book  I. — Ode  XXXI.      .  140 

»    n.      „         XIV.      .  142 
1—2 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Horace's  Art  or  Poetry,  imitated  in  English  .    .    .  144 

The  Praise  of  Homer 167 

The  Thirteenth  Satire  op  Juvenal,  imitated  .  .  .173 
A  Satire,  in  imitation  of  the  Third  of  Juvenal  .  .188 
The  Eighth  Satire  op  Monsieur  Boileau,  imitated    .  203 

A  Satire  touching  Nobility       215 

A  Satire  addressed  to  a  Friend 220 

A  Satire 228 

Counterpart  to  the  Satire  against  Virtue  ....  237 
Upon  the  Marriage  op  the  Prince  op  Orange  with 

THE  Lady  Mary 244 

An  Ode  for  an  Anniversary  of  Music  on  St.  Cecilia's 

Day 247 

To  Madam  L.   E.   upon  her   Recovery  from  a  late 

Sickness 249 

On  the  Death  of  Mrs.  Katharine  Kingscourt      .    .  253 

Paraphrase  upon  the  137TH  Psalm 254 

Paraphrase  upon  the  Hymn  of  St.  Ambrose  ....  258 
A  Sunday-Thought  in  Sickness 263 


JOHN    OLDHAM. 

1653— 16S3. 


Some  student,  curious  in  the  lore  of  old  book-stalls,  .may 
chance  to  have  lighted  upon  a  stout  little  volume  of  poems, 
printed  in  the  seventeenth_cent_urjj_  and  bearing  the  name  of 
John  0]dhq.m.  Unless  he  happened  to  be  familiar  with  the 
history  of  the  period,  he  might  never  have  heard  the  name 
before,  and  would,  probably,  conclude  that  Oldham  was  one 
of  the  swarm  of  scurrilous  doggrel-mongers  who  aboimded  in 
th^edajs_of_li^eraa2__an^xchy_^^  and  who, 

like  other  ephemera,  perished  as  soon  as  they  were  bom. 
)The  inference  would  be  natural  enough,  Nearly  a  hundred 
Wears  have  elapsed  since  the  publication  of  the  last  edition  of 
these  poems ;  and  in  the  interval  they  have  gone  down  into 
{oblivion.  To  the  present  generation  of  readers  they  are 
Jalmost  unknown.  Yet  they  obtained  considerable  celebrity 
I  in  the  lifetime  of  the  author,  and  present  legitimate  claims 
to  a  place  in  every  complete  collection  of  English  poetry. 
As  a  satirist.,  Oldham  possesses  incontestable  meritsj)f  j,  lugh 
order.  His—sulyjeicts,  likethose  of  all  writers  who  have 
lashed  the  vices  of  their  day,  are  for  the  most  part  temporary; 
but^the  spirit^  point,  and  frepHprn  of  f,hp~h^q,tl!lgnJLH'-gpuy-?^ 
them  with  permanent  interest.  His  Satires  throw  a  flood  of 
light  on  the  politics,  morals,  and  naanners  ofThe  EestorationT*^ 
and  are  everywhere  marked_by^_the_bTOimiand^  of  vigorcu^s 
and  original  genius.  Nor  is  this  his  greatest  excellence. 
Throughout  the  whole  of  his  writings  he  displays  a  courage 
and  independence  which  honourably  distinguish  him  m  an 
jage  of  corruption  and  servile  adulation  ;  and  the  few  incidents 
lof  his  life  with  which  we  are  acquamted  bear  practical  testi- 


6  JOHN   OLDHAM. 

jinony  to  that  love  of  liberty,  and  scorn  of  the  slavery  of 
\patronage,  which  are  energetically  asserted  in  his  poems. 
By  the  force  of  these  qualities  he  won  his  reputation, 
and  rose  from_a_jgosition  of  obscuriiyi  to  the  companionship 
of  men  of  rank^^and-JLatter^.  and  the  intimate  friendship  ol 
Dryden^ 

John_QldhaiiL  was  the  son  of  a  nonconformist  minijter^ 
who  had  a  congregation  at  Nuneaton.  He  was  born  at 
Shipton,  near  Tedbury,  in  Gloucestershire,  on  the  9th  August, 
1653;  and,  after  having  received  the  rudiments  of  his  educa^^ 
tion  at  home,  was  placed  at  Tedbury  school,  where  he  re- 
mained  foFtwo_years.  He  was  indebted  foi^his  step  in  his 
preliminary  career  to  an  alderman  of  Bristol,  who  had  a  son 
at  the  school,  and  was  anxious  that  the  boy  should  have  the 
advantage  of  reading  with  young  Oldham — from  which  it 
may  be  inlerred  that  the  latter  had  abeady  shown  more  than 
/average  diligence  and  capacity.  Oldham  made  a  rapid  pro- 
Igress  at  Tedbury;  and  in  June,  i67o,^wasentered_at  Edmund 
Hall,  Oxford,  where  he  was  assisted  in  his  studies  by  the 
Eev.  Mr.  Stephens,  who  early  discovered  the  tendency  of  his 
genms.  Here  he  soon  distinguished  himself  by  his  mastery 
oCCrreek  and  L^atin.  His  favourite  authors  were  the  poets, 
and  the  success  with  which  he  cultivated  them  is  shown  in 
his  subsequent  translations  and  imitations.  The  love  of 
poetry  manifested  itself  strongly  at  this  period,  and  at  last 
took  complete  possession  of  his  time  and  thoughts.  Later 
in  life,  when  opportunities  were  thrown  open  to  him  of 
embarking  in,  more  profitable  pursuits,  he  confessed  that  his 
efforts  in  every  other  direction  were  fruitless,  and  that  the 
Muse,  his  '  darling  sin,'  still  drew  him  back  to  the  inveterate 
habit  of  his  youth : 

In  vain  I  better  studies  there  would  sow ; 
Oft  have  I  tried,  but  none  will  thrive  or  grow. 

In  May.  i674^he  .took  his  degree  of  B^.:  shortly  after 

which,  much  against  his  own  wishes  and  remonstrances,  he 

(|  was  summoned  home  by  his  father,  who,  probably,  could  not 

I  afford  the  expense  of  a  more  prolonged  residence  at  the  Uni- 


JOHN    OLDHAM.  7 

t  versity.      No  definite  scheme  of  life  appears  to  have  been 

(  marked  out  for  him;  and  to  a  mind  impatient  of  idleness  and 

dependence,  the  short  time  he  remained  in  Gloucestershire, 

especially  if  his  sketch  of  an  '  ugly  old  priest'  may  be  accepted 

as  a  sample  of  the  people  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,*  must 

Ihave  been  intolerably  irksome.  In  the  following  year,  the 
small-pox,  so  frequently  the  subject  of  poetical  lamenta- 
tions, carried  off  his-close  companion,  MK-Eiehard-Morw^at, 

and  Oldham  expressed  his  grief  at  the  loss  ofhis  friend  in  a^ 

Pin^amIDd^,^whtchr3ispl97STSuc'E~tenderness  of  feeling  and 
I  variety  of  iUuatration.  This  ls~the  oiily~poem  he'is  known 
i  to  nave  written  during  that  interval ;  but  it  is  not  unlikely 

that  he  found  ample  employment  in  planning  some  of  the 
h  longer  poems  he  afterwards  produced.     To  this  period  may, 

probably,  be  assigned  the  germs  of  the  Satires  against  the 
(Jesuits.     Living  in  a  society  of  nonconformists,  he  was  at 

least  in  a  position  to  hear  religious  and  sectarian  topics  dis- 
I  cussed  with  zeal  and  bitterness,  and  may  have  been,  to  some 

extent,  led  to  the  consideration  of  the  subject  by  surrounding 
Jinfluences.  But  the  intercourse  with  these  people  was,  in 
[other  respects,  dreary  and  uncongenial,  and  he  was  glad  to 

make  his  escape  from  them  when  a  prospect  of  settling  in 
Ithe  neighbourhood  of  London  was  offered  to  him,  although 
Iconnected  with  a  drudgery  he  disliked.     The  situation,  that  of 

f*  This  satire,  entitled  Character  of  a  certain  xigly  old  Priest,  is  in 
prose,  and  was  written  in  i675,  two  years  after  Oldham  returned 
home.  It  is  so  oflfensively  coarse  that  there  is  some  difficulty  in 
believing  the  traditional  story  that  he  designed  it  as  a  portrait  of 
his  father.  Its  exaggerations  of  personal  ugliness  are  grotesque  and 
preposterous,   and    look    more    like    a    hideous    conception    of    the 

i writer's  fancy  than  a  picture  drawn  from  real  life.  The  priest  is 
described  as  a  solecism  in  nature,  Avith  a  foul  skin,  a  yawning  mouth, 
and  a  monstrous  nose  ;  a  gruflf  voice  that  has  preached  half  his  parish 
deaf;  a  prodigious  skull  that  would  furnish  a  whole  regiment  of 
round-heads ;  and  a  pair  of  ears  of  a  length  so  inordinate  that  he 
binds  them  over  his  crown  at  night  instead  of  quilt  night-caps.  Had 
Oldham  meant  to  gibbet  his  father  in  this  outrageous  caricature,  he 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  touched  upon  some  of  the  points  of 
temper  or  disposition  which  may  be  presumed  to  have  provoked  so 
graceless  a  satire ;  but  there  is  not  a  single  allusion  throughout  the 
whole  that  warrants  such  a  supposition. 


8  JOHN    OLDHAM. 

usher  at  the  free  schoDl-e^41i:D5alQP,45_?35^^'  "^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 
tempting.  The  stipend-waaJa^fling,  and  the  lal^ourmonoto- 
nous  and  oppressive.  But  it  possessed  the  greatest  of  all 
attractions  for  Oldham,  because,  inconsiderable  as  it  was,  it 
secured  occupation  and  independence. 

}  The  duties  of  this  employment,  involving  meaner  responsi- 
Ibilities  than  those  of  tuition,  left  him  little  time  for  poetry;  he 
made,  not-svithstanding,  so  profitable  a  use  of  his  scanty  leisure 
that  he  produced  several  pieces,  some  of  which,  obtaining  circu- 
lationin  MS.,  found  their  way  into  the  literary  coteries,  and  ren- 
dered their  unknown  author  an  object  of  curiosity  to  the  town 
wits  and  critics.  Oldham,  shut  up  in  his  school-room, 
entirely  unconscious  of  the  sensation  he  had  created  in  the 
reat  world  of  Fops'-alley  and  the  coffee-houses,  was  one 
ay  surprised,  in  the  midst  of  his  tasks,  by  a  visit  from 
ochester,  Sedley,  and  Dorset,  accompanied  by  other  persons 
of  celebrity,  into  whose  hands  his  verses  had  fallen.  Mr. 
Shepherd,  the  worthy  master  of  the  school,  seeing  Lord 
Rochester's  card,  and  thinking  it  quite  impossible  that  such  a 
mark  of  distinction  could  be  intended  for  his  obscure  assistant, 
took  the  whole  credit  of  the  compliment  to  himself,  and,  after 
carefully  arranging  his  toilet,  went  to  receive  his  visitors. 
The  scene  that  followed  might  have  been  put  into  one  of 
Shadwell's  comedies.  The  old  gentleman  had  prepared  a 
speech  for  the  occasion,  expressing  his  high  sense  of  the 
honour  conferred  upon  him,  and  modestly  deprecating  his 
claims  to  so  extraordinary  a  condescension ;  when  Lord  Dorset 
good-natui'edly  interposed,  and  informed  him  that  the  motive 
of  the  visit  was  to  see  his  usher.  By  this  time  Mr.  Shepherd 
had  got  into  a  little  confusion  in  his  speech,  and  was  probably 
not  unwilling  to  make  his  retreat,  confessing,  frankly  enough, 
that  he  had  neither  the  wit  nor  learning  to  qualify  him  for 
such  fine  company.  How  it  fared  with  the  poet  when  he  was 
summoned  to  their  presence  is  not  related.  But  no  immediate 
consequences  followed  the  visit.  It  was  Oldham's  first  experience 
of  courtiers  and  patronage,  and  his  manner  of  receiving  his 
visitors  may  not  have  been  calculated  to  propitiate  theii-  favour. 


JOHN   OLDHAM.  9 

]It  is  certain,  at  least,  that  whatever  impression  lie  made  upon 
'rthem,  they  left  him  in  the  situation  in  which  they  found  him, 
p*.id  that  he  still  continued  to  drudge  at  a  toil  from  which  his 
taste  revolted,  and  which  yielded  him  scarcely  a  bare  sub- 
sistence. In  one  of  his  Satires,  evidently  alluding  to  his  own 
J  case,  he  deplores  the  position  of  a  man  who  is  thus  compelled 
to  '  beat  Greek  and  Latin  for  his  life,'  and  whose  rewards  ai*e 
inferior  to  those  of  a  dancing-master: — 

But  who  would  be  to  the  vile  drudgery  bound 
Where  there  so  small  encouragement  is  found? 
Where  you  for  recompense  of  all  your  pains 
Shall  hardly  reach  a  common  fiddler's  gains? 
iFor  when  you've  toiled,  and  laboured  all  you  can, 
/To  dung  and  cultivate  a  barren  brain, 
I A  dancing  master  shall  be  better  paid, 
\Though  he  instructs  the  heels,  and  you  the  head. 

[  This  thankless  occupation  was  relieved  by  the  secret  work 
in  which  he  delighted;  and  if  the  unexpected  recognition  of  his 
talents  had  no  other  effect,  it  seems  at  all  events  to  have  stimu- 
lated him  to  more  constant  and  systematic  efforts.     He  tells 

us  that  hej^orijjjiolvrvsijit^^     infatna^^inn   nf  TnaVipor  vpr^tPfg; 

and  that  even  when  he  said  his  prayers,  he  could  scarcely  re- 
frain from  turning  them  into  rhyme. 

After  he  had  passed  th^^^  ypg.rs  at  Troy rl on,  he  was  fortu- 
nate enough,  in  1678,  to  obtain  the  appointment  of_tutor_to_ 
the  two  grandsons  of  Sir  Edward^_Thiu:1and,  a  judge,  re- 
.  siding  in  the^  neigh  bourEood  of  Reigate.     This  situation  was 
(procured  for  him   through  the  interest  of  his  friend,  Mr. 
I  Harman  Atwood,    a   barrister,  whose   death   he   afterwards 
lamented  in  an  elaborate  ode.     It  was  dttaag-ihis-peried-he 
copaposed  those  famous  invectives  against  the-tlesuits^  which, 
r  appearing  at  a  moment  when  the  discovery  of  the  Popish 
plot  predisposed  the  public  to   receive   such   writings  with 
[avidity,  at  once  established  his  reputation.     Oldham  remained 
I  in  Judge  Thurland's  family  till  1O80;  and  afterwards  became 
tutor  for  a  short  timeto_the_son^of_SirJWi]i^^  who 

livedneaxeft5T!ionSon.  At  this  gentleman's  house  he  formed 
an  acquaintance  with_Dr.  Richard  Lo\iii^h-^  physiciait^aiid 


10  JOHN    OLDHAM. 

medicalwriter,  celebrated  amongst  his  contemporaries  by  a  con- 
troversy in  which  he  was  engaged  on  the  theory  of  the  trans- 
fusion of  the  blood.*  Lower  appears  to  have  infected  Oldham 
with  his  enthusiasm,  and  to  have  induced  him  to  devote  his 

! unoccupied  hours  to  the  study  of  medicine,  which,  with  the 
caprice  of  a  new  passion,  he  followed  sedulously  for  a  whole 
year,  and  then  abandoned  to  return  to  his  first  love. 

At  the  close  of  Oldham's  engagement.  Sir  William  Hicks 
proposed  that  he  should  accompany  his  son  on  his  travels  into 
Italy.  But,  eager  to  test  his  powers  in  a  different  arena, 
Oldham  declined  the  offer.  The  success  of  his  poems  made  him 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  bondage  of  tuition;  and  his  lite- 
rary ambition  naturally  led  him  to  settle  in  London.  .  Here 
\  Rochester,  Sedley,  and  the  rest  renewed  their  acquaintance 
'with  him;  and  through  their  introduction  he  became  personally 
^Hjews-to-Bsjid^i,  who  discerned  in  him  a  genius  kindred  to 
his  own.  A  close  and  warm  friendship  grew  up  between 
them.  Dryden  waslorihging  ouFTiis  Meligio  Laid,  and  his 
opinions  had  not  yet  undergone  that  change  which  might 
have  placed  an  insuperable  barrier  between  him  and  the 
author  of  the  Satires  on  the  Jesuits. 

Oldham  was  now  in  the  midst  of  that  brilliant  society  which, 
fixing  its  centre  at  Will's  Coffee-house,  radiated  to  all  the 
ipoints  of  dissipation  and  gaiety  in  the  metropolis.     It  was  a 


*  Lower,  in  his  Tractatus  de  Corde,  item  de  motu  et  calm^e  Sanguinis, 
et  Chyli  in  eum  transitu,  published  in  1 669,  maintained  the  doctrine  of 
the  transfusion  of  blood  from  the  vessels  of  one  living  animal  to  those 
of  another,  which  he  had  experimentally  demonstrated  at  Oxford  in 
1 665,  and  afterwards  upon  an  insane  person  before  the  Royal  Society. 
He  claimed  the  merit  of  the  discovery,  which  was  disputed  by  Francis 
Potter,  a  native  of  Wiltshire,  but  which  really  belonged  to  neither  of 
them,  having  been  pointed  out  half  a  century  before  in  a  work  pub- 
lished at  Frankfort  by  Libavius,  a  German  physician  and  chemist. 
The  faculty  took  a  great  interest  in  the  discussion,  and  it  ended  in  the 
explosion  of  a  theory  found  to  be  practically  attended  with  the  most 
pei-nicious  consequences.  Lower  enjoyed  a  high  reputation  in  his 
profession,  and  was  considered  one  of  the  ablest  physicians  of  his 
time.  Unfortunately,  he  laboured  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  a 
Whig,  and  when  the  Fopi(>h  plor  was  discovered,  he  got  into  discredit 
with  the  Court  party,  and  lost  tlie  greater  part  of  his  practice. 


scene  of  novel  excitement  to  one  wkosit*  life  had  likberto  been 

passed  in  retirement  and  wearisome  routine;  but  its  attrac- 

rtions  were  soon  exhausted.     The  social  moralist  was  not  to 

/  be  bribed  or  corrupted  by  these  dangerous  pleas oi-es,  and  he 

I   saw  in  the  profligacies  of  the  town  only  fresh  subjects  for 

\  indignant  satire.     Had  he  been  disposed  to  minister  to  the 

vanity  and  vices  of  the  fashionable  world,  the  seductions  that 

were  thrown  in  his  way  were  sufficiently  numerous  and  flatter- 

j  ing.     Admitted  to  a  familiar  intercourse  with  many  distin- 

/  guished  persons,  he  was  particularly  noticed  by  the  Earl  of 

I  Kingston.     That  nobleman  pressed  him  to  accept  the  office  of 

private  chaplain  to  his  household,  which  promised  a  more 

secure  provision  for  the  future  than  could  be  hoped  for  from 

I  the  precarious  profession  of  authorship;  but  Oldham  preferred 

I  his  liberty,  with  all  its  risks  and  hardships.     His  proud  and 

/  manly  nature  resented  the  degradation  to  which  clergymen  in 

\  such  situations  were  subjected;  who  for 

Diet,  a  horse,  and  thirty  pounds  a-year, 

were  treated  more  like  menials  than  gentlemen.  In  his  Satire 
addressed  to  a  friend  about  to  leave  the  University  (published 
after  this  offer  had  been  made  to  him),  he  draws  a  striking 
picture  of  the  humiliations  and  indignities  heaped  upon  the 
unhappy  private  chaplain,  who,  after  many  years  of  servitude 
in  a  noble  family,  might  consider  himself  fortunate  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  some  slender  benefice,  on  condition  of  his  marrying 
his  lady's  cast-off"  waiting-woman.  The  sketch  is  curious  as 
an  illustration  of  the  domestic  life  of  the  period. 

The  Earl  of  Kingston,  finding  he  could  not  prevail  upon 
Oldham  to  enter  his  house  as  a  dependent,  invited  him  as  a 
guest  on  a  visit  to  his  seat  at  Holmes-Pierpont,  in  Notting- 
hamshire. Oldham  accepted  the  invitation,  and  was  received 
with  a  kindness  and  consideration  as  creditable  to  his  lordship 
as  to  the  poor  struggling  poet  who  had  so  honourably  vindi- 
cated the  dignity  of  his  calling.  About  this  time  Oldliam 
p-nblishprl  i\  YplnTinp  nf  poems  and  translations,  in  the  adver- 
tisement to  which  he  took  occasion  to  assert  his  independence 


12  JOHN   OU^KjLM. 

of  the  kind  of  patronage  which,  in  those  days,  reduced  the 
profession  of  literature  to  a  level  with  the  livery  of  the  ser- 

(vants'  hall.  This  volume,  contrary  to  the  prevailing  custom, 
but  lilce  every  other  work  published  by  Oldham,  appeared 
witlioutJthe_name  of_a  j)atron.  Not  content  with  merely 
discountenancing  the  practice,  he  could  not  resist  the  op- 
portunity of  exposing  the  system  of  egotism  and  servility 
which  was  countenanced  by  the  example  of  the  most  cele- 
brated authors.  He  promises  his  readers  that,  should  his 
book  ever  reach  another  edition,  it  shall  come  out  with  all 
due  pomp  of  venality  and  affectation  :  '  By  that  time  belike 
the  author  means  to  have  ready  a  very  sparkish  dedication,  if 
he  can  but  get  himself  known  to  some  great  man  that  will 
give  a  good  parcel  of  guineas  for  being  handsomely  flattered. 
Then  likewise  the  reader  (for  his  farther  comfort)  may  expect 
to  see  him  appear  with  all  the  pomp  and  trappings  of  an 
author  ;  his  head  in  the  front  very  finely  cut,  together  with 
the  year  of  his  age,  commendatory  verses  in  abundance,  and 
all  the  hands  of  the  poets  of  quorum  to  confirm  his  book,  and 
\pass  it  for  authentic.  This  at  present  is  content  to  come 
abroad  naked,  undedicated,  and  unprefaced,  without  one  kind 
word  to  shelter  it  from  censure  ;  and  so  let  the  critics  take  it 
amongst  them.' 

Oldham  had  not  long   enjoyed  the   seclusion  and  hospi- 
talities of  Holmes -Pierpont,  when  he  was  seized  by  an  attack 
of  small-pox,  which  terminated  in  his  death  pnjj^e  pth  De- 
npnl->pv    Tfi87j  jn  thp  thirti^th^  year.of  his  age.      His  life 
closed  in  the  lap  of  luxuries  that  presented  a  strange  contrast 
to  the  obscurity  in  which  the  greater  part  of  it  had  been 
passed ;  and  the  honours  paid  to  his  memory  may  be  accepted 
without  suspicion  as  evidence  of  the  respect  in  which  he  was 
held,  since  no  man  certainly  ever  took  less  pains  to  cultivate 
I  favour  or  flattery.     The  Earl  of  Kingston  attended  as  chief 
J  mourner  at  his  funeral,  and  afterwards  erected  a  monument 
( over  his  grave.     When  his  Itemain§  were  collected  andpub^ 
lished. jft-jL-^iS^  they  were  acGQmpaaiiQd^j3y-4ributes^J:ii.^his 
mempry'--fr©m-4}ry4eni_Fktma5j,JCom^^ 


i'cH^    OLDHAM.  13 

others.  Tevstimonies  oi  tfiis  description  are  frenerally  of 
li?^  value ;  but  Di'yden's  lines  ou  tliis  occasion  form  a 
remarkable  exception  in  the  strict  justice  of  their  sentiments, 
and  the  realitj^  of  their  pathos. 

The  notices  that  have  been  preserved  of  Oldliam's  personal 

(appearance  describe  him  as  having  the  aspect  oLa-Studeni 
and  a  close  observer.  He  was  tall  and  slender,  with  disagree- 
able features,  a  long  face,  a  prominent  nose,  and  a  sarcastic 
/  expression  in  his  eyes.  His  constitution  betrayed  symptoms 
I  of  consumption ;  and  we  gather  from  numerous  passages  in 
his  works  that  the  life  of  London  was  less  congenial  to  his 
tastes  and  habits  than  the  repose  and  elastic  air  of  the 
country.  Granger  says  that  he  was  of  a  very  different  turn 
from  his  father,  and  that  he  appears  to  have  been  no  enemy 
to  the  fashionable  vices ;  but  this  assertion  should  be  received 
with  caution  in  reference  to  a  writer  who  literally  made  a 
crusade  against  the  licentiousness  of  the  town.  If  he  fell 
into  the  excesses  of  the  company  with  which  he  mixed  during 
the  short  term  of  his  residence  in  London,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  speedily  abandoned  and  renounced  them.* 

We  have  it  on  Spence's  authority  that  Pope  considered 

• '  Oldham  a  very  indelicate  writer,  admitting,  at  the  same  time, 

,  that  he  had  strong  rage,  but  that  it  was  too  like  Billingsgate. 

(The  criticism  is  true ;  but  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.     There 

were  elements  better  and  nobler  than  Billingsgatejn  Oldham 

-«-BftasCuline]vigour,  learning,  variety  and_fitp<^g«  <^f  dir^J^nj 


*  A  letter  of  Oldham's,  preserved  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  and 
quoted  in  the  last  edition  of  Croker's  Boswell,  sufficiently  confirms  tliis 
statement.  It  is  addressed  to  one  of  his  companions,  and  runs  thus  : — 
*  Thou  knowest,  Jack,  there  never  was  a  more  unconcerned  coxcomb 
than  myself  once ;  but  experience  and  thinking  have  made  me  quit 
that  himaour.  I  think  virtue  and  sobriety  (how  much  so  ever  the  men 
of  wit  may  turn  'em  into  ridicule)  the  only  measures  to  be  happy,  and 
believe  the  feast  of  a  good  conscience  the  best  treat  that  can  make  a 
true  epicure.  I  find  I  retain  all  the  briskness,  airiness,  and  gaiety  I 
had,  but  purged  from  the  dross  and  lees  of  debauchery  ;  and  am  as 
merry  as  ever,  tliough  not  so  mad.'  This  passage  Requires  additional 
force  from  the  fact  that  Oldham  died  at  an  age  when  most  men  give 
unrestrained  indulgence  to  their  love  of  pleasure.  Kor  are  there 
wanting  other  evidences  of  the  serious  change  that  passed  ever  his 


14  JOHN   OLDHAM. 

and  a  sententious^strength  whicli  Pope  entirely  jjverlooked. 
Dryden  esteemed  him  as  a  satirist  nearer  to  his  own  standard 
than  any  other  writer  of  his  time  ;  a  panegyric  sustained  by 
the  opinion  of  Mr.  Hallam,  who  says  that  'Oldham,  far 
superior  in  his  satires  to  Marvell,  ranks  perhaps  next  to 
I  Dryden.'  The  affecting  lines  in  w^hich  Dryden  deplores  the 
loss  of  the  young  poet,  and  indicates  the  prominent  features 
[of  his  character,  leave,  indeed,  little  more  to  be  added  by 
•  others: — 

Farewell,  too  little  and  too  lately  known. 
Whom  I  began  to  think  and  call  my  own ; 
VFor  sure  our  souls  were  near  allied,  and  thine 
JCast  in  the  same  poetic  mould  as  mine. 
I  One  common  note  on  either  lyre  did  strike, 
/  And  knaves  and  fools  we  both  abhorred  alike ; 
To  the  same  goal  did  both  our  studies  drive, 
The  last  set  out  the  soonest  did  arrive  : 
Thus  Nisus  fell  upon  the  slippery  place, 
■yVhile  his  young  friend  performed  and  won  the  race. 
/  O  early  ripe  !  to  thy  abundant  store 
J  What  could  advancing  age  have  added  more  ? 
It  might  (what  nature  never  gives  the  young) 
Have  taught  the  numbers  of  thy  native  tongue  ; 
But  satire  needs  not  these,  and  wit  will  shine 
Through  the  harsh  cadence  of  a  rugged  line : 
A  noble  error,  and  but  seldom  made. 
When  poets  are  by  too  much  force  betrayed, 
ffhy  generous  fruits,  though  gathered  ere  their  time, 
fetill  showed  a  quickness  ;  and  maturing  time 
but  mellows  what  we  write  to  the  dull  sweets  of  rhyme. 
Once  more,  hail  and  farewell:     Farewell,  thou  young, 
But  ah  !  too  short,  Marcellus  of  our  tongue ; 
Thy  brows  with  ivy  and  with  laurels  bound ; 
But  fate  and  gloomy  night  encompass  thee  around. 


spirit  after  his  brief  experience  of  the  dissipations  of  London.  Amongst 
his  Miscellayieous  Remains  there  is  a  paper  written  on  the  near  pro- 
spect of  death,  in  which  the  deep  impressions  made  upon  his  mind  are 
earnestly  expressed.  In  this  penitential  meditation,  Oldham  re- 
Iproaches  himself  with  the  transgressions  of  the  past ;  but  the  language 
of  contrition  employed  on  such  occasions  must  not  be  taken  at  its 
literal  value.  In  moments  of  self-confession  and  religious  reflection, 
men  usually  exaggerate  their  former  errors  and  omissions ;  and  when 
Oldham  alludes  to  his  excesses  and  neglects,  we  may  reasonably  con- 
clude that  he  magnifies  them.  As  this  paper  is  not  only  interesting 
in  itself  as  a  pendant  to  the  sketch  of  Oldham's  character,  but  pro- 
bably contains  the  last  lines  he  wrote,  it  is  inserted  in  full  at  the  end 
of  the  volume. 


JOHN    OLDHAM.  15 

In  the  energy  ari<Lvolimie  of  his-Tjmlinscs,  Oldham  closely 
Tesembles  Dryden.  This  resemblance,  it  should  be  observed, 
tts  exempt  from  a  suspicion  of  imitation,  as  Oldham  really 

Jpreceded  Dryden  in  the  pieces  in  which  it  exists,  the.  Satires 
on  the  Jesuits  having  been  wiitten  two  \]?ars  before  the  ap-^ 
pearance  of  Absalom  and^KcJiitopJiel,  the  fost  of  Dry  den's 
satires.     Even  were  it  otherwise,  his  vehemence  betrays  a 
temperament    too    eager    of    utterance    to    wait    upon    the 

Astudy  of  models.    Whatever  is  in  him,  therefore,  of  excellence 

I  or  failure,  has  at  least  the  merit  of  unimpeachable  orig4»aJity. 
The  ruggednessj)f_Ms  versificatiorL — evidence  alike  of  care- 
lessness in  art,  and  of  the  rude  strength  that  resists  restraints 
— did  not  escape  the  friendly  criticism  of _Dryd£in^  who 
exc(uses  ifun^er  the  pleaTthaFBatire  does  not  need  the  refine- 

/ments  of  skilfully-balanced  numbers.  Another  apology  for 
these  pieces  may  be  found  in  the  nature  of  their  subjects,  and 
the  disposition  ot  the  times  to  which  they  were  addressed. 
Their  boldness  secured  them  immediate  audience,  and  their 
ruggedness  gave  them  a  rougher  edge,  like  that  of  a  jagged 
hatchet  that  mangles  its  victims.  But  Oldham's  indifference 
to  the  structure  of  his  lines  appears  chiefly  in  jtlie-  Satires 
where  he  is  carried  away  by  the  impetuosity  of  his  feelings, 
iln  two  or  three  of  his  minor  pieces  he  shows  himself  capable 
of  a  more  melodious  treatment.*  It  must  be  confessed,  how- 
ever, that  the  title  bestowed  upon  him  by  Dryden  of  the 


*  Oldham  was  not  insensible  to  the  charge  of  metrical  harshness, 
and  in  one  of  his  prefaces  he  defends  himself  on  the  ground  that  he 
was  more  occupied  with  the  argument  than  the  vehicle.  '  I  confess,' 
he  says, '  I  did  not  so  much  mind  the  cadence  as  the  sense  and  expres- 
siveness of  my  words,  and  therefore  chose  not  those  which  were  best 
disposed  for  placing  themselves  in  rhyme,  but  rather  the  most  keen 
and  taunt,  as  being  the  most  suitable  to  my  argument.  And  certainly 
no  one  that  pretends  to  distinguish  the  several  colours  of  poetry  wotild 
expect  that  Juvenal,  when  he  is  lashing  Adce  and  villany,  should  flow 
so  smoothly  as  Ovid  or  Tibullus,  when  they  are  describing  amours  and 
gallantries,  and  have  nothing  to  disturb  and  ruffle  the  evenness  of 
Itheir  style.'  This  vindication  of  his  ruggedness  reveals  one  of  his 
pnost  conspicuous  merits — his  choice  of  language,  which  is  at  once 
Ifamiliar  and  striking,  and  everywhere  the  faithful  representative  of 
Impulsive  ardour  and  strong  convictions. 


16  JOHN   OLDHAM. 

'young  Marcellus  of  our  tongue,'  whatever  he  might  have 
done  to  have  earned  it  had  he  lived,  less  happily  expressed  his 
characteristics  than  that  by  which  he  was  better  known — the 
'  English  Juvenal ;'  an  appellation  which  is  justified  no  less 

hyThp  pfv^p£3jifl  apypyify  pf  ]iisLjd:j:i<^4^yH»A&^  than  by  thfiitLanir 
TTTa^^P<^^jTnTJj-aif^^  TYinnnpr.<-        In 

this  latter  point  of  view,  his  poems  possess  an  obvious  his- 
'  torical  value. 

I     During  Oldham's  life  his  Satires  were  received  with  great 
•  favour,  and  several  times  reprinted.*     A  third  edition  of  the 

Satires  on  the  Jesuits  was  published  in  1685;  and  in  1686 
ihis  works,  were  collected  in  a  single  volume  by  the  pub- 
lisher who  had  previously  issued  them  separately.     In   17 10 

they  reached  a  seventh  edition;  and  were  republished  in  two 

volumes  in  1722.  The  last  edition,  edited  by  Captain 
-  Edward  Thompson,  appeared  in  i77o,t  They  have  never 
/been  included  in  any  general  collection  of  the  English 
I  Poets;   being  denied  admission  as  a  whole,  no  doubt  very 


»  *  Oldham  had  some  admirers  who  considered  him  entitled  to  take 
'  rank  amongst  the  first  poets  in  the  language.  Winslanley  says  of  him 
that  he  was  '  the  delight  of  the  muses,  and  glory  of  these  last  times ; 
a  man  utterly  unknown  to  me,  but  only  by  works,  which  none  can 
read  but  with  wonder  and  admiration  ;  so  pithy  his  strains,  so  senten- 
tious his  expressions,  so  elegant  his  oratory,  so  reviving  his  language, 
so  smooth  his  lines,  in  translation  outdoing  the  original,  and  in  inven- 
tion matchless.'  Winstanley's  critical  opinion,  it  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  after  this  indiscriminate  panegyric,  is  not  worth  much,  but  it 
indicates  how  highly  Oldham  was  esteemed  in  some  quarters  by  his 
contemporaries. 

('  t  Thompson,  whose  critical  pretensions  brought  upon  him  the  mer- 
ciless ridicule  of  his  critics,  also  edited  the  works  of  Marvell  and  Paul 
Whitehead.  He  belonged  to  the  maritime  service,  and  appears  to 
have  resorted  to  literature  as  a  pis  alter  when  the  peace  of  i  ']6z  threw 
(him  out  of  employment  His  first  venture  was  a  licentious  poem 
called  the  Meretriciad,  in  which  he  celebrated  the  most  notorious 
women  of  the  tovna ;  this  was  followed  by  the  Courtezan  and  the 
I  Demirep,  the  subjects  of  which  may  be  inferred  from  their  titles.  He 
also  published  a  sort  of  rambling  account  of  his  own  life,  called 
*  Sailors'  Letters.  In  his  professional  capacity  he  acquired  a  more  cre- 
ditable reputation,  and  was  considered  a  man  of  ability  and  courage. 
As  a  writer,  the  best  things  he  produced  were  some  sea-songs,  excel- 
lent in  their  kind.  '  The  topsails  shiver  in  the  wind,'  and  a  few  others, 
still  retain  their  popularity. 


JOHN    OLDHAM.  17 

properly,  in  consequence  of  the  coarseness  objected  to  by  Pope, 
lit  might  be  expected,  nevertheless,  that  Oldham  would 
/have  been  recognised  in  the  Anthologies,  which,  composed 

of  picked   specunens,  afforded   the  means  of   bringing  the 

public  acquainted  with  him  without  compromising  the 
jtaste  of  readers  or  editors.  Yet  here  also  he  has  been 
'passed  over  in  silence.     If  the  principle  of  exclusion  had  been 

consistently  acted  upon  in  all  instances,  there  would  be  less 

Eison  to  complain  of  his  rejection;  but  it  is  not  easy  to 
derstand  by  what  rule  of  taste  or  morality  he  was  refused 
place  in  collections  that  presented  the  public  wdth  the 
scenities  of  Swift  in  full,  suffering  not  a  scrap  to  escape ; 
nor  is  that  fastidiousness  very  intelligible  which  saw  no  ob- 
jection to  confer  on  such  men  as  Rochester,  w^hose  lives  and 
writings  were  saturated  with  grossness,  a  distinction  denied 
to  a  poet  who  dragged  their  delinquencies  before  the  bar  of 
public  opinion.* 

7    It  must  be  admitted  that  Oldham  wrote  some  pieces  which 
jdeserve  the  obloquy  they  have  incurred,  and  that  there  are 
I  expressions  and  allusions  in  his  Satires  which  would  be  un- 
^pardonable  in  a  writer  of  the  nineteenth  century.     In  this 
I  respect,  however,  he  is  not  more  open  to  censure  than  the 
most  famous  of  his  contemporaries  :  and,  although  such  trans- 
gressions are  not  to  be  excused  by  examples,  it  would  be 
obviously  unjust  to  hold  up  to  particular  condemnation  in  him 


1*  Amongst  Oldham's  poems  there  is  a  lamentation  on  the  death  of 
Rochester,  imitated  from  a  Greek  pastoral,  and  conceived  in  the  usual 
vein  of  extravagant  panegyric.     Rochester  was  the  first  man  of  rank 
or  influence  that  noticed  Oldham,  who  in  these  stanzas  discharges  the 
obligations  lie  owed  to  his  memory.     No  personal  considerations  for 
Rochester,  however,  restrained  him  during  the  lifetime  of  that  distin- 
guished profligate  from  exposing  the  vices  he  practised,  or  the  social 
j  delinquencies  of  the  order  to  which  he  belonged.     Pope  has  insti- 
I  tuted  a  comparison  between  Oldham,  Dorset,  and  Rochester,  as  poets, 
j  which  curio  isly  exemplifies  the  special  character  of  his  own  taste. 
J  Rochester,  he  says,  had  much  more  delicacy  and  knowledge  of  mankind 
than  Oldham,  and  was  the  medium  between  him  and  Dorset,  who  was 
Ibetter  than  either.    The  regularity  of  Dorset,  and  the  wit  of  Rochester, 
jwere,  as  might  be  expected,  preferred  by  Pope  to  the  rough  energy  oi 
•oidham. 

OLTHAM.  ^ 


18  JOHN   OLDHAM. 

a  corrupt  taste  which  has  not  excluded  the  works  of  Dryden 
from  general  circulation.  Indeed,  making  a  reasonable  allow- 
ance for  the  common  language  and  usages  of  the  period, 
Oldham  is  entitled  to  credit,  not  only  for  having  written  so 
little  that  is  offensive  in  this  way,  but  for  the  general  tendency 
of  his  writings  in  an  opposite  direction.  The  end  he  had  in 
view  should  be  taken  into  account  in  foiming  an  estimate  of 
the  means  he  employed.  If  he  descended  to  coarseness  it  was 
not  to  stimulate  a  prurient  or  depraved  appetite,  but  to  turn 
against  vice  its  own  weapons.  The  licentiousness  of  the  age, 
the  servility  of  pandering  authors,  the  neglect  of  literature,  the 
pride  and  profligacy  of  the  nobility,  and  the  degradation  of 
the  lower  orders  of  the  clergy,  are  the  topics  upon  which 
he  gives  free  scope  to  his  honest  satire ;  and  he  knew  that  if 
he  treated  them  with  delicacy  and  reserve  he  must  inevitably 
fail  in  making  the  impression  he  desired.  He  was  too  much 
in  earnest  to  pick  and  choose  his  phrases,  or  trim  his  versifi- 
cation. He  thought  only  of  the  matter,  and  was  indifferent  to 
the  manner.  As  he  has  himself  frankly  acknowledged,  the 
indignation  is  everywhere  paramount  to  the  art : — 

Nor  needs  there  art  or  genius  here  to  use, 
Where  indignation  can  create  a  muse. 

In  the  core  of  his  bold  and  vehement  Satires,  there  is  a 
sound  and  permanent  material  which  may  be  safely  liberated 
from  incidental  impurities,  and  which  it  is  the  design  of  the 
present  volume  to  preserve.  The  poems  retained  in  this 
collection  comprise  the  whole  of  his  published  works,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  pieces  which  may  be  omitted  with  advan- 
tage to  his  fame,  and  would  be  productive  of  no  pleasure  to 
his  readers.  The  principle  upon  which  they  have  been  ex- 
cluded can  hardly  requu-e  any  justification ;  but  it  is  proper 
to  add  that  no  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  poems, 
beyond  the  exercise  of  that  discretion  which  has  been  found 
indispensable  in  the  case  of  Rochester  and  others,  and  which  is 
sanctioned  by  an  evident  necessity.  The  text,  which  in  aU 
former  editions  is  full  of  errors  and  corruptions,  has  been  care- 
fully revised  throughout. 


JOHN   OLDHAM.  19 

The  rank  Oldham  may  be  considered  entitled  to  hold 
amongst  English  satirists  must  not  be  determined  by  a 
critical  examination  of  the  quality  of  his  verse.  He  is  not 
one  of  those  wiiters  who  advanced  the  art  of  poetry,  or  whose 
example  stimulated  its  cultivation.  He  abounds-in  :^uliB  of 
negligence,  and  wilful  jviolations  of  metrical  laws.  Content 
"with  the  condensed  force  he  threw  at  the  first  heat  into  his 
lines,  he  took  no  further  trouble  about  their  structm-e.  He 
was  as  ind^fierent  to  accuraey-iaJiis^rhymes  as  to-  melodyjn 
hi^  versification;  and  wounds  the  sensitive  ear  no  less  by 
such  discords  as  '  give'  and  '  unbelief,'  '  long'  and  '  gone,'' 
than  by  the  irregularity  of  his  rhythm.  His  language 
always  nervous,  and  well  suited  to  his  purpose  by  its 
idiomatic  freedom,  is  never  ^governed  in- the^  selection  by  any, 
consideration  of  euphony  or  purity  of  taste ;  and,  giving  way 
to-yie-everwheimiiigTage  that  is  the  prevailing  chai'acteristic 
of  his  Satires,  he  frequently  repeats  the  same  terms  of  objui-- 
gation  and  obloquy,  which  might  have  been  easily  varied  by 
the  exercise  of  a  calmer  judgment.  These  faults  lie  upon 
the  sui-face.  They  strike  the  most  careless  reader ;  who  soon, 
however,  begins  to  perceive  that  they  are  the  faults  of  an 
impetuous  temperament,  and  not  of  ignorance  or  incapacity, 
and  that  Oldham's  merits  must  be  estimated  by  a  very 
difierent  test. 

Of  all  the  fugitive  writers  on  the  Protestant  side  who 
contributed  to  foment  the  agitation  produced  by  the  revela- 
tions of  Titus  Oates,  Oldham  is  the  ablest  and  boldest.  He 
is  not  merely  the  most  honest  representative  of  the  spirit 
that  actuated  his  party,  at  a  period  when  the  kingdom  was 
convulsed  by  religious  feuds,  but  the  only  one  whose  works, 
addressed  to  the  passions  of  the  hour,  are  worth  repro- 
l  duction.  He  belongs  wholly  to  the  terrible  episode  of  the 
J  Popish  Plot.  The  entire  term  of  his  literary  life  did  not 
spread  over  more  than  fom'  or  five  years;  and  throughout 
that  time  the  public  mind  was  absorbed  by  the  topics  upon 
which  he  has  dilated  with  such  zealous  frenzy  in  his  attack 
.ffx  the  Jesuits.     As   Dry  den,  a  IJttle  later,  espoused  the 

2—2 


20  JOHN   OLDHAM. 

interests  of  the  Duke  of  York's  adherents,  so  Oldham  asserted 
the  views  of  their  opponents ;  and  in  this  aspect  his  Satires 
possess  a  special  interest,  and  supply  an  important  deside- 

(ratum.  They  exhibit  at  its  height  the  fury  that  pervaded 
the  Protestant  party,  and  enable  us  to  balance  the  account  of 
violence  between  them  and  the  Roman  Catholics.  The 
writings  of  Dryden  have  transmitted  to  posterity  an  im- 
pression, too  hastily  adopted  by  modern  historians,  that  the 
Tories  immeasurably  transcended  the  Whigs  in  malignity  and 
intemperance;  but  in  the  invectives  of  Oldham  we  find  a 
display  of  bitterness  and  rancour  which  even  Dryden  himself 
has  not  surpassed.      The  advantage   of  superior   skill  was 

\  with  the  greater  poet ;  but  Oldham  rivals  him  in  the  breadth 

land  torrent  of  his  vituperation. 

\  Nor  are  these  Satires  less  curious  as  a  picture  of  living 
manners.  They  reflect  with  minute  fidelity  the  life  of  the 
Restoration.  In  his  sketches  of  the  modes  and  habits  of 
London,  Oldham  enters  into  a  variety  of  particulars  that 
bear  upon  the  moral  and  social  attributes  of  the  time.  The 
panorama  he  thus  brings  before  us  is  full  of  illustrative 
details.  From  the  incidents  of  the  streets,  the  slightness  of 
the  house  architecture,  the  frequency  of  fires,  the  insecurity 
of  passengers  by  night  and  day,  and  the  exploits  of  scourers, 
roarers,  and  padders,  he  ascends  to  the  delinquencies  of  the 
higher  orders,  the  corruptions  at  court,  the  venality  of  authors 
and  parasites,   the   neglect   of  literature,   and  the    servile 

'  homage  that  was  paid  to  wealth.  The  vividness  of  his  por- 
traitm*e  of  the  contemporary  age,  and  the  stern  justice  he 
executess  upon  its  vices,  invest  his  Satires  with  a  lasting 
historical  value  that  abundantly  compensates  for  the  mgged- 

iness  of  his  verse,  and  vindicates  his  right  to  a  high  place 
amongst  English  satirists. 


POEMS 


OP 


JOHN    OLDHAM. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF   MY   DEAR    FRIEND, 
MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.* 

A  PINDARIC, 

Ostendunt  terris  hunc  tantum  fata,  nee  ultra 
Esse  sinunt.  Virg. 

I 

T)  EST  Friend !  could  my  unbounded  grief  but  rate 
-*-^   With  due  proportion  thy  too  cruel  fate ; 
Could  I  some  happy  miracle  bring  forth, 
Great  as  my  wishes  and  thy  greater  worth, 

All  Helicon  should  soon  be  thine, 

And  pay  a  tribute  to  thy  shrine. 
The  learned  sisters  all  transformed  should  be, 
No  longer  nine,  but  one  Melpomene : 


*  This  is  the  earliest  poem  that  can  be  traced  to  a  date.  It  was 
written  in  1675,  when  Oldham  was  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and  pub- 
lished in  his  Rcmaim,  four  years  after  his  death.  It  is  carefully  con- 
structed on  the  models  then  in  vogue,  and  shows  considerable  skill  in 
the  exhaustive  process  of  extravagant  panegyric.  The  germs  of  future 
excellence  strike  root  boldly  in  this  piece,  which  is  remarkable  for 
variety  and  fertility  of  illustration,  and  has  many  passages  of  sweetness 
and  beauty.  Pope  considered  this  ode  one  of  the  best  of  Oldham's 
compositions,  and  noted  it  on  a  fly-leaf  of  a  copy  in  his  possession,  for 
special  commendation,  together  with  the  Fourth  Satire  on  the  Jesuits, 
the  Satire  on  Virtue,  the  translation  of  Horace's  Art  0/  Poetry,  and  the 
Impertinent  from  Horace.  This  note  of  Pope's  was  communicated  to 
Captain  Thompson  by  3Ir.  "Wilkes. 


22  TO   THE   MEMORY   OF 

Each  should  into  a  Niohe  relent, 

At  once  thy  mourner  and  thy  monument : 

Each  should  become 
Like  the  famed  Memnon's  speaking  tomb, 

To  sing  thy  well-tuned  praise; 
Nor  should  we  fear  their  being  dumb, 
Thou  still  wouldst  make  them  vocal  with  thy  rays. 

2 

O  that  I  could  distil  my  vital  juice  in  tears ! 
Or  waft  away  my  soul  in  sobbing  airs! 
Were  I  all  eyes, 
To  flow  in  liquid  elegies ; 

That  every  limb  might  grieve, 
And  dying  sorrow  still  retrieve; 
My  life  should  be  but  one  long  mourning  day, 
And  like  moist  vapours  melt  in  tears  away. 
I'd  soon  dissolve  in  one  great  sigh, 
And  upwards  fly, 
Glad  so  to  be  exhaled  to  heaven  and  thee : 
A  sigh  which  might  well-nigh  reverse  thy  death. 
And  hope  to  animate  thee  with  new  breath ; 
Powerful  as  that  which  heretofore  did  give 
A  soul  to  well-formed  clay,  and  made  it  live. 

3 

Adieu,  blest  Soul !  whose  hasty  flight  away 

Tells  heaven  did  ne'er  display 
Such  happiness  to  bless  the  world  with  stay. 
Death  in  thy  fall  betrayed  her  utmost  spite,      [white. 
And  showed  her  shafts  most  times  are  levelled  at  the 

She  saw  thy  blooming  ripeness  time  prevent ; 
She  saw,  and  envious  grew,  and  straight  her  arrow  sent : 
So  buds  appearing  ere  the  frosts  are  past, 

Nipped  by  some  unkind  blast. 
Wither  in  penance  for  their  forward  haste. 
Thus  have  I  seen  a  morn  so  bright. 
So  decked  with  all  the  robes  of  light. 
As  if  it  scorned  to  think  of  night, 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  23 

Wliicli  a  rude  storm  ere  noon  did  shroud, 
And  buried  all  its  early  glories  in  a  cloud. 
The  day  in  funeral  blackness  mourned, 
And  all  to  sighs,  and  all  to  tears  it  turned. 

4 
But  why  do  we  thy  death  untimely  deem; 
Or  fate  blaspheme? 
We  should  thy  full  ripe  virtues  wrong, 
To  think  thee  young. 
Fate,  when  she  did  thy  vigorous  growth  behold. 

And  all  thy  forward  glories  told, 
Forgot  thy  tale  of  years,  and  thought  thee  old. 
The  brisk  endowments  of  thy  mind, 
Scorning  in  the  bud  to  be  confined, 
Out-ran  thy  age,  and  left  slow  time  behind; 
Which  made  thee  reach  maturity  so  soon. 
And,  at  first  dawn,  present  a  full  spread  noon. 
So  thy  perfections  with  thy  soul  agree. 
Both  knew  no  non-age,  knew  no  infancy. 
Thus  the  first  pattern  of  our  race  began  "  v 

His  life  in  middle-age,  at  's  birth  a  perfect  man. 

5 

So  well  thou  actedst  in  thy  span  of  days. 
As  calls  at  once  for  wonder  and  for  praise. 
Thy  prudent  conduct  had  so  learnt  to  measure 

The  difi^'erent  whiles  of  toil  and  leisure, 
Ko  time  did  action  want,  no  action  wanted  pleasure. 
Thy  busy  industry  could  time  dilate. 

And  stretch  the  thread  of  fate : 
Thy  careful  thrift  could  only  boast  the  power 
To  lengthen  minutes,  and  extend  an  hour. 

No  single  sand  could  e'er  slip  by 

Without  its  wonder,  sweet  as  high : 
And  every  teeming  moment  still  brought  fortii 

A  thousand  rarities  of  worth. 
While  some  no  other  cause  for  life  can  give, 

But  a  dull  habitude  to  live, 


24  TO   THE   MEMORY    OF 

Thou  scornedst  such  laziness  while  here  beneath, 
And  livedst  that  time  which  others  only  breathe. 

6 

Next  our  just  wonder  does  commence, 
How  so  small  room  could  hold  such  excellence. 
Nature  was  proud  when  she  contrived  thy  frame, 

In  thee  she  laboured  for  a  name : 

Hence  'twas  she  lavished  all  her  store, 
As  if  she  meant  hereafter  to  be  poor, 

And,  like  a  bankrupt,  run  o'  tli'  score. 
Her  curious  hand  here  drew  in  straits,  and  joined 
All  the  perfections  lodged  in  human  kind; 

Teaching  her  numerous  gifts  to  lie 

Cramped  in  a  short  epitome. 
So  stars  contracted  in  a  diamond  shine, 

And  jewels  in  a  narrow  point  confine 

The  riches  of  an  Indian  mine. 

Thus  subtle  artists  can 
Draw  nature's  larger  s'elf  within  a  span : 
A  small  frame  holds  the  world,  earth,  heavens  and  all. 
Shrunk  to  the  scant  dimensions  of  a  ball. 

7 
Those  parts  which  never  in  one  subject  dwell, 
But  some  uncommon  excellence  foretell, 

Like  stars,  did  all  constellate  here, 

And  met  together  in  one  sphere. 
Thy  judgment,  wit  and  memory  conspired 
To  make  themselves  and  thee  admired ; 
And  could  thy  growing  height  a  longer  stay  have  known, 
Thou  hadst  all  other  glories,  and  thyself  out-done. 
While  some  to  knowledge  by  degrees  arrive, 

Through  tedious  industry  improved. 
Thine  scorned  by  such  pedantic  rules  to  thrive, 

But  swift  as  that  of  angels  moved. 
And  made  us  think  it  was  intuitive. 
Thy  pregnant  mind  ne'er  struggled  in  its  birth, 
But  quick,  and  while  it  did  conceive,  brought  forth  ; 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  25 

The  gentle  throes  cf  thy  prolific  brain 

Were  all  unstrained,  and  without  pain. 
Thus  when  great  Jove  the  Queen  of  Wisdom  bare, 
So  easy  and  so  mild  his  travails  were. 


Nor  were  these  fruits  in  a  rough  soil  bestown, 
As  gems  are  thickest  in  rugged  quarries  sown. 
Good  nature,  and  good  parts,  so  shared  thy  mind, 

A  muse  and  grace  were  so  combined, 
'Twas  hard  to  guess  which  with  most  lustre  shined.  , 
A  genius  did  thy  whole  comportment  act, 
W  hose  charming  complaisance  did  so  attract, 

As  every  heart  attacked. 
Such  a  soft  air  thy  well-tuned  sweetness  swayed, 
As  told  thy  soul  of  harmony  was  made  j 
All  rude  affections  that  disturbers  be, 
That  mar  or  disunite  society, 

Were  foreigners  to  thee. 
Love  only  in  their  stead  took  up  its  rest; 

Nature  made  that  thy  constant  guest. 
And  seemed  to  form  no  other  passion  for  thy  brec^st. 

9 

This  made  thy  courteousness  to  all  extend, 

And  thee  to  the  whole  universe  a  friend. 

Those  who  were  strangers  to  thy  native  soil  and  thee, 
No  strangers  to  thy  love  could  be, 
Whose  bounds  were  wide  as  all  mortality. 

Thy  heart  no  island  was,  disjoined 
(Like  thine  own  nation)  from  all  human  kind; 
But  'twas  a  continent  to  other  countries  fixed 
As  firm  by  love,  as  they  by  earth  annexed. 
Thou  scornedst  the  map  should  thy  affection  guide. 
Like  theirs  who  love  by  dull  geography, 
Friends  but  to  whom  by  soil  they  are  allied : 

Thine  reached  to  all  beside, 
To  every  member  of  the  world's  great  family. 
Heaven's  kindness  only  claims  a  name  more  general, 


26  TO    THE    MEMORY   OP 

Which  we  the  nobler  call, 
Because  'tis  common,  and  vouchsafed  to  all. 

lO 

Such  thy  ambition  of  obliging  was, 
Thou  seemedst  corrupted  with  the  very  power  to  please. 
Only  to  let  thee  gratify, 
At  once  did  bribe  and  pay  thy  courtesy. 
Thy  kindness  by  acceptance  might  be  bought, 
It  for  no  other  wages  sought, 

But  would  its  own  be  thought. 
No  suitors  went  unsatisfied  away 
But  left  thee  more  unsatisfied  than  they. 
Brave  Titus !  thou  mightst  here  thy  true  portraiture 
And  view  thy  rival  in  a  private  mind.  [find. 

Thou  heretofore  deservedst  such  praise, 
When  acts  of  goodness  did  compute  thy  days, 
Measured  not    by  the  sun's,   but    thine    own  kinder 
rays. 
Thou  thoughtest  each  hour  out  of  life's  journal  lost, 

Which  could  not  some  fresh  favour  boast. 
And  reckonedst  bounties  thy  best  Clepsydras. 

II 

Some  fools,  who  the  great  art  of  giving  want, 
Deflower  their  largess  with  too  slow  a  grant : 
Where  the  deluded  suitor  dearly  buys 
What  hardly  can  defray 
The  expense  of  importunities, 
Or  the  suspense  of  torturing  delay. 
Here  was  no  need  of  tedious  prayers  to  sue. 
Or  thy  too  backward  kindness  woo. 
It  moved  with  no  formal  state. 
Like  theirs  whose  pomp  does  for  entreaty  wait : 
But  met  the  swift'st  desires  half  way, 
And  wishes  did  well-nigh  anticipate; 
And  then  as  modestly  withdrew, 
Nor  for  its  due  reward  of  thanks  would  stay. 


MR.    CHAELES    MORWENT.  27 

12 

Yet  might  this  goodness  to  the  happy  most  accrue ; 
Somewhat  was  to  the  miserable  due, 

Which  they  might  justly  challenge  too. 
Whate'er  mishap  did  a  known  heart  oppress, 

The  same  did  thine  as  wretched  make ; 
Like  yielding  wax,  thine  did  the  impression  take, 
And  paid  its  sadness  in  as  lively  dress. 
Thou  couldst  afflictions  from  another  breast  translate, 

And  foreign  grief  impropriate ; 
Oft-times  our  sorrows  thine  so  much  have  grown, 
They  scarce  were  more  our  own; 
Who  seemed  exempt,  thou  sufferedst  all  alone. 

13 

Our  small'st  misfortunes  scarce  could  reach  thy  ear, 
But  made  thee  give  in  alms  a  tear ; 
And  when  our  hearts  breathed  their  regTet  in  sighs. 
As  a  just  tribute  to  their  miseries. 
Thine  with  their  mournful  airs  did  symbolize, 
Like  throngs  of  sighs  did  from  its  fibres  crowd, 
And  told  thy  grief  for  our  each  gTief  aloud : 

Such  is  the  secret  sympathy 
We  may  betwixt  two  neighbouring  lutes  descry, 
If  either,  by  unskilful  hand  too  rudely  bent. 
Its  soft  complaint  in  pensive  murmurs  vent. 

As  if  it  did  that  injury  resent. 
Untouched,  the  other  straight  returns  the  moan, 

And  gives  an  echo  to  each  groan; 
From,  its  sweet  bowels  a  sad  note's  conveyed, 
Like  those  which  to  condole  are  made. 
As  if  its  bowels  too  a  kind  compassion  had. 

14 
Nor  was  thy  goodness  bounded  with  so  small  extent, 
Or  in  such  narrow  limits  pent. 
Let  female  frailty  in  fond  tears  distill, 

Who  think  that  moisture  which  they  spill 


28  TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

Can  yield  relief, 
Or  shrink  the  current  of  another's  grief, 
Who  hope  that  breath  which  they  in  sighs  convey 
Should  blow  calamities  away; 
Thine  did  a  manlier  form  express, 
And  scorned  to  whine  at  an  unhappiness ; 
Thou  thoughtst  it  still  the  noblest  pity  to  redress. 
So  friendly  angels  their  relief  bestow 

On  the  unfortunate  below, 
For  whom  those  purer  minds  no  passion  know : 
Such  nature  in  that  generous  plant  is  found. 
Whose  every  breach  does  with  a  salve  abound, 
And  wounds  itself  to  cure  another's  wound. 
In  pity  to  mankind  it  sheds  its  juice, 
Glad  with  expense  of  blood  to  serve  their  use : 
First,  with  kind  tears  our  maladies  bewails, 
And  after  heals ; 
And  makes  those  very  tears  the  remedy  produce. 

15 

Nor  didst  thou  to  thy  foes  less  generous  appear, 
(If  there  were  any  durst  that  title  wear,) 

They  could  not  offer  wrongs  so  fast, 

But  what  were  pardoned  with  like  ha-ste ; 
And  by  thy  acts  of  amnesty  effaced. 
Had  he  who  wished  the  art  how  to  forget, 

Discovered  its  new  worth  in  thee, 
He  had  a  double  value  on  it  set. 
And  justly  scorned  the  ignobler  art  of  memory. 

No  wi'oiigs  could  thy  great  soul  to  grief  exposCy 
'Twas  placed  as  much  out  of  the  reach  of  those, 

As  of  material  blows. 
No  injuries  could  thee  provoke, 

Thy  softness  always  damped  the  stroke : 
As  flints  on  feather-beds  are  easiest  broke. 
Affronts  could  ne'.er  thy  cool  complexion  heat. 
Or  chase  thy  temper  from  its  settled  state : 

But  still  thou  stoodst  unshocked  by  all, 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  29 

As  if  tliou  hadst  -anlearned  the  power  to  hate, 
Or,  like  the  dove,  were  born  without  a  gali. 

i6 

Vain  stoics  who  disclaim  all  human  sen^e. 
And  own  no  passions  to  resent  offence, 
May  pass  it  by  with  unconcerned  neglect, 
And  virtue  on  those  principles  erect, 
"Where  'tis  not  a  perfection,  but  defect. 
Let  these  themselves  in  a  dull  patience  please, 
Which  their  own  statues  may  posses.^, 
And  they  themselves  when  carcasses. 
Thou  only  couldst  to  that  high  pitch  arrive. 
To  court  abuses,  that  thou  mightst  forgive: 
Wrongs  thus  in  thy  esteem  seemed  courtesy, 
And  thou  the  first  was  e'er  obliged  by  injury. 

Nor  may  we  think  these  godlike  qualities 
Could  stand  in  need  of  votaries, 

Which  heretofore  had  challenged  sacj^ifice. 
Each  assignation,  each  converse 
Gained  thee  some  new  idolaters. 

Thy  sweet  obligingness  could  supple  hate^ 

And  out  of  it,  its  contrary  create. 

Its  powerful  influence  made  quarrels  cease. 

And  feuds  dissolved  into  a  calmer  peace. 

Envy  resigned  her  force,  and  vanquished  apite 
Became  thy  speedy  proselytft. 

Malice  could  cherish  enmity  no  more ; 

And  those  which  were  thy  foes  before, 
Now  wished  they  might  adore. 

Csesar  may  tell  of  nations  took. 

And  troops  by  force  subjected  to  his  yoke ; 

We  read  as  great  a  conqueror  in  thee, 

Who  couldst  by  milder  ways  all  hearts  g\ibdue, 
The  nobler  conquest  of  the  two : 

Thus  thou  whole  legions  mad'st  thy  captives  be, 
And,  like  him  too,  couldst  Icok,  and  speak  thy  victory. 


30  TO   THE   MEMORY   OP 

i8 

Hence  may  we  calculate  the  tenderness 
Thou  didst  express 
To  all,  whom  thou  didst  with  thy  friendship  bless. 
To  think  of  passion  by  new  mothers  bore 

To  the  young  offspring  of  their  womb, 
Or  that  of  lovers  to  what  they  adore, 

Ere  duty  it  become : 
"We  should  too  mean  ideas  frame, 
Of  that  which  thine  might  justly  claim, 
And  injure  it  by  a  degrading  name : 

Conceive  the  tender  care 
Of  guardian  angels  to  their  charge  assigned. 
Or  think  how  dear 
To  heaven  expiring  martyrs  are; 
These  are  the  emblems  of  thy  mind, 
The  only  types  to  show  how  thou  wast  kind. 

19 

On  whomsoe'er  thou  didst  confer  this  tie, 

'Twas  lasting  as  eternity. 
And  firm  as  the  unbroken  chain  of  destiny. 
Embraces   would   faint    shadows    of   your   union 
show. 

Unless  you  could  together  grow. 
That  union  which  is  from  alliance  bred, 

Does  not  so  fastly  wed. 

Though  it  with  blood  be  cemented : 
Tliat  link  wherewith  the  soul  and  body's  joined. 
Which  twists  the  double  nature  in  mankind. 

Only  so  close  can  bind. 
That  holy  fire  which  Romans  to  their  Vesta  paid, 
Which  they  immortal  as  the  goddess  made, 
Thy  noble  flames  most  fitly  parallel ; 
Eor  thine  were  just  so  pure,  and  just  so  durable. 
Those  feigned  pairs  of  faithfulness,  which  claim 

So  high  a  place  in  ancient  fame. 

Had  they  thy  better  pattern  seen. 


MR.    CUAELES   MORWENT.  31 

They'd  made  their  friendship  more  divine, 
And  strove  to  mend  their  characters  by  thine. 

20 

Yet  had  this  friendship  no  advantage  been, 
Unless  'twere  exercised  within ; 

What  did  thy  love  to  other  objects  tie. 

The  same  made  thy  own  pov/ers  agree, 
And  reconciled  thyself  to  thee. 
No  discord  in  tliy  soul  did  rest, 
Save  what  its  harmony  increased. 

Thy  mind  did  with  such  regulai-  calmness  move,   ' 
As  held  resemblance  with  the  greater  mind  above. 
Keason  there  fixed  its  peaceful  throne. 
And  reigned  alone. 

The  will  its  easy  neck  to  bondage  gave, 

And  to  the  ruling  faculty  became  a  slave. 
The  passions  raised  no  civil  wars. 

Nor  discomposed  thee  with  intestine  jars: 
All  did  obey, 

And  paid  allegiance  to  its  rightful  sway. 
All  threw  their  resty  tempers  by, 
And  gentler  figures  drew. 

Gentle  as  nature  in  its  infancy, 

As  when  themselves  in  their  first  beings  grew. 

21 

Thy  soul  within  such  silent  pomp  did  keep, 
As  if  humanity  were  lulled  asleep ; 
So  gentle  was  thy  pilgrimage  beneath, 

Time's  unheard  feet  scarce  make  less  noise, 
Or  the  soft  journey  which  a  planet  goes; 

Life  seemed  all  calm  as  its  last  breath, 
A  still  tranquillity  so  hushed  thy  breast, 

As  if  some  Halcyon  were  its  guest. 

And  there  had  built  her  nest ; 
It  hardly  now  enjoys  a  greater  rest. 
As  that  smooth  sea  which  wears  the  name  of  peace, 

Still  with  one  even  face  appears, 


32  TO    THE   MEMORY   OF 

And  feels  no  tides  to  change  it  from  its  place, 
No  waves  to  alter  the  fair  form  it  bears : 
As  that  unspotted  sky, 
Where  Nile  does  want  of  rain  supply, 
Is  free  from  clouds,  from  storms  is  ever  free : 
So  thy  unvaried  mind  was  always  one, 
And  with  such  clear  serenity  still  shone, 
As  caused  thy  little  world  to  seem  all  temperate  zone. 

22 

Let  fools  their  high  extraction  boast,  [cost ; 

And  greatness,  which  no  travail,  but  their  mother's, 
Let  them  extol  a  swelling  name. 
Which  theirs  by  will  and  testament  became — 
At  best  but  mere  inheritance. 
As  oft  the  spoils,  as  gift,  of  chance ; 
Let  some  ill-placed  repute  on  scutcheons  rear, 
As  fading  as  the  colours  which  those  bear, 
And  prize  a  painted  field, 
Which  wealth  as  soon  as  fame  can  yield ; 
Thou  scornedst  at  such  low  rates  to  purchase  worth, 
Nor  couldst  thou  owe  it  only  to  thy  birth, 
Thy  self-born  greatness  was  above  the  power 
Of  parents  to  entail,  or  fortune  to  deflower. 
Thy   soul,    which,  like   the    sun,   heaven   moulded 
bright. 
Disdained  to  shine  with  borrowed  light : 
Thus  from  himself  the  eternal  being  grew, 
And  from  no  other  cause  his  grandeur  drew. 

Howe'er,  if  true  nobility 
Rather  in  souls  than  in  the  blood  does  lie : 
If  from  thy  better  part  we  measures  take, 
And  that  the  standard  of  our  value  make, 
Jewels  and  stars  become  low  heraldry 

To  blazon  thee. 
Thy  soul  was  big  enough  to  pity  kings, 
And  looked  on  empires  as  poor  humble  things; 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  S3 

Great  as  his  boundless  mind, 
Who  thought  himself  in  one  wide  globe  confined, 

And  for  another  pined; 
Great  as  that  spirit  whose  large  powers  roll 
Through  the  vast  fabric  of  this  spacious  bowl, 
And  tell  the  world  as  well  as  man  can  boast  a  soul. 

24 

Yet  could  not  this  an  haughtiness  beget, 

Or  thee  above  the  common  level  set. 

Pride,  whose  alloy  does  best  endowments  mar, 

(As  things  most  lofty  smaller  still  appear) 
With  thee  did  no  alliance  bear. 
Low  merits  oft  are  by  too  high  esteem  belied. 

Whose  owners  lessen  while  they  raise  their  price ; 

Thine  were  above  the  very  guilt  of  pride, 
Above  all  others,  and  thy  own  hyperbole : 

In  thee  the  wid'st  extremes  were  joined, 

The  loftiest,  and  the  lowliest  mind. 

Thus  though  some  part  of  heaven's  vast  round 

Appear  but  low,  and  seem  to  touch  the  ground. 

Yet  'tis  well  known  almost  to  bound  the  spheres, 

'Tis  truly  held  to  be  above  the  stars. 

25 
While  thy  brave  mind  preserved  this  noble  frame. 
Thou  stoodst  at  once  secure 
From  all  the  flattery  and  obloquy  of  fame,       [same : 
Its  rough  and  gentler  breath  were  both  to  thee  the 
Nor  this  could  thee  exalt,  nor  that  depress  thee  lower ; 
But  thou,  fromthy  great  soul,  onbothlookedst  down. 
Without  the  small  concernment  of  a  smile  or  frown. 
Heaven  less  dreads  that  it  should  fired  be 
By  the  weak  flitting  sparks  that  upwards  fly, 
Less  the  bright  goddess  of  the  night 
Fears  those  loud  bowlings  that  revile  her  light, 
Than  thou  malignant  tongues  thy  worth  should 
blast. 
Which  was  too  great  for  envy's  cloud  to  overcast. 

OLDHAM.  3 


34  TO   THE   MEMORY   OF 

'Twas  thy  brave  method  to  despise  contempt, 
And  make  what  was  the  fault  the  punishment, 
What  more  assaults  could  weak  detraction  raise, 
When  thou  couldst  saint  disgrace. 
And  turn  reproach  to  praise. 
So  clouds  which  would  obscure  the  sun,  oft  gilded  be. 
And  shades  are  taught  to  shine  as  bright  as  he ; 

So  diamonds,  when  envious  night 
Would  shroud  their  splendour,  look  most  bright. 
And  from  its  darkness  seem  to  borrow  light. 

26 

Had  heaven  composed  thy  mortal  frame, 
Free  from  contagion  as  thy  soul  or  fame : 
Could  virtue  been  but  proof  against  death's  arms. 

Thou  hadst  stood  unvanquished  by  these  harms, 
Safe  in  a  circle  made  by  thy  own  charms. 
Fond  pleasure,  whose  soft  magic  oft  beguiles 
Raw  inexperienced  souls, 
And  with  smooth  flattery  cajoles. 
Could  ne'er  ensnare  thee  with  her  wiles, 
Or  make  thee  captive  to  her  soothing  smiles. 
In  vain  that  pimp  of  vice  essayed  to  please. 
In  hope  to  draw  thee  to  its  rude  embrace. 
Thy  prudence  still  that  sjren  past 
Without  being  pinioned  to  the  mast : 
All  its  attempts  were  ineffectual  found ; 

Heaven  fenced  thy  heart  with  its  own  mound, 
And  forced   the   tempter   still   from   that  forbidden 
ground. 

27 

The  mad  Capricios  of  the  doting  age 

Could  ne'er  in  the  same  frenzy  thee  engage; 

But  moved  thee  rather  with  a  generous  rage. 
Gallants,  who  their  high  breeding  prize, 

Known  only  by  their  gallanture  and  vice, 
Whose  talent  is  to  court  a  fashionable  sin, 
And  act  some  fine  transgression  with  a  jaunty  mien, 

May  by  such  methods  hope  the  vogue  to  win. 


MR.    CHARLES   MORWENT.  35 

Let  those  gay  fops  who  deem 

Their  infamies  accomplishment, 
Grow  scandalous  to  get  esteem, 
And  by  disgrace  strive  to  be  eminent. 

Here  thou  disdainest  the  common  road, 
Nor  wouldst  by  aught  be  wooed 
To  wear  the  vain  iniquities  of  the  mode. 
Vice  with  thy  practice  did  so  disagree, 
Thou  scarce  couldst  bear  it  in  thy  theory. 
Thou  didst  such  ignorance  'bove  knowledge  prize, 
And  here  to  be  unskilled,  is  to  be  wise. 

Such  the  first  founders  of  our  blood. 
While  yet  untempted,  stood 

Contented  only  to  know  good. 

28 
Virtue  alone  did  guide  thy  actions  here, 
Thou  by  no  other  card  thy  life  didst  steer : 

No  sly  decoy  would  serve. 
To  make  thee  from  her  rigid  dictates  swerve ; 
Thy  love  ne'er  thought  her  worse 
Because  thou  hadst  so  few  competitors; 
Thou  couldst  adore  her  when  adored  by  none. 
Content  to  be  her  votary  alone; 

When  'twas  proscribed  the  unkind  world, 
And  to  blind  cells,  and  grottos  hurled, 
When  thought  the  phantom  of  some  crazy  brain, 
Fit  for  grave  anchorets  to  entertain, 
A  thin  chimera,  whom  dull  gown-men  frame 
To  gull  deluded  mortals  with  an  empty  name. 

29 
Thou  ownedst  no  crimes  that  shunned  the  liijht. 
Whose  horror  might  thy  blood  afiright. 
And  force  it  to  its  known  retreat. 
While  the  pale  cheeks  do  penance  in  their  white. 
And  tell  that  blushes  are  too  weak  to  expiate ; 
Thy  fe,ults  might  all  be  on  thy  forehead  wore, 
And  the  whole  world  thy  confessor. 

3—2 


36  TO   THE   MEMORY   OF 

Conscience  within  still  kept  assize, 
To  punish  and  deter  impieties : 
That  inbred  judge  such  strict  inspection  bore, 

So  traversed  all  thy  actions  o'er, 

The  Eternal  Judge  could  scarce  do  more : 

Those  little  escapades  of  vice, 

"Which  pass  the  cognizance  of  most. 
In  the  crowd  of  following  sins  forgot  and  lost, 
Could  ne'er  its  sentence  or  arraignment  miss : 
Thou  didst  prevent  the  young  desires  of  ill, 

And  them  in  their  first  motions  kill : 
The  very  thoughts,  in  others  unconfined 
And  lawless  as  the  wind, 

Thou  couldst  to  rule  and  order  bind ; 
They  durst  not  any  stamp  but  that  of  virtue  bear, 
And  free  from  stain,  as  thy  most  public  actions,  were. 
Let  wild  debauchees  hug  their  darling  vice, 

And  court  no  other  paradise, 
Till  want  of  power 

Bids  them  discard  the  stale  amour, 

And  when  disabled  strength  shall  force 
A  short  divorce. 
Miscall  that  weak  forbearance  abstinence. 
Which  wise  morality,  and  better  sense, 
Styles  but,  at  best,  a  sneaking  impotence. 

Thine  a  far  nobler  pitch  did  fly, 
'Twas  all  free  choice,  nought  of  necessity. 

Thou  didst  that  puny  soul  disdain 
Whose  half-strain  virtue  only  can  restrain ; 

Nor  wouldst  that  empty  being  own. 

Which  springs  from  negatives  alone. 
But  truly  thoughtst  it  always  virtue's  skeleton. 

30 

Nor  didst  thou  those  mean  spirits  more  approve, 
Who  virtue  only  for  its  dowry  love ; 
Unbribed  thou  didst  her  sterling  self  espouse, 
Nor  wouldst  a  better  mistress  choose. 


MK.    CHARLES    MOEWENT.  61 

Thou  couldst  affection  to  her  bare  idea  pay, 
The  first  that  e'er  caressed  her  the  Platonic  way. 

To  see  her  in  her  own  attractions  dressed, 
Did  all  thy  love  arrest, 

Nor  lacked  there  new  efforts  to  storm  thy  breast. 
Thy  generous  loyalty 

Would  ne'er  a  mercenary  be, 
But  chose  to  serve  her  still  without  a  livery. 

Yet  wast  thou  not  of  recompense  debarred, 

But  countedst  honesty  its  own  reward  ; 

Thou  didst  not  wish  a  greater  bliss  to  accrue. 
For  to  be  good  to  thee  was  to  be  happy  too ; 
That  secret  triumph  of  thy  mind. 

Which  always  thou  in  doing  well  didst  find, 
Were  heaven    enough,  were  there  no   other  heaven 


designed. 


31 


What  virtues  few  possess  but  by  retail, 

In  gross  could  thee  their  owner  call ; 
They  all  did  in  thy  single  circle  fall. 
Thou  wast  a  living  system  where  were  wrote 
Ail  those  high  morals  which  in  books  are  sought. 
Thy  practice  did  more  virtues  share 
Than  heretofore  the  learned  porch  e'er  knew, 
Or  in  the  Stagyrite's  scant  ethics  grew : 
Devout  thou  wast  as  holy  hermits  are, 
Which  share  their  time  'twixt  ecstasy  and  prayer; 
Modest  as  infant  roses  in  their  bloom, 

Which  in  a  blush  their  lives  consume ; 

So  chaste,  the  dead  are  only  more, 
Who  lie  divorced  from  objects,  and  from  power; 

So  pure,  that  if  blest  saints  could  be 
Taught  innocence,  they'd  gladly  learn  of  thee. 
Thy  virtue's  height  in  heaven  alone  could  grow, 
Nor  to  aught  else  would  for  accession  owe : 
Tt  only  now's  more  perfect  than  it  was  below. 


38  TO   THE    MEMORY    OP 

Hence,  tliougli  at  once  thy  soul  lived  here  and  there, 
Yet  heaven  alone  its  thoughts  did  share ; 
It  owned  no  home,  but  in  the  active  sphere. 
Its  motions  always  did  to  that  bright  centre  roll, 

And  seemed  to  inform  thee  only  on  parole. 
Look  how  the  needle  does  to  its  dear  north  incline, 
As,  wer't  not  fixed,  'twould  to  that  region  climl) ; 
Or  mark  what  hidden  force 
Bids  the  flame  ujDwards  take  its  course, 
And  makes  it  with  that  fewiftness  rise. 
As  if  'twere  winged  by  the  air  through  which   it 
flies. 
Such  a  strong  virtue  did  thy  inclinations  bend, 
And  made  them  still  to  the  blest  mansions  tend. 
That  mighty  slave,  whom  the  proud  victor's  rage 
Shut  prisoner  in  a  golden  cage. 
Condemned  to  glorious  vassalage, 
Ne'er  longed  for  dear  enlargement  more, 
Nor  his  gay  bondage  with  less  patience  bore, 
Than  this  great  spirit  brooked  its  tedious  stay. 
While  fettered  here  in  brittle  clay, 
And  wished  to  disengage  and  fly  away. 
It  vexed  and  chafed,  and  still  desired  to  be 
Keleased  to  the  sweet  freedom  of  eternity. 

33 

Nor  were  its  wishes  long  unheard, 

Fate  soon  at  its  desire  appeared. 

And  straight  for  an  assault  prepared. 

A  sudden  and  a  swift  disease 
First  on  thy  heart,  life's  chiefest  fort,  does  seize, 
And  then  on  all  the  suburb -vitals  preys : 

Next  it  corrupts  thy  tainted  blood. 
And  scatters  poison  through  its  purple  flood. 

Sharp  aches  in  thick  troops  it  sends, 
And  pain,  which,  like  a  rack  the  nerves  extends. 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT. 


39 


Anguisli  through  every  member  flies, 
And  all  those  inward  agonies 
Whereby  frail  flesh  in  torture  dies. 
All  the  staid  glories  of  thy  face, 
Where  sprightly  youth  lay  checked  with  manly  grace, 
Are  now  impaired, 
And  quite  by  the  rude  hand  of  sickness  marred. 
Thy  body,  where  due  symmetry 
In  just  proportions  once  did  lie, 
Now  hardly  could  be  known. 
Its  very  figure  out  of  fashion  grown ; 
And  should  thy  soul  to  its  old  seat  return, 

And  life  once  more  adjourn, 
'Twould  stand  amazed  to  see  its  altered  frame. 
And  doubt  (almost)  whether  its  own  carcass  were  the 
same. 

34 

And  here  thy  sickness  does  new  matter  raise 
Both  for  thy  virtue  and  our  praise ; 
'Twas  here  thy  picture  looked  most  neat. 
When  deep'st  in  shades  'twas  set, 

Thy  virtues  only  thus  could  fairer  be 

Advantaged  by  the  foil  of  misery. 

Thy  soul,  which  hastened  now  to  be  enlarged. 
And  of  its  grosser  load  discharged, 

Began  to  act  above  its  wonted  rate, 
And  gave  a  prelude  of  its  next  unbodied  state. 
So  dying  tapers  near  their  fall. 

When  their  own  lustre  lights  their  funeral, 

Contract  their  strength  into  one  brighter  fire, 

And  in  that  blaze  triumphantly  expire; 

So  the  bright  globe  that  rules  the  skies. 
Though  he  gild  heaven  with  a  glorious  rise, 
Beserves  his  choicest  beams  to  grace  his  set ; 

And  then  he  looks  most  gi^eat, 
And  then  in  greatest  splendour  dies. 


40  TO   THE   MEMORY   OF 

35 

Thou  sharpest  pains  didst  with  that  courage  bear, 
And  still  thy  looks  so  unconcerned  didst  wear, 
Beholders  seemed  more  indisposed  than  thee; 

For  they  were  sick  in  effigy. 
Like  some  well-fashioned  arch  thy  patience  stood, 
And  purchased  firmness  from  its  greater  load. 
Those  shapes  of  torture,  which  to  view  in  paint 

Would  make  another  faint, 
Thou  couldst  endure  in  true  reality. 
And  feel  what  some  could  hardly  bear  to  see. 
Those  Indians  who  their  kings  by  tortures  chose, 
Subjecting  all  the  royal  issue  to  that  test. 

Could  ne'er  thy  sway  refuse. 
If  he  deserves  to  reign  that  suffers  best. 
Had  those  fierce  savages  thy  patience  viewed, 

Thou'dst  claimed  their  choice  alone ; 
They  with  a  crown  had  paid  thy  fortitude, 

And  turned  thy  death-bed  to  a  throne. 

36 

All  those  heroic  pieties. 
Whose  zeal  to  truth  made  them  its  sacrifice : 
Those  nobler  Scsevolas,  whose  holy  rage 
Did  their  whole  selves  in  cruel  flames  engage, 
Who  did  amidst  their  force  unmoved  appear. 

As  if  those  fires  but  lambent  were. 
Or  they  had  found  their  empyreum  there ; 
Might  these  repeat  again  their  days  beneath, 

They'd  seen  their  fates  out-acted  by  a  natural  death, 
And  each  of  them  to  thee  resign  his  wreath. 
In  spite  of  weakness  and  harsh  destiny, 

To  relish  torment,  and  enjoy  a  misery : 
So  to  caress  a  doom. 
As  makes  its  sufferings  delights  become : 
So  to  triumph  o'er  sense  and  thy  disease, 
As  amongst  pains  to  revel  in  soft  ease : 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  4] 

These  wonders  did  thy  virtue's  worth  enhance, 
And  sickness  to  high  martyrdom  advance. 

37 
Yet  could  not  all  these  miracles  stem  fate  avert, 
Or  make  't  without  the  dart. 
Only  she  paused  awhile,  with  wonder  strook, 
Awhile  she  doubted  if  that  destiny  was  tliine, 
And  turned  o'er  again  the  dreadful  book, 
And  hoped  she  had  mistook; 
And  wished  she  might  have  cut  another  line. 
But  dire  necessity 
Soon  cried  'twas  thee, 
And  bade  her  give  the  fatal  blow. 
Straight  she  obeys,  and  straight  the  vital  powers  grow 
Too  weak  to  grapple  with  a  stronger  foe, 
And  now  the  feeble  strife  forego. 
Life's  sapped  foundation  every  moment  sinks, 
And  every  breath  to  lesser  compass  shrinks; 
Last  panting  gasps  grow  weaker  each  rebound, 
Like  the  faint  tremblings  of  a  dying  sound : 
And  doubtful  twilight  hovers  o'er  the  light, 
Ready  to  usher  in  eternal  night. 

38 
Yet  here  thy  courage  taught  thee  to  outbrave 
All  the  slight  horrors  of  the  grave : 
Pale  death's  arrest 
Ne'er  shocked  thy  breast; 
Nor  could  it  in  the  dreadfullest  figure  dressed. 
That  ugly  skeleton  may  guilty  spirits  daunt. 
Whom  the  dire  ghosts  of  crimes  departed  haunt ; 
Armed  with  bold  innocence  thou  couldst  that  mormo* 
dare. 

And  on  the  barefaced  King  of  Terrors  stare, 
As  free  from  all  effects  as  from  the  cause  of  fear. 

*  Bugbear. 


42 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 


Thy  soul  SO  •willing  from  thy  body  went, 

As  if  both  parted  by  consent, 
No  murmur,  no  complaining,  no  delay, 
Only  a  sigh,  a  groan,  and  so  away. 

Death  seemed  to  glide  with  pleasure  in, 
As  if  in  this  sense  too  't  had  lost  her  sting. 
Like  some  well-acted  comedy,  life  swiftly  passed. 

And  ended  just  so  still  and  sweet  at  last. 
Thou,  like  its  actors,  seemedst  in  borrowed  habit  here 
beneath, 

And  couldst,  as  easily 
As  they  do  that,  put  off  mortality. 
Thou  breathedst  out  thy  soul  as  free  as  common  breath, 
As  unconcerned  as  they  are  in  a  feigned  death. 

39 
Go,  happy  soul,  ascend  the  joyful  sky. 
Joyful  to  shine  with  thy  bright  company : 

Go,  mount  the  spangled  sphere. 
And  make  it  brighter  by  another  star : 
Yet  stop  not  there,  till  thou  advance  yet  higher. 
Till  thou  art  swallowed  quite 
In  the  vast  unexhausted  ocean  of  deliorht : 
Delight,  which  there  alone  in  its  true  essence  is, 
Where  saints  keep  an  eternal  carnival  of  bliss ; 
Where  the  regalios  of  refined  joy, 
Which  fill,  but  never  cloy; 
Where  pleasure's  ever  growing,  ever  new. 
Immortal  as  thyself,  and  boundless  too ; 
There  mayst  thou  learned  by  compendium  grow, 

For  which  in  vain  below 
We  so  much  time,  and  so  much  pains  bestow. 
There  mayst  thou  all  ideas  see. 

All  wonders  which  in  knowledge  be, 
In  that  fair  beatific  mirror  of  the  deity. 

40 
Meanwhile,  thy  body  mourns  in  its  own  dust. 
And  puts  on  sables  for  its  tender  trust. 


MR.    CHARLES    MORWENT.  43 

Tliough  dead,  it  yet  retains  some  untouched  grace, 
Wherein  we  may  thy  soul's  fair  footsteps  trace, 
Which  no  disease  can  frighten  from  its  wonted  place : 
Even  its  deformities  do  thee  become, 
And  only  serve  to  consecrate  thy  doom. 
Those  marks  of  death  which  did  its  surface  stain, 
Now  hallow,  not  profane. 
Each  spot  does  to  a  ruby  turn; 

What  soiled  but  now,  would  now  adoiU. 
Those  asterisks,  placed  in  the  margin  of  thy  skin, 
Point  out  the  nobler  soul  that  dwelt  within : 
Thy  lesser,  like  the  greater,  world  appears 
All  over  bright,  all  over  stuck  with  stars. 
So  Indian  luxury,  when  it  would  be  trim, 

Hangs  pearls  on  every  limb. 
Thus,  amongst  ancient  Picts,  nobility 

In  blemishes  did  lie ; 
Each  by  his  spots  more  honourable  grew, 
And  from  their  store  a  greater  value  drew : 
Their  kings  were  known  by  the  royal  stains  they  bore, 
And  in  their  skins  their  ermine  wore.* 

41 
Thy  blood  where  death  triumphed  in  greatest  state, 
Whose  purple  seemed  the  badge  of  tyrant  fate, 

*  In  this  stanza,  Oldham  appears  to  have  closel7  imitated  Dryden's 
lines  on  the  death  of  Lord  Hastings.     Thus  Dryden  : — 
'  So  many  spots,  like  naeves  on  Venus'  soil, 

One  jewel  set  off  with  so  many  a  foil 

Or  were  these  gems  sent  to  adorn  his  skin. 

The  cabinet  of  a  richer  soul  within  ? 

No  comet  need  foretel  his  change  drew  on, 

"Whose  corpse  might  seem  a  constellation.' 
It  is  not  a  little  remarkable  that  this  was  also  Dryden's  first  poem, 
written  in  his  seventeenth  year,  on  a  similar  occasion.  Oldham  appears 
to  considerable  advantage  in  comparison.  His  ode  is  a  more  elaborate 
and  correct  composition,  abounding  quite  as  much  in  conceits,  but  with 
this  difference,  that  Dryden's  are  for  the  most  part  forced  and  pre- 
posterous, and  huddled  together,  while  Oldham's  have  a  certain  kind 
of  dignity  and  appropriateness,  and  are  usually  kept  clear  of  incon- 
sistency and  confusion.  Dryden's  versification  suffers  equally  by 
contrast.    Oldham  seems  to  have  taken  particular  pains  with  this  piece. 


44    TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MR.  CHARLES  MORWENT. 

And  all  thy  body  o'er 
Its  ruling  colours  bore : 
That  which  infected  with  the  noxious  ill, 
But  lately  heljDed  to  kill, 
Whose  circulation  fatal  grew, 
And  through  each  part  a  swifter  ruin  threw, 
Now  conscious,  its  own  murder  would  arraign, 
And  throngs  to  sally  out  at  every  vein. 
Each  drop  a  redder  than  its  native  dye  puts  on, 
As  if  in  its  own  blushes  'twould  its  guilt  atone. 
A  sacred  rubric  does  thy  carcass  paint, 
And  death  in  every  member  writes  the  saint. 
So  Phoebus  clothes  his  dying  rays  each  night. 
And  blushes  he  can  live  no  longer  to  give  light. 

42 

Let  fools,  whose  dying  fame  requires  to  have, 
Like  their  own  carcasses,  a  grave. 
Let  them  with  vain  expense  adorn 

Some  costly  urn. 
Which  shortly,  like  themselves,  to  dust  shall  turn. 
Here  lacks  no  Carian  sepulchre. 
Which  ruin  shall  ere  long  in  its  own  tomb  inter; 
No  fond  Egyptian  fabric  built  so  high 
As  if  'twould  climb  the  sky. 
And  thence  reach  immortality. 
Thy  virtues  shall  embalm  thy  name, 
And  make  it  lasting  as  the  breath  of  fame. 
When  frailer  brass 
Shall  moulder  by  a  quick  decrease; 
When  brittle  marble  shall  decay. 
And  to  the  jaws  of  time  become  a  prey; 
Thy  praise  shall  live,  when  graves  shall  biuied  lie. 

Till  time  itself  shall  die. 
And  yield  its  triple  empire  to  eternity. 


45 


so:me  verses  on  presentin(S^  a  book  to 
cosmelia.* 

/^  0,  humble  gift,  go  to  that  matclile.ss  saint, 

^^    Of  whom  thou  only  wast  a  copy  meant : 

And  all  that's  read  in  thee,  more  richly  find 

Comprised  in  the  fair  volume  of  her  mind; 

That  living  system,  where  are  fully  writ 

All  those  high  morals,  which  in  books  we  me(:t;t 

Easy,  as  in  soft  air,  there  writ  they  are. 

Yet  firm,  as  if  in  brass  they  graven  were. 

Nor  is  her  talent  lazily  to  know, 

As  dull  divines,  and  holy  canters  do; 

She  acts  what  they  only  in  pulpits  prate, 

And  theory  to  practice  does  translate : 

Not  her  own  actions  more  obey  her  will, 

Than  that  obeys  strict  virtue's  dictates  still : 

Yet  does  not  virtue  from  her  duty  flow, 

But  she  is  good,  because  she  will  be  so : 

Her  vu'tue  scorns  at  a  low  pitch  to  fly, 

'Tis  all  free  choice,  nought  of  necessity :  X 

By  such  soft  rules  are  saints  above  confined, 

Such  is  the  tie,  which  them  to  good  does  bind. 

*  These  verses  were  written  in  September,  1 575 ;  and  the  three 
pieces  immediately  follOAving  these  have  reference,  probably,  to  the 
same  person,  and  to  the  same  period.  They  are  the  only  '  love  verses* 
in  the  collection.  The  Parting  seems  to  apply  to  Oldham's  departure 
for  Croydon,  which  took  place  a  short  time  before  ;  and  in  the  lines 
complaining  of  absence,  he  directly  alludes  to  the  drudgeries  in  which 
he  is  engaged,  and  which  leave  him  few  opportunities  of  seeing  the 
lady.  Oldham's  strength  did  not  lie  in  pathos  of  tenderness  ;  yet 
there  is  much  feeling  and  delicacy  in  these  little  pieces,  and  a  purity 
of  sentiment  very  rare  in  the  poetical  love-making  of  the  period. 

t  In  this  passage,  and  one  or  two  others,  Oldham  appropriated,  as 
equally  applicable  to  the  lady,  certain  images  he  had  already  addressed 
in  the  preceding  (at  that  time  unpublished)  poem  to  the  memory  of  his 
friend  Morwent.     Thus,  in  the  Ode: — 

'  Thou  wast  a  living  system  where  were  wrote 
All  those  high  morals  which  in  books  are  sought.' 
t  Thine  a  far  nobler  pitch  did  fly, 
'Twas  all  free  choice,  nought  of  necessity. — Ode. 


46  VERSES   TO   COSMELIA. 

The  scattered  glories  of  her  happy  sex 

1:1  her  bright  soul  as  in  their  centre  mix : 

And  all  that  they  possess  but  by  retail, 

She  hers  by  just  monopoly  can  call; 

Whose  sole  exaipple  does  more  virtues  shew, 

Thau  schoolmen  ever  taught,  or  ever  knew. 

No  act  did  e'er  within  her  practice  fall, 

Which  for  the  atonement  of  a  blush  could  call : 

No  word  of  hers  e'er  greeted  any  ear, 

But  what  a  saint  at  her  last  gasp  might  hear : 

Scarcely  her  thoughts  have  ever  sullied  been 

With  the  least  print  or  stain  of  native  sin  : 

Devout  she  is,  as  holy  hermits  are, 

Who  share  their  time  'twixt  ecstasy  and  prayer; 

Modest,  as  infant  roses  in  their  bloom, 

Who  in  a  blush  their  fragrant  lives  consume : 

So  chaste,  the  dead  themselves  are  only  more, 

Who  lie  divorced  from  objects,  and  from  power  ^* 

So  pure,  could  virtue  in  a  shape  aj^pear, 

'Twould  choose  to  have  no  other  form,  but  her; 

So  mach  a  saint,  T  scarce  dare  call  her  so, 

For  fear  to  wrong  her  with  a  name  too  low : 

Such  the  seraphic  brightness  of  her  mind, 

I  hardly  can  believe  her  womankind : 

But  think  some  nobler  being  does  appear, 

Which,  to  instruct  the  world,  has  left  the  sphere, 

And  condescends  to  wear  a  body  here; 

Or,  if  she  mortal  be,  and  meant  to  show 

The  greater  art,  by  being  formed  below ; 

Sure  Heaven  preserved  her,  by  the  fall  uncurst, 

To  tell  how  good  the  sex  was  made  at  first. 


Devout  thou  wast  as  holy  hermits  are, 

Which  share  their  time  'twixt  ecstasy  and  prayer; 

Modest  as  infant  roses  in  their  bloom, 

Which  in  a  blush  their  lives  consume, 

So  chaste,  the  dead  are  only  more. 
Who  lie  divorced  from  objects,  and  from  power. — Ode. 


i7 


THE    PARTING. 

TOO  happy  had  I  been  indeed,  if  fate 
Had  made  it  lasting,  as  she  made  it  great; 
But  'twas  the  plot  of  unkind  destiny, 
To  lift  me  to,  then  snatch  me  from  my  joy : 
She  raised  my  hopes,  and  brought  them  just  in  view, 
And  then,  in  spite,  the  charming  scene  withdrew. 
So  he  of  old  the  promised  land  surveyed, 
Which  he  might  only  see,  but  never  tread: 
So  heaven  was  by  that  damned  caitiff  seen, 
He  saw't,  but  with  a  mighty  gulf  between, 
He  saw't,  to  be  more  wi^etched  and  despair  again. 
Not  souls  of  dying  sinners,  when  they  go, 
Assured  of  endless  miseries  below, 
Their  bodies  more  unwillingly  desert, 
Than  I  fi'om  you,  and  all  my  joys  did  part. 
As  some  young  merchant,  whom  his  sire  unkind 
Resigns  to  every  faithless  wave  and  wind, 
If  the  kind  mistress  of  his  vows  appear. 
And  come  to  bless  his  voyage  with  a  prayer. 
Such  sighs  he  vents  as  may  the  gale  increase, 
Such  floods  of  tears  as  may  the  billows  raise ; 
And  when  at  length  the  launching  vessel  flies, 
Ajid  severs  first  his  lips,  and  then  his  eyes, 
Long  he  looks  back  to  see  what  he  adores, 
And,  "while  he  may,  views  the  beloved  shores. 
Such  just  concern  I  at  your  parting  had. 
With  such  sad  eyes  your  turning  face  surveyed : 
Reviewing,  they  pursued  you  out  of  sight, 
Then  sought  to  trace  you  by  left  tracks  of  light ; 
And  when  they  could  not  looks  to  you  convey, 
Towaids  the  loved  place  they  took  delight  to  stray, 
And  aimed  uncertain  glances  still  that  way. 


48 


COMPLAINING    OF   ABSENCE. 

HTEN  days  (if  I  forget  not)  wasted  are 

J-    (A  year  in  any  lover's  calendar) 

Since  I  was  forced  to  part,  and  bid  adieu 

To  all  my  joy  and  hajDpiness  in  you : 

And  still  by  the  same  hindrance  am  detained, 

Which  me  at  first  from  your  loved  sight  constrained 

Oft  I  resolve  to  meet  my  bliss,  and  then 

My  tether  stops,  and  pulls  me  back  again : 

So  when  our  raised  thoughts  to  heaven  aspire, 

Earth  stifles  them,  and  chokes  the  good  desire. 

Curse  on  that  man  whom  business  first  designed, 

And  by't  enthralled  a  freeborn  lover's  mind ! 

A  curse  on  fate  who  thus  subjected  me, 

And  made  me  slave  to  any  thing  but  thee ! 

Lovers  should  be  as  unconfined  as  air. 

Free  as  its  wild  inhabitants  from  care : 

So  free  those  happy  lovers  are  above. 

Exempt  from  all  concerns  but  those  of  love : 

But  I,  poor  lover  militant  below, 

The  cares  and  troubles  of  dull  life  must  know ; 

Must  toil  for  that  which  does  on  others  wait, 

And  undergo  the  drudgery  of  fate. 

Yet  I'll  no  more  to  her  a  vassal  be, 

Thou  now  shalt  make  and  rule  my  destiny : 

Hence  troublesome  fatigues !  all  business  hence ! 

This  very  hour  my  freedom  shall  commence : 

Too  long  that  jilt  has  thy  proud  rival  been, 

And  made  me  by  neglectful  absence  sin; 

But  I'll  no  more  obey  its  tyranny, 

Nor  that,  nor  fate  itself  shall  hinder  me. 

Henceforth  from  seeing  and  enjoying  thee. 


49 


PKOMISING   A   VISIT. 


OOONEE.  may  art,  and  easier  far,  divide 
^   The  soft  embracing  waters  of  the  tide, 
"Which  with  united  friendship)  still  rejoin, 
Than  part  my  eyes,  my  arms,  or  lips  from  thir:e : 
Sooner  it  may  time's  headlong  motion  force. 
In  which  it  marches  with  unaltered  course, 
Or  sever  this  from  the  succeeding  day. 
Than  from  thy  happy  presence  force  my  stay. 
iSTot  the  touched  needle  (emblem  of  my  soul) 
With  greater  reverence  trembles  to  its  pole, 
Nor  flames  with  surer  instinct  upwards  go. 
Than  mine,  and  all  their  motives  tend  to  jon. 
Fly  swift,  ye  minutes,  and  contract  the  space 
Of  time,  which  holds  me  from  her  dear  embrace : 
"WTien  I  am  there  I'll  bid  you  kindly  stay, 
I'll  bid  you  rest,  and  never  glide  away. 
Thither,  when  business  gives  me  a  release 
To  lose  my  cares  in  soft  and  gentle  ease, 
I'll  come,  and  all  arrears  of  kindness  pay. 
And  live  o'er  my  whole  absence  in  one  day. 
Not  souls,  released  from  human  bodies,  move 
With  quicker  haste  to  meet  their  bliss  above. 
Than  I,  when  freed  from  clogs  that  bind  me  now, 
Eager  to  seize  my  happiness,  will  go. 
Should  a  fierce  angel  armed  with  thunder  stand, 
And  threaten  vengeance  with  his  brandished  hand, 
To  stop  the  entrance  to  my  paradise, 
I'll  venture,  and  his  slighted  bolts  despise. 
Swift  as  the  wings  of  fear  shall  be  my  love. 
And  me  to  her  with  equal  speed  remove ; 
Swift  as  the  motions  of  the  eye  or  mind-, 
I'll  thither  fly,  and  leave  slow  thought  behind ! 


OLDHAM.  4 


50 
A    DITHYRAMBIC. 

A    DRUNKARD'S    SPEECH    IN     A    MASK.* 

'OwK  fcOTt  Ai9vpafitog  av  u^wp  ttIvtj. 

I 

YES,  you  are  mighty  wise,  I  warrant,  miglity  wisel 
With  all  your  godly  tricks  and  artifice, 
Who  think  to  chouse  me  of  my  dear  and  pleasant  vice. 

Hence,  holy  sham !  in  vain  your  fruitless  toil ; 

Go,  and  some  inexperienced  fop  beguile, 

To  some  raw  entering  sinner  cant  and  whine, 
Who  never  knew  the  worth  of  drunkenness  and  wine. 

I've  tried,  and  proved,  and  found  it  all  divine : 

It  is  resolved,  I  will  drink  on,  and  die, 

I'll  not  one  minute  lose,  not  I, 

To  hear  your  troublesome  divinity: 
Fill  me  a  top-full  glass,  I'll  drink  it  on  the  knee. 
Confusion  to  the  next  that  spoils  good  company ! 

*  Written  in  August,  1677.  This  characteristic  delineation  of  the 
mad  valour  of  drink  must  be  understood,  like  the  Satire  agaiiist  Virtue, 
to  have  been  intended  as  a  masked  attack  on  one  of  the  prominent 
vices  of  the  day.  Ethei'ege,  Kochester,  or  Sedley  miglit  have  sat  for 
the  portrait,  and  were  probably  the  actual  originals  from  whom  it  was 
drawn.  They  were  as  notorious  for  their  excesses  in  this  way,  as 
Dryden  for  his  temperance,  and  Waller  for  water-drinking.  It 
would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  this  reeling  dithyrambic  was  seriously 
meant.  The  bombastic  fury  that  ijervades  it  is  the  very  essence  of 
ridicule.  Oldham,  when  he  wrote  it,  was  secluded  at  Croydon,  and 
neither  in  the  disposition  nor  the  circumstances  to  indulge  in  '  riotous, 
guilty  living.'  His  days  and  nights  were  given  to  labour  and  study, 
and  we  have  an  evidence  in  the  next  poem,  written  in  the  following 
month,  that  his  thoughts  were  differently  employed.  The  dithyrambic 
is  a  singular  example  of  premeditated  extravagance.  The  end  is 
attained,  not  by  peculiar  felicity  of  diction,  but  by  audacious  hj^perbole. 
It  does  not  bring  out  its  effects  by  striking  phrases,  such  as  the  '  plumpy 
Bacchus  with  pink  eyne'  of  Shakespeare,  or  Dryden's  portrait  of 
Shadwell  rolling  home  from  a  treason-tavern,  '  liquored  in  every  chink  ;' 
but  it  hits  the  mark  by  its  accumulation  of  daring  images.  The  sub- 
limity of  the  Ercles'  vein  is  capitally  sustained  in  the  last  stanza,  where 
the  imperious  roarer  demands  a  deluge,  with  the  ocean  for  his  mighty 
cup  ;  calls  for  the  Canary  fleet,  setting  every  man  to  empty  a  ship ; 
and  finally  desires  the  universe  to  be  set  a  tilt,  and  the  globe  turned 
up,  that  they  may  drain  the  world  dry. 


A   DITHYRAMBIC.  51 


That  gulp  was  worth  a  soul ;  like  it,  it  went, 
And  throughout  new  life  and  vigour  sent : 
I  feel  it  warm  at  once  my  head  and  heart, 

I  feel  it  all  in  all,  and  all  in  every  j)^!'*- 

Let  the  vile  slaves  of  business  toil  and  strive, 
Who  want  the  leisure,  or  the  wit  to  live; 
While  we  life's  tedious  joiu-ney  shorter  make. 
And  reap  those  joys  which  they  lack  sense  to  take. 

Thus  live  the  gods  (if  aught  above  ourselves  there  be) 
They  live  so  happy,  unconcerned,  and  free; 
Like  us  they  sit,  and  with  a  careless  brow 

Laugh  at  the  petty  jars  of  human  kind  below; 
Like  us  they  spend  their  age  in  gentle  ease; 

Like  us  they  drink ;  for  what  were  all  their  heaven,  alas ! 

If  sober,  and  compelled  to  want  that  hajDpiness. 

3 

Assist,  almighty  wine,  for  thou  alone  hast  power, 
And  others  I'll  invoke  no  more; 
Assist,  while  with  just  praise  I  thee  adore; 
Aided  by  thee,  I  dare  thy  worth  rehearse, 

In  flights  above  the  common  pitch  of  grovelling  verse. 
Thou  art  the  world's  great  soul,  that  heavenly  fire. 
Which  dost  our  dull  half-kindled  mass  inspire. 

We  nothing  gallant  and  above  ourselves  produce. 
Till  thou  dost  finish  man,  and  reinfuse. 

Thou  art  the  only  source  of  all  the  world  calls  great, 

Thou  didst  the  poets  first,  and  they  the  gods  create ; 
To  thee  their  rage,  their  heat,  their  flame  they  owe. 
Thou  must  half  share  with  art,  and  nature  too ; 

They  owe  their  glory,  and  renown  to  thee; 
Thou  givest  their  verse  and  them  eternity. 
Great  Alexander,  that  biggest  word  of  fame. 
That  fllis  her  throat,  and  almost  rends  the  same. 
Whose  valour  found  the  world  too  strait  a  stage 
For  his  wide  victories  and  boundless  rage, 

4—3 


52  A   DITHYRAMBIC. 

Got  not  repute  by  war  alone,  but  thee, 
He  knew  he  ne'er  could  conquer  by  sobriety. 
And  drunk,  as  well  as  fought,  for  universal  monarchy. 

4 
Pox  o'  that  lazy  claret !  how  it  stays ! 
Were  it  again  to  pass  the  seas, 
'Twould  sooner  be  in  cargo  here, 
'Tis  now  a  long  East-India  voyage,  half  a  year. 
'Sdeath !  here's  a  minute  lost,  an  age  I  mean, 
Slipped  by,  and  ne'er  to  be  retrieved  again. 
For  pity  suffer  not  the  precious  juice  to  die, 
Let  us  prevent  our  own,  and  its  mortality  : 
Like  it,  our  life  with  standing  and  sobriety  is  palled, 
And  like  it  too,  when  dead,  can  never  be  recalled. 
Push  on  the  glass,  let  it  measure  out  each  hour, 
For  every  sand  a  health  let's  pour, 
Swift  as  the  rolling  orbs  above. 
And  let  it  too  as  regularly  move; 
Swift  as  heaven's  drunken  red-faced  traveller,  the  sun, 
And  never  rest  till  his  last  race  be  done, 
Till  time  itself  be  all  run  out,  and  we 
Have  drunk  ourselves  into  eternity. 

5 

Six  in  a  hand  begin !    We'll  drink  it  twice  apiece, 
A  health  to  all  that  love  and  honour  vice ! 

Six  more  as  oft  to  the  great  founder  of  the  vine ! 
(A  god  he  was,  I'm  sure,  or  should  have  been) 
The  second  father  of  mankind  I  meant, 
He,  when  the  angry  powers  a  deluge  sent. 
When  for  their  crimes  our  sinful  race  was  drowned. 
The  only  bold  and  venturous  man  was  found. 

Who  durst  be  drunk  again,  and  with  new  vice  the  world 
replant. 
The  mighty  patriarch  'twas  of  blessed  memory, 

Who  'scaj)ed  in  the  great  wreck  of  all  mortality. 

And  stocked  the  globe  afresh  with  a  brave  drinking 
progeny. 


A   DITHYRAMBIC.  53 

In  vain  would  spiteful  nature  us  reclaim, 

Who  to  small  drink  our  isle  thought  fit  to  damn, 

And  set  us  out  of  the  reach  of  wine, 
In  hope  strait  bounds  could  our  vast  thirst  confine ; 
He  taught  us  first  with  ships  the  seas  to  roam, 
Taught  us  from  foreign  lands  to  fetch  supply. 
Hare  art !  that  makes  all  the  wide  world  our  home. 
Makes  every  realm  pay  tribute  to  our  luxury. 

6 

Adieu,  poor  tottering  reason !  tumble  down  ! 
This  glass  shall  all  thy  proud  usurping  powers  drown,' 
And  wit  on  thy  cast  ruins  shall  erect  her  thi'one : 

Adieu,  thou  fond  disturber  of  our  life ! 
That  checkest  our  joys,  with  all  our  pleasure  art  at  strife: 

I've  something  brisker  now  to  govern  me, 

A  more  exalted  noble  faculty. 
Above  thy  logic,  and  vain  boasted  pedantry. 
Inform  me,  if  you  can,  ye  reading  sots,  what  'tis 
That  guides  the  unerring  deities? 

They  no  base  reason  to  their  actions  bring. 

But  move  by  some  more  high,  more  heavenly  thing. 

And  are  without  deliberation  wise : 

Even  such  is  this,  at  least  'tis  much  the  same, 
For  which  dull  schoolmen  never  yet  could  find  a  name. 

Call  ye  this  madness?  damn  that  sober  fool, 
('Twas  sure  some  dull  philosopher,  some  reasoning  tool) 

Who  the  reproachful  term  did  first  devise. 

And  brought  a  scandal  on  the  best  of  vice. 
Go,  ask  me,  what's  the  rage  young  prophets  feel. 

When  they  with  holy  frenzy  reel : 
Drunk  with  the  spirits  of  infused  divinity, 

They  rave,  and  stagger,  and  are  mad,  like  me. 

7 
Oh,  what  an  ebb  of  drink  have  we, 
Bring,  bring  a  deluge,  fill  us  up  the  sea, 
Let  the  vast  ocean  be  our  mighty  cup, 
We'll  drink  it,  and  all  its  fishes  too,  like  loaches,  up. 


54  A   DITHYRAMBIC. 

Bid  the  Canary  fleet  land  here :  we'll  pay 

The  freight,  and  custom  too  defray : 
Set  every  man  a  ship,  and  when  the  store 
Is  emptied,  let  them  straight  dispatch,  and  sail  for  more. 
'Tis  gone !  and  now  have  at  the  Khine, 
With  all  its  petty  rivulets  of  wine : 
The  empire's  forces  with  the  Spanish  we'll  combine, 
We'll  make  their  drink  too  in  confederacy  j  oin. 

'Ware  France  the  next :  this  round  Bordeaux  shall 

swallow ; 
Champagne,  Langon,  and  Burgundy  shall  follow. 

Quick !  let's  forestall  Lorraine ; 
We'll  starve  his  army,  all  their  quarters  drain, 
And,  without  treaty,  put  an  end  to  the  campaign. 
Go,  set  the  universe  a  tilt,  turn  the  globe  up, 

Squeeze  out  the  last,  the  slow  unwilling  drop : 
A  pox  of  empty  nature !  since  the  world's  di-awn  dry, 
'Tis  time  we  quit  mortality, 
'Tis  time  we  now  give  out,  and  die, 
Lest  we  are  plagued  with  dulness  and  sobriety. 

Beset  with  link-boys,  we'll  in  triumph  go, 
A  troop  of  staggering  ghosts,  down  to  the  shades  below : 
Drunk  we'll  march  off,  and  reel  into  the  tomb, 
Nature's  convenient  dark  retiring-room ; 
And  there,  from  noise  removed,  and  all  tumultuous 

strife. 
Sleep  out  the  dull  fatigue,  and  long  debauch  of  life. 

\Tries  to  go  off,  hut  tumbles  down^  and 
falls  asleep. 


55 


David's  lamentation  eor  the  death  of 

SAUL   and    JONATHAN,   PARAPHRASED.* 

ODE. 

I 
A  H  wretclied  Israel !  once  blessed  and  liappy  state, 

^   The  darling  of  tlie  stars,  and  heaven's  care, 
Then  all  the  bordering  world  thy  vassals  were, 
And  thon  at  once  their  envy  and  their  fear, 

How  soon  art  thou,  alas !  by  the  sad  turn  of  fate 
Become  abandoned  and  forlorn ! 

How  art  thou  now  become  their  pity,  and  their  scorn ! 

Thy  lustre  all  is  vanished,  all  thy  glory  fled. 
Thy  sun  himself  set  in  a  blood  red. 
Too  sure  prognostic !  which  does  ill  portend 
Approaching  storms  on  thy  unhajDj^y  land. 

Left  naked,  and  defenceless  now  to  each  invading  hand, 
A  fatal  battle,  lately  fought, 
Has  all  these  miseries  and  misfortunes  brought, 
Has  thy  quick  ruin  and  destruction  wrought : 
There  fell  we,  by  a  mighty  overthrow, 
A  prey  to  an  enraged,  relentless  foe. 

The  toil  and  labour  of  their  wearied  cruelty. 

Till  they  no  more  could  kill,  and  we  no  longer  die : 

Vast  slaughter  all  around  the  enlarged  mountain  swells. 
And  numerous  deaths  increase  its  former  hills. 


In  Gath  let  not  the  mournful  news  be  known, 
Nor  published  in  the  streets  of  Askalon ; 
May  fame  itself  be  quite  struck  dumb ! 
Oh !  may  it  never  to  Philistia  come. 
Nor  any  live  to  bear  the  cursed  tidings  home ! 


*  This  piece  bears  the  date  of  September,  i677.  It  is  extremely 
unequal,  and  inferior,  as  a  whole,  to  the  paraphrases  of  the  i31th 
Psalm  and  the  Hymn  of  St.  Amhro'<e ;  but  the  concluding  stanzas,  fiom 
the  7th  to  the  close,  are  dignified  and  pathetic. 


56  David's  lamentation  for 

Lest  the  proud  enemies  new  trophies  raise, 
And  loudly  triumph  in  our  fresh  disgrace : 
No  captive  Israelite  their  pompous  joy  adorn, 
Nor  in  sad  bondage  his  lost  country  mourn : 
No  spoils  of  ours  be  in  their  temples  hung. 
No  hymns  to  Ashdod's  idol  sung, 
Nor  thankful  sacrifice  on  his  glad  altars  burn. 
Kind   Heaven  forbid!    lest  the  base   heathen    slaves 
Thy  sacred  and  unutterable  name,  [blaspheme 

And  above  thine  extol  their  Dagon's  fame;  ■ 
Lest  the  vile  Fish's  worship  spread  abroad, 
Who  fell  a  prostrate  victim  once  before  our  conquering 
God: 
And  you,  who  the  great  deeds  of  kings  and  kingdoms 

write, 
Who  all  their  actions  to  succeeding  age  transmit, 
Conceal  the  blushing  story,  ah !  conceal 
Our  nation's  loss,  and  our  dread  monarch's  fall : 
Conceal  the  journal  of  this  bloody  day. 
When  both  by  the  ill  play  of  fate  were  thrown  away  : 
Nor  let  our  wretched  infamy,  and  fortune's  crime. 
Be  ever  mentioned  in  the  registers  of  future  time. 


For  ever,  Gilboa,  be  cursed  thy  hated  name, 

The  eternal  monument  of  our  disgrace  and  shame ! 


For  ever  cursed  be  that  unhappy  scene. 
Where  slaughter,  blood,  and  death  did  lately  reign 
No  clouds  henceforth  above  thy  barren  top  appear, 
But  what  may  make  thee  mourning  wear : 
Let  them  ne'er  shake  their  dewy  fleeces  there, 
But  only  once  a  year 
On  the  sad  anniverse  di'op  a  remembering  tear : 
No  flocks  of  ofierings  on  thy  hills  be  known, 
Which  may,  by  sacrifice,  our  guilt  and  thine  atone : 
Nor  sheep,  nor  any  of  the  gentler  kind  hereafter  stay 
On  thee,  but  beai's  and  wolves,  and  beasts  of  prey. 
Or  men  more  savage,  wild,  and  fierce  than  they; 


THE  DEATH  OF  SAUL  AND  JONATHAN.      0  7 

A  desert  may'st  thou  prove,  and  lonely  waste, 
Like  that  our  sinful,  stubborn  fathers  passed, 

Where  they  the  penance  trod  for  all  they  there  trans- 
gressed : 
Too  dearly  wast  thou  drenched  with  precious  blood 
Of  many  a  Jewish  worthy,  spilt  of  late. 
Who  suffered  there  by  an  ignoble  fate. 

And  purchased  foul  dishonour  at  too  high  a  rate : 
Great  Saul's  ran  there  amongst  the  common  flood, 
His  royal  self  mixed  with  the  baser  crowd : 
He,  whom  Heaven's  high  and  open  sulfrage  chose   - 
The  bulwark  of  our  nation,  to  oppose 
The  power  and  malice  of  our  foes ; 
Even  he,  on  whom  the  sacred  oil  was  shed, 
Whose  mystic  drops  enlarged  his  hallowed  head, 
Lies  now  (oh  Fate,  impartial  still  to  kings !) 

Huddled  and  undistinguished,  in  the  heap  of  meaner 
things. 


Lo !  there  the  mighty  warrior  lies, 
With  all  his  laurels,  all  his  victories. 
To  ravenous  fowls,  or  worse,  to  his  proud  foes,  a  prize : 
How  changed  from  that  great  Saul  whose  generous 
A  conquering  army  to  distressed  Jabesh  led,  [aid, 

At  whose  approach  Ammon's  proud  tyrant  fled ; 
'    How  changed  from  that  great  Saul  whom  we  saw 

bring. 
From  vanquished  Amalek,  their  captive  spoils  and  king; 

When  unbid  pity  made  him  Agag  spare : 
Ah  pity !  more  than  cruelty,  found  guilty  there : 
Oft  has  he  made  these  conquered  enemies  bow, 

By  whom  himself  lies  conquered  now  : 
At  Micmash,  his  great  might  they  felt  and  knew, 

The  same  they  felt  at  Dammin  too. 
Well  I  remember,  when  from  Helah's  plain 
He  came  in  triumph,  met  by  a  numerous  crowd. 
Who  with  glad  shouts  proclaimed  their  joy  aloud; 


58  David's  lamextatiox  for 

A  dance  of  beauteous  virgins  led  the  solemn  train, 
And  sung,  and  praised  the  man  that  had  his  thousands 
slain. 
Seir,  Moab,  Zobah  felt  him,  and  where'er 

He  did  his  glorious  standards  bear, 
Officious  victory  followed  in  the  rear : 
Success  attended  still  his  brandished  sword. 
And,  like  the  grave,  the  gluttonous  blade  devoured : 
Slaughter  upon  its  point  in  triumph  sate. 
And  scattered  death,  as  quick  and  wide  as  fate. 

5 

Nor  less  in  high  repute  and  worth  was  his  great  son, 
Sole  heir  of  all  his  valour  and  renown. 

Heir  too  (if  cruel  fate  had  suffered)  of  his  throne : 
The  matchless  Jonathan  'twas,  whom  loud  tongued 
Amongst  her  chiefest  heroes  joys  to  name,        [fame 
E'er  since  the  wondrous  deeds  at  Seneh  done, 

Where  he,  himself  a  host,  o'ercame  a  war  alone : 
The  trembling  enemies  fled,  they  tried  to  fly. 
But  fixed  amazement  stopj^ed,  and  made  them  die. 

Great  archer  he !  to  whom  our  dreaded  skill  we  owe. 

Dreaded  by  all  who  Israel's  warlike  prowess  know; 
As  many  shafts,  as  his  full  quiver  held, 
So  many  fates  he  drew,  so  many  killed : 

Quick  and  unerring  they  as  darted  eye-beams  flew, 
As  if  he  gave  'em  sight,  and  swiftness  too. 

Death  took  her  aim  from  his,  and  by 't  her  arrows  threw. 

6 
Both  excellent  they  were,  both  equally  allied 
On  nature's  and  on  valour's  side  : 
Great  Saul,  who  scorned  a  rival  in  renown. 
Yet  envied  not  the  fame  of  's  greater  son. 
By  him  endured  to  be  surpassed  alone : 
He,  gallant  prince,  did  his  whole  father  show, 
And  fast  as  he  could  set  the  well-writ  copies  drew. 
And  blushed  that  duty  bid  him  not  out-go : 


I 


THE  DEATH  OF  SAUL  AND  JONATHAN".      59 

Together,  they  did  both  the  paths  to  glory  trace ; 
Together,  hunted  in  the  noble  chase; 
Together,  finished  their  united  race; 
There  only  did  they  prove  unfortunate, 
Never  till  then  unblessed  by  fate. 
Yet  there  they  ceased  not  to  be  great; 
Fearless  they  met  and  braved  their  threatened  fall, 
And  fought  when  heaven  revolted,  fortune  durst  rebel. 

When  public  safety,  and  their  country's  care 
Required  their  aid,  and  called  them  to  the  toils  of  war; 
As  parent  eagles,  summoned  by  their  infants'  cries,    , 

Whom  some  rude  hands  would  make  a  prize. 
Haste  to  relief,  and  with  their  wings  out-fly  their  eyes : 
So  swift  did  they  their  speedy  succour  bear, 
So  swift  the  bold  aggressors  seize, 
So  swift  attack,  so  swift  pursue  the  vanquished  enemies : 
The  vanquished  enemies  with  all  the  wings  of  fear 
Moved  not  so  quick  as  they, 
Scarce  could  their  souls  fly  fast  enough  away. 
Bolder  than  lions,  they  thick  dangers  met. 
Through  fields  with  armed  troops,  and  pointed  har- 
vests set, 
Nothing  could  tame  their  rage,  or  quench  their  'gene- 
rous heat: 
Like  those,  they  marched  undaunted,  and  like  those, 

Secure  of  wounds,  and  all  that  durst  oppose. 
So  to  resisters  fierce,  so  gentle  to  their  prostrate  foes. 

7 

Mourn,  wretched  Israel,  mourn  thy  monarch's  fal], 
And  all  thy  plenteous  stock  of  sorrow  call, 
To  attend  his  pompous  funeral : 
Mourn  each,  who  in  this  loss  an  interest  shares, 
Lavish  your  grief,  exhaust  it  all  in  tears : 
Your  He})rew  virgins  too, 
Who  once  in  lofty  strains  did  liis  gUid  triumphs  sing, 
Bring  all  your  artful  notes,  and  skilful  measures  now. 


60  David's  lamentation  foe, 

Each  charming  air  of  breath,  and  string, 
Bring  all  to  grace  the  obsequies  of  your  dead  king, 
And  high,  as  then  your  j  oy,  let  now  your  sorrow  flow. 
Saul,  your  great  Saul  is  dead, 
Who  you  with  nature's  choicest  dainties  fed. 
Who  you  with  nature's  gayest  wardrobe  clad, 
By  whom  you  all  her  pride,  and  all  her  pleasures  had : 
For  you,  the  precious  worm  his  bowels  spun, 
For  you,  the  Tyrian  fish  did  purple  run, 
For  you,  the  blest  Arabia's  spices  grew, 
And  Eastern  quarries  hardened  pearly  dew; 
The  sun  himself  turned  labourer  for  you : 
For  you,  he  hatched  his  golden  births  alone,    [shone, 
Wherewith  you  were  arrayed,  whereby  you  him  out- 
All  this  and  more,  you  did  to  Saul's  great  conduct  owe. 
All  this  you  lost  in  his  unhappy  overthrow. 

8 

Oh  death !  how  vast  a  harvest  hast  thou  reaped  of  late ! 
Never  before  hadst  thou  so  great. 
Ne'er  drunkest  before  so  deep  of  Jewish  blood. 
Ne'er  since  the  embattled  hosts  at  Gibeah  stood, 
When  three  whole  days  took  uj)  the  work  of  fate, 
When  a  large  tribe  entered  at  once  thy  bill, 

And  threescore  thousand  victims  to  thy  fury  fell. 
Upon  the  fatal  mountain's  head, 
Lo  !  how  the  mighty  chiefs  lie  dead  1 
There  my  beloved  Jonathan  was  slain, 
The  best  of  princes,  and  the  best  of  men ; 

Cold  death  hangs  on  his  cheeks,  like  an  untimely  frost 

On  early  fruit ;  there  sits,  and  smiles  a  sullen  boast. 

And  yet  looks  pale  at  the  great  captive  she  has  ta'en. 

My  Jonathan  is  dead !  oh  dreadful  word  of  fame ! 

Oh  grief!  that   I  can  speak  't,  and  not  become  the 
same !  [gone? 

He's  dead,  and  with  him  all  our  blooming  hopes  are 
And  many  a  wonder,  which  he  must  have  done, 
And  many  a  conquest,  which  he  must  have  won. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SAUL  AND  JONATHAN.       61 

They're  all  to  tlie  dark  grave  and  silence  fled, 
And  never  now  in  story  shall  be  read, 

And  never  now  shall  take  their  date, 
Snatched  hence  by  the  preventing  hand  of  envious  fate. 

9 

Ah,  worthy  prince !  would  I  for  thee  had  died ! 
Ah,  would  I  had  thy  fatal  place  supplied ! 

I'd  then  repaid  a  life,  which  to  thy  gift  I  owe, 

Kepaid  a  crown,  which  friendship  taught  thee  to  forego  : 
Both  debts,  I  ne'er  can  cancel  now : 

Oh,  dearer  than  my  soul !  if  I  can  call  it  mine, 
For  sure  we  had  the  same,  'twas  very  thine, 
Dearer  than  light,  or  life,  or  fame,  [name. 

Or  crowns,  or  anything  that  I  can  wish,  or  think,  or 
Brother  thou  wast,  but  wast  my  friend  before, 
And  that  new  title  then  could  add  no  more : 

Mine  more  than  blood,  alliance,  nature's  self  could  make. 
Than  I,  or  fame  itself  can  speak : 
Not  yearning  mothers,  when  first  throes  they  feel, 

To  their  young  babes  in  looks  a  softer  passion  tell : 
Not  artless  undissembling  maids  express 
In  their  last  dying  sighs  such  tenderness : 

Not  thy  fair  sister,  whom  strict  duty  bids  me  wear 
First  in  my  breast,  whom  holy  vows  make  mine, 

Though  all  the  virtues  of  a  loyal  wife  she  bear, 
Could  boast  an  union  so  near. 

Could  boast  a  love  so  firm,  so  lasting,  so  divine. 
So  pure  is  that  which  we  in  angels  find 
To  mortals  here,  in  heaven  to  their  own  kind : 

So  pure,  but  not  more  great  must  that  blessed  friend- 
ship prove  [remove) 

(Could,   ah,   could  I  to   that  wished  place,  and  thee 

Which  shall  for  ever  join  our  mingled  souls  above. 

lO 

Ah,  wretched  Israel !  ah,  unhappy  state ! 
Exposed  to  all  the  bolts  of  angry  fate ! 
Exposed  to  all  thy  enemies'  revengeful  hate ! 


62  UPON   THE    WORKS    OF    BEN    JONSON. 

Who  is  there  left  their  fury  to  withstand  1 
AVhat  champions  now  to  guard  thy  helpless  land  1 
Who  is  there  left  in  listed  fields  to  head 
Thy  valiant  youth,  and  lead  them  on  to  victory? 
Alas !  thy  valiant  youth  are  dead, 
And  all  thy  brave  commanders  too : 
Lo !  how  the  glut  and  riot  of  the  grave  thus  lie, 

And  none  survive  the  fatal  overthrow, 
To  right  their  injured  ghosts  upon  the  barbarous  foe! 
Rest,  ye  blessed  shades,  in  everlasting  peace, 
Who  fell  your  country's  bloody  sacrifice : 
For  ever  sacred  be  your  memories, 
And  oh !  ere  long  may  some  avenger  rise 
To  wipe  off  heaven's  and  your  disgrace : 
May  they,  these  jDroud  insulting  foes, 
Wash  oflf  our  stains  of  honour  with  their  blood ; 
May  they  ten  thousandfold  repay  our  loss. 
For  every  life  a  myriad,  every  droj)  a  flood ! 


UPON   THE   WORKS    OF    BEN   JONSON.* 

ODE. 

I 
/^  HEAT  thou !  whom  'tis  a  crime  almost  to  dare  to 
^  praise,+ 

Whose  firm,  established,  and  unshaken  glories  stand. 
And  proudly  their  own  fame  command, 
Above  our  power  to  lessen  or  to  raise,  [bays ; 

And  all,  but  the  few  heirs  of  thy  brave  genius,  and  thy 

*  Written  in  i(578,  the  year  when  Oldham  left  Croydon, 
t  The  indifference,  or  worse,  in  which  the  Elizabethan  poets  were 
held  in  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  is  evident  from  the 
whole  of  this  poem ;  but  Oldham  rather  overstates  the  case  in  refe- 
rence to  Ben  Jonson,  who  was  generally  considered  a  greater  genius 
than  Shakespeare.  About  the  time,  however,  when  Oldham  was  wri- 
ting this  panegyric  on  Jonson,  and  condemning  the  age  for  its  neglect 
of  him,  the  tide  of  opinion  was  beginning  to  turn,  and  Jonson  and  his 
contemporaries  were  slowly  coming  into  fashion  again.  It  was  in  tliis 
year  Dryden  produced  his  tragedy  of  All  for  Love;  or,  the  World  Well 


UPON    THE    WORKS    OF    BEN   JONSON.  63 

Kail  mighty  founder  of  our  stage!  for  so  I  dare 
Entitle  thee,  nor  any  modern  censures  fear, 

Nor  care  what  thy  unjust  detractors  say ; 
They'll  say,  perhaps,  that  others  did  materials  bring,* 
That  others  did  the  first  foundations  lay, 
And  glorious  'twas  (we  gi-ant)  but  to  begin, 
But  thou  alone  couldst  finish  the  design. 
All  the  fair  model,  and  the  workmanship  was  thine : 
Some  bold  adventurers  might  have  been  before. 

Who  durst  the  unknown  world  explore ; 
By  them  it  was  surveyed  at  distant  view. 
And  here  and  there  a  cape,  and  line  they  drew. 
Which  only  served  as  hints,  and  marks  to  thee, 
Who  wast  reserved  to  make  the  full  discovery. 
Art's  compass  to  thy  painful  search  we  owe. 
Whereby  thou  wentest  so  far,  and  we  may  after  go ; 
By  that  we  may  wit's  vast  and  trackless  ocean  try, 
Content  no  longer,  as  before. 
Dully  to  coast  along  the  shore. 
But  steer  a  course  more  unconfined  and  free. 
Beyond  the  narrow  bounds  that  pent  antiquity. 


Lost,  written  professedly  in  imitation  of  tlie  '  divine  Slaakespeare' 
whom  he  had  himself  been  mainly  insti'umental  in  bringing  into 
neglect.  But  he  made  ample  reparation  afterwards,  in  the  noble  and 
comprehensive  characters  of  him  both  in  prose  and  verse. 

*  This  was  one  of  the  charges  brought  against  Jonson  by  the 
Restoration  critics — that  he  borrowed  his  materials.  The  most  re- 
markable case  was  that  of  the  Alchemist,  which  he  was  accused  of 
having  plagiarized  from  a  play  by  a  Mr.  Tomkis,  called  Albumaznr, 
produced  at  Cambridge  in  1614.  Dryden  gave  currency  to  the  charge 
by  repeating  it  in  a  prologue  to  Albumazar  on  its  revival  in  1668  : 
'  And  Jonson,  of  those  few  the  best,  chose  this, 

As  the  best  model  of  his  master-piece : 

Subtle  was  got  by  our  Albumazar, 

The  Alchemist  by  this  Astrologer  ; 

Here  he  was  fashioned,  and  we  may  suppose 

He  liked  the  fashion  well,  who  wore  the  clothes.' 
In  these  lines  we  may  see  how  Jonson  was  estimated  in  relation  to  the 
poets  of  his  own  time,  Dryden  setting  him  above  them  all.  The  charge 
of  plagiarism,  in  the  instance  of  Albumazar,  is  wholly  set  aside  by  the 
conclusive  fact  that  it  Avas  not  printed  or  acted  till  four  years  after  the 
production  of  the  Alchemist. 


64f  UPON   THE  WOUKS    OF   BEX   JOXSON. 

2 

Never  till  thee,  the  theatre  possessed 
A  prince  with  equal  power  and  greatness  blessed; 
No  government,  or  laws  it  had 
To  strengthen  and  establish  it, 
Till  thy  great  hand  the  sceptre  swayed,* 
But  groaned  under  a  wretched  anarchy  of  wit : 
Unformed  and  void  was  then  its  poesy, 
Only  some  pre-existing  matter  we 
Perhaps  could  see, 
That  might  foretel  what  was  to  be; 
A  rude  and  undigested  lump  it  lay, 
Like  the  old  chaos,  ere  the  birth  of  light  and  day. 
Till  thy  brave  genius  like  a  new  creator  came, 

And  undertook  the  mighty  frame. 
No  shujQled  atoms  did  the  well-built  work  compose, 
It  from  no  lucky  hit  of  blundering  chance  arose, 
(As  some  of  this  great  fabric  idly  dream) 
But  wise,  all  seeing  judgment  did  contrive, 
And  knowing  art  its  graces  give : 
No  sooner  did  thy  soul  with  active  force  and  fire 
The  dull  and  heavy  mass  inspire. 
But  straight  throughout  it  let  us  see 
Proportion,  order,  harmony. 

And  every  part  did  to  the  whole  agree,  [poetry. 

And  straight  appeared  a  beauteous,  new-made  world  of 

3 

Let  dull  and  ignorant  pretenders  art  condemn  ; 
(Those  only  foes  to  art,  and  art  to  them) 

*  Jouson  himself  asserted  his  claim  to  the  honour  of  having  been 
the  founder  of  the  stage,  and  the  first  to  give  it  laws.  The  passage 
occurs  in  Iiis  well-kuoAvn  lines  to  Richard  Brome  : 

'  I  had  you  for  a  servant  once,  Dick  Brome, 

And  you  performed  a  servant's  faithful  parts : 
Now  you  are  got  into  a  nearer  room 

Of  fellowship,  professing  my  old  arts. 
And  you  do  do  them  well ;  with  good  applaus<» 
Which  you  have  justly  gained  from  the  stage 
By  observations  of  tliose  comic  laws 

AVhich  I,  your  master,  first  did  teach  the  age.* 


UPON   THE    WORKS   OF    BEN    JONSON.  65 

The  mere  fanatics,  and  enthusiasts  in  poetry, 
(For  schismatics  in  that,  as  in  religion  be) 

Who  make  't  all  revelation,  trance,  and  dream; 
Let  them  despise  her  laws,  and  think 
That  rules  and  forms  the  spirit  stint : 
Thine  was  no  mad,  unruly  frenzy  of  the  brain, 
Which  justly  might  deserve  the  chain, 
'Twas  brisk,  and  mettled,  but  a  managed  rage. 
Sprightly  as  vigorous  youth,  and  cool  as  temperate  age : 
Free,  like  thy  will,  it  did  all  force  disdain, 
But  suffered  reason's  loose  and  easy  rein. 
By  that  it  suffered  to  be  led. 
Which  did  not  cui-b  poetic  liberty,  but  guide : 
Fancy,  that  wild  and  haggard  faculty. 
Untamed  in  most,  and  let  at  random  fly, 
Was  wisely  governed,  and  reclaimed  by  thee  j 
Restraint  and  discipline  was  made  endure. 
And  by  thy  calm  and  milder  judgment  brought  to 
lure; 
Yet  when  'twas  at  some  nobler  quarry  sent. 
With  bold  and  towering  wings  it  upward  went, 
Not  lessened  at  the  greatest  height. 
Not  turned  by  the  most  giddy  flights  of  dazzling  wit. 

4 

Nature  and  art,  together  met  and  joined, 
Made  up  the  character  of  thy  great  mind  : 
That,  like  a  bright  and  glorious  sphere. 
Appeared  with  numerous  stars  embellished  o'er. 
And  much  of  light  to  thee,  and  much  of  influence 
bore; 
This,  was  the  strong  intelligence,  whose  power 
Turned  it  about,  and  did  the  unerring  motions  steer; 
Concurring  both,  like  vital  seed  and  heat. 
The  noble  births  they  jointly  did  beget. 
And  hard  'twas  to  be  thought. 
Which  most  of  force  to  the  great  generation  brought. 

OLDHAM.  5 


66  UPON   THE   WORKS    OF    BEN   JONSON. 

So  mingling  elements  compose  our  bodies  frame, 
Fire,  water,  earth,  and  air, 
Alike  their  just  proportions  share, 
Each  undistinguished  still  remains  the  same. 
Yet  can't  we  say  that  cither's  here,  or  there, 
But  all,  we  know  not  how,  are  scattered  everywhere. 

5 
Sober  and  grave  was  still  the  garb  thy  muse  put  on, 
No  tawdry  careless  slattern  dress, 

Nor  starched,  and  formal  with  afFectedness, 
Nor  the  cast  mode,  and  fasliion  of  the  court  and  town ; 

But  neat,  agreeable,  and  jaunty  'twas. 

Well  fitted,  it  sate  close  in  every  place. 
And  all  became,  with  an  uncommon  air  and  grace : 

Rich,  costly  and  substantial  was  the  stuff, 
Not  barely  smooth,  nor  yet  too  coarsely  rough : 

No  refuse,  ill-patched  shreds  of  the  schools. 

The  motley  wear  of  read  and  learned  fools. 
No  French  commodity  which  now  so  much  does  take, 

And  our  own  better  manufacture  spoil; 

Nor  was  it  aught  of  foreign  soil. 
But  staple  all,  and  all  of  English  growth  and  make : 

What  flowers  soe'er  of  art  it  had,  were  found 
No  tinsel  slight  embroideries, 

But  all  appeared  either  the  native  gi-ound, 
Or  twisted,  wrought,  and  interwoven  with  the  piece. 

6 

Plain  humour,  shown  with  her  whole  various  face, 

Not  masked  with  any  antic  dress. 
Nor  screwed  in  forced  ridiculous  grimace 

(The  gaping  rabble's  dull  delight. 
And  more  the  actor's  than  the  poet's  wit) 
Such  did  she  enter  on  thy  stage, 
And  such  was  represented  to  the  wondering  age : 

Well  wast  thou  skilled  and  read  in  human  kind, 
In  every  wild  fantastic  passion  of  his  mind, 


UPON"   THE    WORKS    OF   BEN   JONSON.  67 

Didst  into  all  his  hidden  inclinations  dive, 

What  each  from  nature  does  receive, 
Or  age,  or  sex,  or  quality,  or  country  give ; 
What  custom  too,  that  mighty  sorceress, 
Whose  powerful  witchcraft  does  transform 
Enchanted  man  to  several  monstrous  images, 
Makes  this  an  odd,  and  freakish  monkey  turn, 
And  that  a  grave  and  solemn  ass  appear. 
And  all  a  thousand  beastly  shapes  of  folly  wear : 
Whate'er  caprice  or  whimsey  leads  awry 
Perverted  and  seduced  mortality, 
Or  does  incline,  and  bias  it 
From  what's  discreet,  and  wise,  and  right,  and  good 
and  fit; 
All  in  thy  faithful  glass  were  so  expressed. 
As  if  they  were  reflections  of  thy  breast, 
As  if  they  had  been  stamped  on  thy  own  mind, 
And  thou  the  universal  vast  idea  of  mankind. 


Never  didst  thou  with  the  same  dish  repeated  cloy. 
Though  every  dish,  well-cooked  by  thee, 
Contained  a  plentiful  variety; 

To  all  that  could  sound  relishing  palates  be, 

Each  regale  with  new  delicacies  did  invite, 
Courted  the  taste,  and  raised  the  appetite :     , 
Whate'er  fresh  dainty  fops  in  season  were. 
To  garnish  and  set  out  thy  bill  of  fare ; 
(Those  never  found  to  fail  throughout  the  year, 
For  seldom  that  ill-natured  planet  rules. 
That  plagues  a  poet  with  a  dearth  of  fools) 
What  thy  strict  observation  e'er  surveyed. 

From    the    fine,   luscious   spark  of  high  and  courtly 
breed, 
Down  to  the  dull  insipid  cit. 
Made  thy  pleased  audience  entertainment  fit, 

Served  up  with  all  the  grateful  poignancies  of  wit. 

5—2 


68  UPON   THE   WORKS    OF   BEN   JONSON. 

8 

Most  plays  are  ■writ  like  almanacks  of  late, 
And  serve  one  only  year,  one  only  state; 

Another  makes  them  useless,  stale,  and  out  of  date ; 
But  thine  were  wisely  calculated,  fit 
For  each  meridian,  every  clime  of  wit. 
For  all  succeeding  time,  and  after-age, 
And  all  mankind  might  thy  vast  audience  sit. 
And  the  whole  world  be  justly  made  thy  stage : 
Still  they  shall  taking  be,  and  ever  new. 

Still  keep  in  vogue  in  spite  of  all  the  damning  crew  j 
Till  the  last  scene  of  this  great  theatre, 
Closed  and  shut  down. 
The  numerous  actors  all  retire, 
And  the  grand  play  of  human  life  be  done. 

9 

Beshrew  those  envious  tongues  who  seek  to  blast  thy 
bays. 
Who  spots  in  thy  bright  fame  would  find,  or  raise, 
And  say  it  only  shines  with  borrowed  rays; 
Rich  in  thyself,  to  whose  unbounded  store 
Exhausted  nature  could  vouchsafe  no  more. 

Thou  couldst  alone  the  empire  of  the  stage  maintain, 
Couldst  all  its  grandeur,  and  its  port  sustain, 
Nor  needest  others  subsidies  to  pay, 

Needest  no  tax  on  foreign,  or  thy  native  country  lay, 
To  bear  the  charges  of  thy  purchased  fame. 
But  thy  own  stock  could  raise  the  same. 

Thy  sole  revenue  all  the  vast  expense  defray: 

Yet,  like  some  mighty  conqueror  in  poetry. 
Designed  by  fate  of  choice  to  be 

Founder  of  its  new  universal  monarchy. 

Boldly  thou  didst  the  learned  world  invade. 
Whilst  all  around  thy  powerful  genius  swayed. 
Soon   vanquished   Borne,  and    Greece   were   made 
Both  were  thy  humble  tributaries  made,        [submit, 

And  thou  returnedst  in  triumph  with  her  captive  wit. 


UPON   THE   WORKS    OF   BEN   JONSON,  C9 

lO 

Unjust,  and  more  ill-natured  those, 
Thy  spiteful  and  malicious  foes, 
Who  on  thy  happiest  talent  fix  a  lie, 

And  call  that  slowness,  which  was  care  and  industry. 
Let  me  (with  pride  so  to  be  guilty  thought) 
Share  all  thy  wished  reproach,  and  share  thy  shame, 

If  diligence  be  deemed  a  fault, 
If  to  be  faultless  must  deserve  their  blame : 
Judge  of  thyself  alone  (for  none  there  were, 
Could  be  so  just,  or  could  be  so  severe) 

Thou  thy  own  works  didst  strictly  try 

By  known  and  uncontested  rules  of  poetry, 
And  gavesii  thy  sentence  still  impartially : 

With  rigour  thou  arraignedst  each  guilty  line, 

And  sparedst  no  criminal  sense,  because  'twas  thine; 

Unbribed  with  labour,  love,  or  self-conceit, 
(For  never,  or  too  seldom  we. 

Objects  too  near  us,  our  own  blemishes  can  see) 
Thou  didst  no  small  delinquencies  acquit. 
But  saw'st  them  to  correction  all  submit, 

Saw'st  execution  done  on  all  convicted  crimes  of  wit. 

II 

Some  curious  painter,  taught  by  art  to  dare, 
(For  they  with  poets  in  that  title  share) 
When  he  would  undertake  a  glorious  frame 
Of  lasting  worth,  and  fadeless  as  his  fame. 
Long  he  contrives,  and  weighs  the  bold  design, 
Long  holds  his  doubting  hand  e'er  he  begin. 
And  justly,  then,  proportions  every  stroke  and  line. 

And  oft  he  brings  it  to  review. 
And  oft  he  does  deface,  and  dashes  oft  anew. 
And  mixes  oils  to  make  the  flitting  colours  dure. 
To    keep    'em   from   the   tarnish    of    injurious    time 

secure ; 
Finished,  at  length,  in  all  that  care  and  skill  can  do, 
The  matchless  piece  is  set  to  public  view, 


"70  UPON   THE   WORKS    OF   BEN   JONSON. 

And  all  surprised  about  it  wondering  stand, 

And  though  no  name  be  found  below, 
Yet  straight  discern  the  inimitable  hand, 
And  straight  they  cry  'tis  Titian,  or  'tis  Angelo  : 
So  thy  brave  soul,  that  scorned  all  cheap  and  easy  ways. 

And  trod  no  common  road  to  praise, 
Would  not  with  rash,  and  speedy  negligence  proceed, 
(For  whoe'er  saw  perfection  grow  in  haste  1 
Or  that  soon  done,  which  must  for  ever  last  1) 
But  gently  did  advance  with  wary  heed, 
And  shewed  that  mastery  is  most  in  justness  read: 
Nought  ever  issued  from  thy  teeming  breast, 
But  what  had  gone  full  time,  could  v/rite  exactly  best. 
And  stand  the  sharpest  censure,  and  defy  the  rigidest 
test. 

12 

'Twas  thus  the  Almighty  Poet  (if  we  dare 
Our  weak,  and  meaner  acts  with  His  compare) 
When  He  the  world's  fair  poem  did  of  old  design, 
(That  work,  which  now  must  boast  no  longer  date  than 
thine,) 
Though  'twas  in  Him  alike  to  will  and  do, 
Though  the  same  Word  that  spoke,  could  make  it  too, 
Yet  would  He  not  such  quick,  and  hasty  measures  use, 
Nor  did  an  instant  (which  it  might)  the  great  efiect 
produce ; 
But  when  the  All-wise  himself  in  council  sate, 
Vouchsafed  to  think  and  be  deliberate. 
When  Heaven  considered,  and  the  Eternal  Wit  and 
Sense, 
Seemed  to  take  time,  and  care,  and  pains, 

It  shewed  that  some  uncommon  birth, 
That  something  worthy  of  a  God  was  coming  forth ; 
Nought  incorrect  there  was,  nought  faulty  there. 
No  point  amiss  did  in  the  large  voluminous  piece  appear; 
And  when  the  glorious  Author  all  surveyed. 
Surveyed  whate'er  His  mighty  labours  made, 


UPON   THE   WORKS    OF   BEN   JONSON.  71 

Well  pleased  He  was  to  find 
All  answered  the  great  model  and  idea  of  His  mind : 

Pleased  at  himself  He  in  high  wonder  stood, 
And  much  His  power,  and  much  His  wisdom  did  applaud, 
To  see  how  all  was  perfect,  all  transcendent  good. 

Let  meaner  spirits  stoop  to  low  precarious  fame, 
Content  on  gross  and  coarse  applause  to  live, 
And  what  the  dull  and  senseless  rabble  give ; 
Thou  didst  it  still  with  noble  scorn  contemn, 
Nor  wouldst  that  wretched  alms  receive, 

The  poor  subsistence  of  some  bankrupt,  sordid  name : 
Thine  was  no  empty  vapour,  raised  beneath, 

And  formed  of  common  breath, 
The  false  and  foolish  fire,  that's  whisked  about 

By  popular  air,  and  glares  a  while,  and  then  goes  out ; 

But  'twas  a  solid,  whole,  and  perfect  globe  of  light. 
That  shone  all  over,  was  all  over  bright, 

And  dared  all  sullying  clouds,  and  feared  no  darkening 
night; 
Like  the  gay  monarch  of  the  stars  and  sky, 

Who  wheresoe'er  he  does  display 
His  sovereign  lustre,  and  majestic  ray. 
Straight  all  the  less,  and  petty  glories  nigh 

Vanish,  and  shrink  away,  [c^^J- 

O'erwhelmed  and  swallowed  by  the  greater  blaze  of 

With  such  a  strong,  an  awfal  and  victorious  beam 
Appeared,  and  ever  shall  appear,  thy  fame. 

Viewed,  and  adored,  by  all  the  undoubted  race  of  wit. 
Who  only  can  endure  to  look  on  it ; 

The  rest  o'ercome  with  too  much  light,        [quite. 

With  too  much  brightness  dazzled,   or   extinguished 
Restless  and  uncontrolled,  it  now  shall  pass 
As  wide  a  course  about  the  world  as  he  j 
And  when  his  long-repeated  travels  cease, 
Begin  a  new  and  vaster  race. 

And  still  tread  round  the  endless  circle  of  eternity. 


72 


A  LETTER  FROM   THE    COUNTRY  TO   A  FRIEND 
IN  TOWN, 

GIVING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  INCLINATIONS  TO  POETRY.* 

A  S  to  that  poett  (if  so  great  a  one  as  lie, 
-^  May  suffer  in  comparison  with  me) 
When  heretofore  in  Scythian  exile  pent, 
To  which  he  by  ungrateful  Rome  was  sent. 
If  a  kind  paper  from  his  country  came, 
And  wore  subscribed  some  known  and  faithful  name, 
That,  like  a  powerful  cordial,  did  infuse 
New  life  into  his  speechless  gasping  muse. 
And  straight  his  genius,  which  before  did  seem 
Bound  up  in  ice,  and  frozen  as  the  clime, 
By  its  warm  force  and  friendly  inliuence  thawed. 
Dissolved  apace,  and  in  soft  numbers  flowed ; 
Such  welcome  here,  dear  sir,  your  letter  had 
With  me,  shut  up  in  close  constraint  as  bad: 
Not  eager  lovers,  held  in  long  suspense, 
With  warmer  joy,  and  a  more  tender  sense, 
Meet  those  kind  lines  which  all  their  wishes  bless, 
And  sign  and  seal  delivered  happiness : 
My  grateful  thoughts  so  throng  to  get  abroad. 
They  overrun  each  other  in  the  crowd : 
To  you  with  hasty  flight  they  take  their  way, 
And  hardly  for  the  di^ess  of  words  will  stay. 

Yet  pardon,  if  this  only  fault  I  find, 
That  while  you  praise  too  much,  you  are  less  kind : 
Consider,  sir,  'tis  ill  and  dangerous  thus 
To  over-lay  a  young  and  tender  muse : 
Praise,  the  fine  diet  which  we're  apt  to  love, 
If  given  to  excess,  does  hui-tful  prove : 

*  Written  in  July,  1678.  At  this  time  Oldham  had  left  Croydon, 
and  was  residing  in  the  house  of  Judge  Thurland,  near  Reigate.  Not- 
withstanding the  improved  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed,  we 
still  find  him  lamenting  the  close  constraint  of  his  situation,  and  long- 
ing for  freedom.  t  Ovid. 


A    LETTER   FROM   THE   COUNTRY.  73 

Where  it  does  weak  distempered  stomaclis  meet, 
That  surfeits,  which  should  nourishment  create. 
Your  rich  perfumes  such  fragrancy  dispense, 
Their  sweetness  overcomes  and  palls  my  sense; 
On  my  weak  head  you  heap  so  many  bays, 
I  sink  beneath  'em,  quite  oppressed  with  praise, 
And  a  resembling  fate  with  him  receive. 
Who  in  too  kind  a  triumph  found  his  grave, 
Smothered  with  garlands,  which  applauders  gave. 

To  you  these  praises  justlier  all  belong. 
By  alienating  which  yourself  you  wrong : 
Whom  better  can  such  commendations  fit 
Than  you,  who  so  well  teach  and  practise  wit? 
Verse,  the  great  boast  of  drudging  fools,  from  some, 
Nay  most  of  scribblers,  with  much  straining  come ; 
They  void  'em  dribbling,  and  in  pain  they  write, 
As  if  they  had  a  stranguary  of  wit : 
Your  pen,  uncalled,  they  readily  obey, 
And  scorn  your  ink  should  flow  so  fast  as  they : 
Each  strain  of  yours  so  easy  does  appear. 
Each  such  a  graceful  negligence  does  wear, 
As  shews  you  have  none,  and  yet  want  no  care; 
None  of  your  serious  pains  or  time  they  cost, 
But  what  thrown  by,  you  can  afford  for  lost. 
If  such  the  fruits  of  your  loose  leisure  be. 
Your  careless  minutes  yield  such  poetry. 
We  guess  what  proofs  your  genius  would  impart, 
Did  it  employ  you,  as  it  does  divert : 
But  happy  you,  more  prudent  and  more  wise. 
With  better  aims  have  fixed  your  noble  choice. 
While  silly  I  all  thriving  arts  refuse. 
And  all  my  hopes  and  all  my  vigour  lose 
In  service  on  that  worst  of  jilts,  a  muse, 
For  gainful  business  court  ignoble  ease. 
And  in  gay  trifles  waste  my  ill-spent  days. 

Little  I  thought,  my  dearest  friend,  that  you 
Would  thus  contribute  to  my  ruin  too : 


74 


A   LETTER   FROM  THE    COUNTRY 

O'errun  with  filtliy  poetry  and  rhyme. 
The  present  reigning  evil  of  the  time, 
I  lacked,  and  (well  I  did  myself  assure) 
From  your  kind  hand  I  should  receive  a  cure  i 
When,  lo !  instead  of  healing  remedies, 
Y  ou  cherish,  and  encourage  the  disease : 
Inhuman,  you  help  the  distemper  on, 
Which  was  before  but  too  inveterate  grown : 
As  a  kind  looker  on,  who  interest  shares, 
Though  not  in's  stake,  yet  in  his  hopes  and  fears, 
Would  to  his  friend  a  pushing  gamester  do, 
Recall  his  elbow  when  he  hastes  to  throw; 
Such  a  wise  course  you  should  have  took  with  me, 
A  rash  and  venturing  fool  in  poetry. 
Poets  are  cullies,  whom  rook  fame  draws  in,* 
And  wheedles  with  deluding  hopes  to  win : 
But,  when  they  hit,  and  most  successful  are. 
They  scarce  come  off  with  a  bare  saving  share. 
Oft,  I  remember,  did  wise  friends  dissuade, 
And  bid  me  quit  the  trifling  barren  trade ; 
Oft  have  I  tried,  Heaven  knows  !  to  mortify 
This  vile  and  wicked  lust  of  poetry ; 
But  still  unconquered  it  remains  within. 
Fixed  as  a  habit,  or  some  darling  sin. 
In  vain  I  better  studies  there  would  sow. 
Often  I've  tried,  but  none  will  thrive  or  grow : 
All  my  best  thoughts,  when  I'd  most  serious  be, 
Are  never  from  its  foul  infection  free: 
Nay,  God  forgive  me !  when  I  say  my  prayers, 
I  scarce  can  help  polluting  them  vfdth  verse : 
That  fabulous  wretch  of  old  reversed  I  seem, 
Who  turn  whate'er  I  touch  to  dross  and  rhyme. 


*  The  verb  to  cully — to  cuddle  or  wheedle — is  still  in  use  in  some 
of  the  provincial  dialects.  Rook,  to  designate  a  cheat  or  sharper,  is 
frequently  employed  by  Wycherley  and  the  comedy  writers  of  the 
Reventeenth  century. 


TO    A   FRIEND    IN    TOWN.  75 

Oft  to  divert  the  wild  caprice,  I  try 
If  sovereign  wisdom  and  philosophy 
Rightly  applied,  will  give  a  remedy : 
Straight  the  great  Stagyrite  I  take  in  hand, 
Seek  nature,  and  myself  to  understand : 
Much  I  reflect  on  his  vast  worth  and  fame. 
And  much  my  low  and  grovelling  aims  condemn. 
And  quarrel,  that  my  ill-packed  fate  should  be 
This  vain,  this  worthless  thing  called  poetry : 
But  when  I  find  this  unregarded  toy 
Could  his  important  thoughts  and  pains  employ, 
By  reading  there,  I  am  but  more  undone, 
And  meet  that  dansjer  which  I  went  to  shun. 
Oft  when  ill  humour,  chagrin,  discontent, 
Give  leisiu"e  my  wild  follies  to  resent, 
I  thus  against  myself  my  passion  vent : 
*  Enough,  mad  rhyming  sot,  enough  for  shame, 
Give  o'er,  and  all  thy  quills  to  tooth-picks  damn ; 
Didst  ever  thou  the  altar  rob,  or  worse. 
Kill  the  priest  there,  and  maids  receiving,  force? 
What  else  could  merit  this  so  heavy  curse? 
The  greatest  curse,  I  can,  I  wish  on  him, 
(If  there  be  any  greater  than  to  rhyme) 
Who  first  did  of  the  lewd  invention  think. 
First  made  two  lines  with  sounds  resembling  clink, 
And,  swerving  from  the  easy  paths  of  prose. 
Fetters  and  chains  did  on  free  sense  impose : 
Cursed  too  be  all  the  fools,  who  since  have  went 
Misled  in  steps  of  that  ill  precedent : 

Want  be  entailed  their  lot :' and  on  I  go, 

Wreaking  my  spite  on  all  the  jingling  crew : 
Scarce  the  beloved  Cowley  'scapes,  though  I 
Might  sooner  my  own  curses  fear,  than  he : 
And  thus  resolved  against  the  scribbling  vein, 
I  deeply  swear  never  to  write  again. 

Bat  when  bad  company  and  wine  conspire 
To  kindle  and  renew  the  foolish  fire, 


76  A   LETTER   FROM   THE   COUNTRY 

Straightways  relapsed^  I  feel  the  raving  fit 
Keturn,  and  straight  I  all  my  oaths  forget : 
The  spirit,  which  I  thought  cast  out  before, 
Enters  again  with  stronger  force  and  power, 
Worse  than  at  first,  and  tyrannizes  more. 
No  sober  good  advice  will  then  prevail, 
Nor  from  the  raging  frenzy  me  recall  : 
Cool  reason's  dictates  me  no  more  can  move 
Than  men  in  drink,  in  Bedlam,  or  in  love : 
Deaf  to  all  means  which  might  most  proper  seem 
Towards  my  cure,  I  run  stark  mad  in  rhyme : 
A  sad  poor  haunted  wretch,  whom  nothing  less 
Than  prayers  of  the  Church  can  dispossess. 

Sometimes,  after  a  tedious  day  half  spent, 
When  fancy  long  has  hunted  on  cold  scent. 
Tired  in  the  dull  and  fruitless  chase  of  thought. 
Despairing  I  grow  weary,  and  give  out : 
As  a  dry  lecher  pumped  of  all  my  store, 
I  loathe  the  thing,  'cause  I  can  do't  no  more : 
But,  when  I  once  begin  to  find  again 
Kecruits  of  matter  in  my  pregnant  brain. 
Again,  more  eager,  I  the  hunt  pursue, 
And  with  fresh  vigour  the  loved  sport  renew : 
Tickled  with  some  strange  pleasure,  which  I  find, 
And  think  a  secrecy  to  all  mankind, 
I  please  myself  with  the  vain,  false  delight, 
And  count  none  happy,  but  the  fops  that  write. 

'Tis  endless,  sir,  to  tell  the  many  ways 
Wherein  my  poor  deluded  self  I  please : 
How,  when  the  fancy  labouring  for  a  birth. 
With  unfelt  throes  brings  its  rude  issue  forth : 
How  after,  when  imperfect  shapeless  thought 
Is  by  the  judgment  into  fashion  wrought ; 
When  at  first  search  I  traverse  o'er  my  mind. 
Nought  but  a  dark  and  empty  void  I  find : 
Rome  little  hints  at  length,  like  sparks,  break  thence. 
And  glimmering  thoughts  just  dawning  into  sense : 


TO    A    FRIEND    IN   TOWN.  77 

Confused  a  while  tlie  mixed  ideas  lie, 

With  nought  of  mark  to  be  discovered  by, 

Like  colours  undistinguished  in  the  night, 

Till  the  dusk  images,  moved  to  the  light, 

Teach  the  discerning  faculty  to  choose, 

Which  it  had  best  adopt,  and  which  refuse.* 

Here,  rougher  strokes,  touched  with  a  careless  dash. 

Resemble  the  first  setting  of  a  face : 

There,  finished  draughts  in  form  more  full  appear. 

And  to  their  justness  ask  no  further  care. 

Meanwhile  with  inward  joy  I  proud  am  grown. 

To  see  the  work  successfully  go  on : 

And  prize  myself  in  a  creating  power. 

That  could  make  something,  what  was  nought  before. 

Sometimes  a  stiff,  unwieldy  thought  I  meet, 
Which  to  my  laws  will  scarce  be  made  submit : 
But  when,  after  expense  of  pains  and  time, 
'Tis  managed  well,  and  taught  to  yoke  in  rhyme, 
I  triumph  more  than  joyful  warriors  would. 
Had  they  some  stout  and  hardy  foe  subdued, 
And  idly  think,  less  goes  to  their  command. 
That  make  armed  troops  in  well-placed  order  stand, 

*  Mr.  Cornish,  in  a  communication  to  Kotes  and  Queries,  refers  to 
two  passages  in  the  writings  of  Dryden  and  Lord  Byron  in  which  the 
idea  thrown  out  in  these  excellent  lines  is  to  be  found.  The  passage 
in  Dryden  occurs  in  the  dedication  of  the  JRival  Ladies,  and  is  as  fol- 
lows:  '  "When  it  was  only  a  confused  rtiass  of  thoughts  tumbling  over  one 
another  in  the  dark ;  when  the  fancy  was  as  yet  in  its  first  work, 
moving  the  sleejnng  images  of  things  towards  the  light,  there  to  be  distin- 
guished, and  there  to  be  chosen  or  rejected  by  the  judgment.'  '  Had 
Oldham  or  Dryden  the  prior  claim  to  the  thought  ?'  asks  Mr.  Cornish. 
The  question  is  easily  answered.  The  Bival  Ladies  was  acted  at  the 
King's  House  in  1564,  and  printed  in  the  same  year.  Oldham's  poem 
was  written  in  i678.  Byron's  appropriation  of  the  idea  is  in  the 
Marino  Faliero.  and  it  is  clear  from  the  verbal  evidence  that  he  took 
it  from  the  original  source  : 

'  —  as  yet  'tis  but  a  chaos 
Of  darkly  brooding  thoughts  ;  my  fancy  is 
In  her  first  icork,  more  nearly  to  the  light 
Holding  the  sleeping  images  of  things 
For  the  selection  of  the  pausing  jurf^m^/i^.' — Act.  i.  so.  ». 


78  A    LETTER   FROM   THE    COUNTRY 

Than  to  the  conduct  of  my  words,  when  tliey 
March  in  due  ranks,  are  set  in  j  ust  array. 

Sometimes  on  wings  of  thought  I  seem  on  high, 
As  men  in  sleep,  though  motionless  they  lie, 
Fledged  by  a  dream,  believe  they  mount  and  fly : 
So  witches  some  enchanted  wand  bestride, 
And  think  they  through  the  airy  regions  ride, 
Where  fancy  is  both  traveller,  way,  and  guide : 
Then  straight  I  grow  a  strange  exalted  thing. 
And  equal  in  conceit  at  least  a  king : 
As  the  poor  drunkard,  when  wine  stums*  his  brains, 
Anointed  with  that  liquor,  thinks  he  reigns. 
Bewitched  by  these  delusions  'tis  I  write, 
(The  tricks  some  pleasant  devil  plays  in  spite) 
And  when  I'm  in  the  freakish  trance,  which  I, 
Fond  silly  wretch,  mistake  for  ecstasy, 
I  find  all  former  resolutions  vain, 
And  thus  recant  them,  and  make  new  again : 

'What  was't  I  rashly  vowed?  shall  ever  I 
Quit  my  beloved  mistress,  poetry? 
Thou  sweet  beguiler  of  my  lonely  hours. 
Which  thus  glide  unperceived  with  silent  course  ; 
Thou  gentle  spell,  which  undisturbed  dost  keep 
My  breast,  and  charm  intruding  care  asleep ; 
They  say,  thou'rt  poor  and  unendowed ;  what  though  ? 
For  thee,  I  this  vain,  worthless  world  forego : 
Let  wealth  and  honour  be  for  fortune's  slaves, 
The  alms  of  fools,  and  prize  of  crafty  knaves : 
To  me  thou  art  whate'er  the  ambitious  crave. 
And  all  that  greedy  misers  want,  or  have : 
In  youth  or  age,  in  travel  or  at  home. 
Here  or  in  town,  at  London  or  at  Rome, 
Rich  or  a  beggar,  free  or  in  the  Fleet, 
Whate'er  my  fate  is,  'tis  my  fate  to  write.'  * 


*  Stum — the  unfermented  juice  of  the  grape ;  or  new  wine,  some- 
times used  to  raise  a  fermentation  in  wines  that  have  lost  their  strength. 


TO    A   FRIKND    IN   TOWN.  79 

Thus  I  have  made  my  shrifted  muse  confess, 
Her  secret  feebleness,  and  weaknesses : 
All  her  hid  faults  she  sets  exposed  to  view, 
And  hopes  a  gentle  confessor  in  you : 
She  hopes  an  easy  pardon  for  her  sin, 
Since  'tis  but  what  she  is  not  wilful  in, 
!N^or  yet  has  scandalous  nor  open  been. 
Try  if  your  ghostly  counsel  can  reclaim 
The  heedless  wanton  from  her  guilt  and  shame : 
At  least  be  not  ungenerous  to  reproach 
That  wretched  frailty  which  you've  helped  debauch. 

'Tis  now  high  time  to  end,  for  fear  I  grow 
More  tedious  than  old  doters,  when  they  w^oo, 
Than  travelled  fops,  when  far-fetched  lies  they  prate. 
Or  flattering  poets,  when  they  dedicate. 
Ko  dull  forgiveness  T  presume  to  crave, 
Nor  vainly  for  my  tiresome  length  ask  leave : 
Lest  I,  as  often  formal  coxcombs  use, 
Prolong  that  very  fault  I  would  excuse : 
May  this  the  same  kind  welcome  find  with  you, 
As  yours  did  here,  and  ever  shall;  adieu. 


80 

SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

PROLOGUE.* 

"17 OR  who  can  longer  hold?  when  every  press, 
-*~     The  bar  and  pulpit  too,  has  broke  the  peace? 
When  every  scribbling  fool  at  the  alarms 
Has  drawn  his  pen,  and  rises  up  in  arms? 
And  not  a  dull  pretender  of  the  town, 
But  vents  his  gall  in  pamphlet  up  and  down? 
When  all  with  licence  rail,  and  who  will  not. 
Must  be  almost  suspected  of  the  plot,t 
And  bring  his  zeal  or  else  his  parts  in  doubt? 
In  vain  our  preaching  tribe  attack  the  foes, 
In  vain  their  weak  artillery  oppose ; 


*  Oldham  tells  us  that  he  designed  this  prologue  '  in  imitation  of 
Persius,  who  has  prefixed  somewhat  by  that  name  before  his  book  of 
Satires  ;'  and  that  he  drew  the  first  Satire  from  that  of  Sylla's  ghost  in 
Ben  Jonson's  tragedy  of  Catiline.  It  will  be  admitted  that  he  kept 
close  to  his  original  in  the  accumulation  of  horrors. 

t  The  popish  plot  was  disclosed  to  the  King  in  August,  i678,  and 
from  that  time  till  the  dissolution  of  parliament  in  the  following 
January  it  kept  the  country  in  a  state  of  consternation.  The  agita- 
tion was  renewed  by  the  elections,  and  so  great  was  the  terror  of 
popery  inspired  by  the  revelations  of  Tonge,  Gates,  and  the  rest,  that 
the  candidates  who  were  supported  by  the  influence  of  the  court  were 
everywhere  defeated.  At  this  election,  it  is  said,  the  practice  of 
splitting  freeholders  for  the  purpose  of  multiplying  votes  was  adopted 
for  the  first  time.  When  parliament  met  again  in  March  1679,  articles 
of  impeachment  were  exhibited  by  the  Commons  against  the  Roman 
Catholic  peers ;  and  the  King,  in  the  hope  of  pacifying  the  hostility  of 
the  opposition,  dismissed  his  chief  adviser,  Danby,  and  formed  a  new 
coimcil  with  a  strong  infusion  of  protestant  zeal  in  it.  This  device 
was  regarded  in  most  quarters  as  a  juggle,  and  detestation  of  the 
Koman  Catholics,  especially  of  the  Jesuits,  broke  out  with  greater  fury 
than  ever.  It  was  at  this  moment  Oldham  published  his  Satires. 
Their  appearance  was  opportune,  and  they  were  read  with  avidity. 
The  pamijhleteers  alluded  to  in  the  prologue,  who  deluged  the  town 
with  violent  and  ribald  tracts,  merely  addressed  themselves  to  the 
temporary  passions  of  the  occasion;  wliile  Oldham  assailed  the  whole 
system  of  the  Jesuits  with  a  fearlessness  of  invective  scarcely  paralleled 
in  the  language.  He  had  the  field  to  himself.  Dryden  had  not  yet 
come  to  the  rescue  of  the  King,  and  two  years  elapsed  before  the  pub- 
lication of  Absalom  and  AcMtophel.  In  the  meanwhile  the  Satires  still 
continued  to  sell,  and  a  third  edition  was  called  for  in  i685. 


SATIKES    UPON   THE    JESUITS.  81 

Mistaken  honest  men,  wlio  gravely  blame, 
And  hope  that  gentle  doctrine  should  reclaim. 
Are  texts,  and  such  exploded  trifles,  fit 
To  impose,  and  sham  upon  a  Jesuit? 
"Would  they  the  dull  old  fishermen  compare 
With  mighty  Suarez,  and  great  Escobar?* 
Such  threadbare  proofs,  and  stale  authorities 
May  us,  poor  simple  heretics,  suffice ; 
But  to  a  seared  Ignatian's  conscience, 
Hardened,  as  his  own  face,  with  impudence, 
Whose  faith  in  contradiction  bore,  whom  lies, 
l^or  nonsense,  nor  impossibilities, 
Nor  shame,  nor  death,  nor  damning  can  assail, 
i^ot  these  mild  fruitless  methods  will  avail. 
'Tis  pointed  satire,  and  the  shafts  of  wit 
For  such  a  prize  are  the  only  weapons  fit ; 
Nor  needs  there  art,  or  genius  here  to  use, 
Where  indignation  can  create  a  muse : 
Should  parts,  and  nature  fail,  yet  very  spite 
Would  make  the  arrantest  Wild,t  or  Wither  ij:  write. 


*  Suarez  and  Escobar  were  Spanish  Jesuits  who  flourished  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  The  former,  a  voluminous  author,  held  in  high 
esteem  by  his  own  order  for  his  learning,  rendered  himself  particularly 
obnoxious  in  England  by  a  book  he  wrote  against  the  errors  of  the 
English  church,  which  James  I.  caused  to  be  burned  at  St.  Paul's. 
Escobar  was  distinguished  as  a  casuist,  and  published  numerous  works 
on  diviuity,  the  most  remarkable  of  which  was  his  Moral  Theology, 
turned  into  ridicule  by  Pascal. 

t  Robert  Wild,  commonly  called  Dr.  "Wild,  a  nonconformist  divine 
and  poet,  Avho  held  the  rectory  of  Aynho,  in  Xorthamptonshire,  and 
was  ejected  at  the  Restoration.  He  died  at  Oundle,  at  the  age  of  70, 
in  the  year  when  this  poem  was  published.  He  wrote  some  sermons, 
but  was  better  known  by  sundry  indifferent  poems,  of  which  the  Iter 
Boreale,  written  on  Monk's  journey  out  of  Scotland,  was  the  most  pro- 
minent. This  piece  obtained  extraordinary  popularity.  Dryden 
called  Wild  the  Wither  of  the  City,  and  said  that  they  bought  more 
editions  of  Ms  works  than  would  lie  under  all  the  pies  at  the  Lord 
Mayor's  Christmas.  '  When  his  famous  poem  first  came  out  in  1660, 
I  have  seen  them  reading  it  in  the  midst  of  'Change  time ;  nay,  so 
vehemently  were  they  at  it,  that  they  lost  their  bargain  by  the  candles' 
ends.'  He  adds  that  it  was  equally  well  received  amongst  great 
people.  Wood  says  that  Wild  was  a  '  fat,  jolly,  and  boon  presbyterian.' 

X  George  ^Vither,  the  author  of  Abuses  Stript  and  Whipt,  for  which 

OLDHAM.  6 


82  SATIRES   UPON   THE    JESUITS. 

It  is  resolved :  hencefortli  an  endless  war, 
I  and  my  muse  with  them,  and  theirs  declare; 
Whom  neither  open  malice  of  the  foes, 
Nor  private  daggers,  nor  St.  Omer's  dose, 
Nor  all  that  Godfrey*  felt,  or  monarchs  fear. 
Shall  from  my  vowed  and  sworn  revenge  deter. 


he  was  committed  to  the  Marshalsea  ;  and  of  a  charming  collection  of 
eclogues  called  the  Shepherd's  Huntinq.  Wither's  satires  were  distin- 
guished by  their  severity,  and  in  his  eclogues  he  displayed  unquestion- 
able taste  and  genius.  But  he  possessed  a  fatal  facility  for  rhyming, 
which  tempted  him  to  write  a  multitude  of  things  of  so  inferior  a 
character  that  he  fairly  buried  his  reputation  under  a  heap  of  rubbish, 
and  at  last  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  scribbler.  Oldham  is 
nevertheless  unjust  to  him  ;  for  Wither,  notwithstanding  the  mass  of 
worthless  verse  he  produced,  was  undoubtedly  a  true  poet.  Wither 
was  a  violent  parliamentarian,  and  upon  the  Restoration  was  com- 
mitted to  Newgate,  where  he  was  denied  the  use  of  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  and  confined  for  three  years.  He  died  in  i667.  and  was  interred 
in  the  Savoy. 

*  Sir  Edmundbury  Godfrey,  the  magistrate  who  took  the  depo- 
sitions of  Tonge  and  Oates,  and  immediately  afterwards  disappeared. 
At  the  end  of  five  days  his  body  was  found  in  a  ditch  near  Primrose- 
hill,  with  his  sword  run  through  it,  and  a  dark  mark  round  his  neck, 
as  if  he  had  been  strangled.  This  mysterious  murder  was  at  once 
ascribed  to  the  Roman  Catholics,  and  the  superstitions  of  the  people 
were  appealed  to  by  an  anagram,  extracted  with  a  somewhat  unscru- 
pulous ingenuity  from  the  murdered  man's  name — '  I  find  murdered 
by  rogues.'  The  impression  made  on  the  public  mind  by  this  incident 
was  deepened  by  the  disclosure  that  Godfrey  had  been  unwilling  to 
take  Oates'  deposition,  and  that  he  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  he  ex- 
pressed to  his  friends  his  apprehensions  that  he  would  be  himself  the 
first  martyr.  His  body  was  exhibited  in  the  public  streets  for  two 
days  to  exasperate  the  multitude  ;  and  his  funeral,  at  which  seventy- 
two  divines  preceded  the  coffin,  was  one  of  those  terrible  spectacles 
which  are  so  well  calculated  to  inflame  popular  frenzy. 

Godfrey  was  descended  from  a  good  family,  of  some  ancient  stand- 
ing in  Kent.  His  father  represented  New  Romney  in  Parliament. 
In  his  youth,  Godfrey,  after  finishing  his  education  at  Westminster 
School,  travelled  on  the  Continent,  and  afterwards  became  a  member 
of  Gray's  Inn,  but  returned  to  the  country  before  he  completed  his 
terms,  and  having  obtained  his  younger  son's  portion,  about  loooZ., 
finally  settled  in  London  in  partnership  with  Mr.  Harrison,  a  near 
relative,  at  Dowgate,  where  they  established  a  wood-wharf.  At  the 
end  of  a  few  years  they  dissolved  partnership,  and  Godfrey  removed 
to  a  house  at  the  bottom  of  Hartshorn-lane,  or  Alley,  close  on  the 
Thames,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  Palace  at  Whitehall. 
About  1 760  or  1761,  the  old  houses  in  Hartshorn-lane  were  pulled 
down,   and   Northumberland-street,  then  considered    'a    handsome 


SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS.  S3 

Sooner  shall  false  court  favourites  prove  just, 
And  faithful  to  their  king's  and  country's  trust; 
Sooner  shall  they  detect  the  tricks  of  state, 
And  knavery,  suits,  and  bribes,  and  flattery  hate ; 

street,'  was  built  in  their  place.  But  Godfrey's  house  at  the  end  of 
this  street,  overlooking  the  river,  is  still  standing,  and  is  now  occupied 
by  the  Metropolitan  Police.  Here  the  wood-merchant  acquired 
wealth  and  importance,  and  became  a  justice  of  the  peace.  He  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  activity  on  several  occasions,  and  was 
presented  with  a  silver  goblet  by  the  King  for  his  zeal  in  checking  the 
ravages  of  the  plague,  and  knighted  for  his  services  at  the  time  of 
the  Great  Fire.  He  was  a  man  of  excellent  character,  and  indefatiga- 
ble in  his  station.  Dr.  Lloyd,  who  preached  his  funeral  sermon,  says 
that  he  was  the  best  justice  of  the  peace  in  the  kingdom  ;  that  he 
dedicated  himself  wholly  to  it,  and  spared  no  labour  to  sustain  law 
and  justice,  safety  and  liberty. 

It  appears  from  the  particulars  relating  to  the  murder  which  came 
out  upon  confession  and  examination  of  witnesses,  that  the  per- 
sons who  actually  committed  it.  Hill,  an  ale-house  keeper,  Girald,  an 
Irish  priest,  Green,  cushion-man  to  the  Queen's  Chapel,  and  Berry,  the 
porter  of  Somerset  House,  were  instigated  by  the  priests,  who  urged  it 
as  an  act  of  devotion  to  religion,  and  promised  the  murderers  that  they 
should  get  rewards  from  the  Lord  Bellasis.  The  conspirators  beset 
Godfrey  as  he  was  passing  Somerset  House  at  night.  Hill,  affecting 
great  haste  and  alarm,  stepped  up  to  him,  and  entreated  his  inter- 
ference between  two  men  who  were  quarrelling.  Godfrey  at  first 
refused,  but  at  laRt  yielded  to  Hill's  importunities,  and  followed  him 
down  a  lane.  Girald  and  Green  went  after,  and  as  Sir  Edmundbury 
was  going  down  the  stairs.  Green  threw  a  twisted  handkerchief 
round  his  neck  from  behind,  and  flung  him  to  the  ground.  Having 
succeeded  in  strangling  him,  they  carried  him  to  a  room  in  an 
upper  court,  where  they  were  joined  by  Prance,  a  silversmith  in 
Prince's-street,  Drury-lane.  They  afterwards  conveyed  the  body 
to  Primrose  Hill,  and  flung  it  into  a  ditch,  with  his  sword  run 
through  it,  and  his  scabbard  and  gloves  laid  on  the  bank,  that  it 
might  be  supposed  he  had  destroyed  himself.  Green,  Berry,  and  Hill 
were  executed  for  the  murder ;  and  Coleman  and  others  for  being 
concerned  in  the  conspiracy.  There  is  a  silver  tankard  in  the 
possession  of  the  Corporation  of  Sudbury,  in  Suffolk,  which  appears  to 
have  belonged  to  Godfrey,  and  which  is  apparently  the  same  that 
was  presented  to  him  by  the  King.  It  is  inscribed  and  engraved  with 
memorials  of  the  Plague  and  the  Fire.  Godfrey's  Christian  name  is 
sometimes  written  Edmondsbury,  but  this  is  a  mistake.  It  should 
properly  be  Edmund  Berry,  both  of  which  names  he  was  called  after 
his  two  godfathers,  his  father's  cousin.  Captain  John  Berrie,  and 
Mr.  Edmund  Harrison,  the  King's  embroiderer.  His  signature  to  the 
affidavit  made  by  Gates,  in  1678,  shows  that  the  two  names  were 
distinct — it  is  Edm.  B.  Godfrey.  By  a  curious  coincidence  one  of  hia 
murderers  bore  one  of  his  own  names. 

6—3 


84  SATIRES    UPON   THE    JESUITS. 

Bawds  shall  turn  nuns,  salt  duchesses  grow  chaste,* 

And  paint,  and  pride,  and  lechery  detest; 

Popes  shall  for  kings'  supremacy  decide, 

And  cardinals  for  Huguenots  be  tried; 

Sooner  (which  is  the  greatest  impossible) 

Shall  the  vile  brood  of  Loyola  and  hell 

Give  o'er  to  plot,  be  villains,  and  rebel; 

Than  I  with  utmost  spite,  and  vengeance  cease 

To  prosecute,  and  plague  their  cursed  race. 

The  rage  of  poets  damned,  of  women's  j)ride 
Contemned  and  scorned,  or  proffered  lust  denied ; 
The  malice  of  religious  angry  zeal, 
And  all  cashiered  resenting  statesmen  feel ;+ 
What  prompts  dire  hags  in  their  own  blood  to  write, 
And  sell  their  very  souls  to  hell  for  spite; 
All  this  urge  on  my  rank  envenomed  spleen, 
And  with  keen  satire  edge  my  stabbing  pen, 
That  its  each  home-set  thrust  their  blood  may  draw, 
Each  drop  of  ink  like  aquafortis  gnaw. 

Red  hot  with  vengeance  thus,  I'll  brand  disgrace 
So  deep,  no  time  shall  e'er  the  marks  deface ; 
Till  my  severe  and  exemplary  doom 
Spread  wider  than  their  guilt,  till  it  become 
More  dreaded  than  the  bar,  and  frighten  worse 
Than  damning  Pope's  anathemas  and  ciu^e. 


♦  Of  the  many  duchesses  to  whom  this  allusion  might  with 
propriety  apply,  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  Louise  de  Querouaille, 
is  the  one  directly  referred  to.  She  had  just  supplanted  the  Duchess 
of  Cleveland  at  Whitehall,  and  was  at  this  time  Lady  of  the  Bed- 
chamber to  the  Queen ! 

t  The  Lord  Treasurer  Damley,  charged  with  being  concerned  in  an 
application  from  the  Court  of  "Whitehall  to  the  Court  of  Versailles  for 
the  loan  of  a  sum  of  money,  had  just  been  removed  from  his  oflSce  by 
the  King  in  the  hope  of  saving  him  from  the  vengeance  of  the 
Commons.  Parliameut,  liowever,  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  its  prey. 
A  bill  of  attainder  was  brought  in  against  him,  and  at  last,  chased 
for  his  life,  he  surrendered,  and  appeared  on  his  knees  at  the  bar  of 
the  House  of  Lords,  from  whence  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  8»5 

SATIRE  I. GARXET's  GHOST*  ADDRESSIXG  TO  THE  JESUITS, 

IIET   IX   PRIVATE    CABAL   JUST   AFTER   THE   MURDER 
OF    GODFREY. 

X)  Y  hell  'twas  bravely  done !  "wliat  less  tlian  tlds, 

-*-^   What  sacrifice  of  meaner  worth,  and  price 

Could  we  have  ofiered  up  for  our  success? 

So  fare  all  thej,  who  e'er  provoke  our  hate, 

AYho  by  like  ways  presume  to  tempt  their  fate; 

Eare  each  like  this  bold  meddling  fool,  and  be 

As  well  secured,  as  well  dispatched  as  he : 

Would  he  were  here,  yet  warm,  that  we  might  drain 

His  reeking  gore,  and  drink  up  every  vein ! 

That  were  a  glorious  sanction,  much  like  thine, 

Great  Roman !  made  upon  a  like  design : 

Like  thine ;  we  scorn  so  mean  a  sacrament, 

To  seal  and  consecrate  oui-  high  intent. 

We  scorn  base  blood  should  our  great  league  cement : 

Thou  didst  it  with  a  slave,  but  we  think  good 

To  bind  our  treason  with  a  bleeding  god. 

Would  it  were  his  (why  should  I  fear  to  name, 
Or  you  to  hear  't  1)  at  which  We  nobly  aim ! 
Lives  yet  that  hated  enemy  of  our  cause? 
Lives  he  our  mighty  projects  to  oppose? 
Can  his  weak  innocence,  and  heaven's  care 
Be  thought  security  from  what  we  dare? 
Are  you  then  Jesuits?  are  you  so  for  nought, 
In  all  the  Catholic  depths  of  treason  taught, 
In  orthodox,  and  solid  poisoning  read? 
In  each  profounder  art  of  killing  bred? 
And  can  you  fail,  or  bungle  in  your  trade? 
Shall  one  poor  life  your  cowardice  upbraid  ?f 


»  Henry  Garnet,  a  provincial  of  the  Jesuits,  who  was  executed  in 
1606,  for  being  concerned  in  the  Gunpowder  Plot. 

+  '  Three  or  four  schemes  had  been  formed  for  assassinating  the 
King.  He  was  to  be  stabbed.  He  was  to  be  poisoned  in  his  medicine. 
He  was  to  be  shot  with  silver  bullets.' — Macaulay's  Hist,  of  Eng- 
land, i.  z33.  These  schemes  were  only  a  part  of  what  Mr.  Macanlay 
calls '  the  hideous  romance'  of  Titus  Gates. 


86  SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Tame  dastard  slaves !  who  your  profession  shame, 
And  fix  disgrace  on  our  great  founder's  name. 

Think  what  late  sectaries  (an  ignoble  crew, 
Not  worthy  to  be  ranked  in  sin  with  you) 
Inspired  with  lofty  wickedness,  durst  do  : 
How  from  his  throne  they  hurled  a  monarch  down, 
And  doubly  eased  him  of  both  life  and  crown : 
They  scorned  in  covert  their  bold  act  to  hide, 
In  open  face  of  heaven  the  work  they  did, 
And  braved  its  vengeance,  and  its  powers  defied. 
This  is  his  son,  and  mortal  too  like  him ; 
Durst  you  usurp  the  glory  of  the  crime, 
And  dare  ye  nof?  I  know,  you  scorn  to  be 
By  such  as  they  outdone  in  villany, 
Your  proper  province ;  true,  you  urged  them  on, 
Were  engines  in  the  fact,  but  they  alone 
Shared  all  the  open  credit  and  renown.  [need 

But  hold!  I  wrong  our  church  and  cause,  which 
No  foreign  instance,  nor  what  others  did. 
Think  on  that  matchless  assassin,  whose  name 
We  with  just  pride  can  make  our  happy  claim; 
He,  who  at  killing  of  an  emperor, 
To  give  his  poison  stronger  force  and  power 
Mixed  a  god  with  't,  and  made  it  work  more  sure : 
Blessed  memory !  which  shall  through  age  to  come 
Stand  sacred  in  the  lists  of  hell  and  Rome. 

Let  our  great  Clement*  and  Ravaillac'st  name. 
Your  spirits  to  like  heights  of  sin  inflame ; 


*  Jacques  Clement,  a  Dominican  monk,  who  assassinated  Henry  III. 
at  St.  Cloud,  in  i589,  in  the  same  chamber,  it  is  said,  where  Henry,  as 
Duke  of  Anjou,  assented  to  the  massacre  of  the  Huguenots.  Having 
obtained  admission  under  the  pretext  of  business  of  importance,  Cle- 
ment, whose  fanaticism  was  stimulated  by  the  Duchess  de  Montpensier, 
put  a  letter  in  the  King's  hand,  and  stabbed  him  while  he  was  reading 
it.  The  regicide  was  killed  on  the  spot  by  the  attendants.  Clement 
was  almost  deified  for  this  deed.  His  portrait  was  placed  on  the  altars 
of  Paris  beside  the  Eucharist ;  a  statue  was  erected  to  him  in  Notre 
Dame  ;  the  Sorbonne  demanded  his  canonization ;  and  Pope  Sextus  V. 
pronounced  a  panegyric  upon  his  memory. 

t  Fran9oi3  Kavaillac,  executed  in  i(5io  for  the  murder  of  Henry  IV. 


SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS.  87 

Those  miglity  souls,  who  bravely  chose  to  die, 
To  have  each  a  royal  ghost  their  company. 
Heroic  act !  and  worth  their  tortures  well, 
Well  worth  the  suffering  of  a  double  hell. 
That,  they  felt  here,  and  that  below,  they  feel. 

And  if  these  cannot  move  you  as  they  should, 
Let  me  and  my  example  fire  your  blood : 
Think  on  my  vast  attempt,  a  glorious  deed. 
Which  durst  the  fates  have  suffered  to  succeed, 
Had  rivalled  hell's  most  proud  exploit  and  boast, 
Even  that,  which  would  the  king  of  fates  deposed. 
Cursed  be  the  day,  and  ne'er  in  time  enrolled, 
And  cursed  the  star,  whose  spiteful  influence  ruled 
The  luckless  minute,  which  my  project  spoiled; 
Curse  on  that  power,  who,  of  himself  afraid, 
My  glory  with  my  brave  design  betrayed ; 
Justly  he  feared,  lest  I,  who  strook  so  high 
In  guilt,  should  next  blow  up  his  realm  and  sky ; 
And  so  I  had;  at  least  I  would  have  durst, 
And  failing,  had  got  off  with  fame  at  worst. 

Had  you  but  half  my  bravery  in  sin. 
Your  work  had  never  thus  unfinished  been ; 
Had  I  been  man,  and  the  great  act  to  do, 
He  had  died  by  this,  and  been  what  I  am  now. 
Or  what  his  father  is :  I  would  leap  hell 
To  reach  his  life,  though  in  the  midst  I  fell, 

And  deeper  than  before, 

Let  rabble  souls,  of  narrow  aim  and  reach. 
Stoop  their  vile  necks,  and  dull  obedience  preach ; 
Let  them  with  slavish  awe  (disdained  by  me) 
Adore  the  purple  rag  of  majesty. 
And  think  't  a  sacred  relic  of  the  sky : 
Well  may  such  fools  a  base  subjection  own, 
Vassals  to  every  ass  that  loads  a  throne; 

It  was  effected  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  where  the  assassin,  taking  advan- 
tage of  a  temporary  stoppage,  mounted  the  step,  and,  leaning  into  the 
carriage  which  contained  the  King  and  several  of  his  suite,  stabbed 
his  majesty  tmce. 


88  SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Unlike  the  soul,  with  which  proud  I  was  born, 
Who  could  that  sneaking  thing  a  monarch  scorn, 
Spurn  off  a  crown,  and  set  my  foot  in  sport 
Upon  the  head  that  wore  it,  trod  in  dirt. 

But  say,  what  is't  that  binds  your  hands'?  does  fear 
From  such  a  glorious  action  you  deter? 
Or  is't  religion'?  but  you  sure  disclaim 
That  frivolous  pretence,  that  empty  name — 
Mere  bugbear  word,  devised  by  us  to  scare 
The  senseless  rout  to  slavishness  and  fear, 
Ne'er  known  to  awe  the  brave,  and  those  that  dare. 
Such  weak  and  feeble  things  may  serve  for  checks 
To  rein  and  curb  base  mettled  heretics ; 
Dull  creatures,  whose  nice  boggling  consciences 
Startle,  or  strain  at  such  slight  crimes  as  these; 
Such,  whom  fond  inbred  honesty  befools. 
Or  that  old  musty  piece  the  Bible  gulls : 
That  hated  book,  the  bulwark  of  our  foes. 
Whereby  they  still  uphold  their  tottering  cause. 
Let  no  such  toys  mislead  you  from  the  road 
Of  glory,  nor  infect  your  souls  with  good ; 
Let  never  bold  encroaching  virtue  dare 
With  her  grim  holy  face  to  enter  there, 
No,  not  in  very  dream :  have  only  will 
Like  fiends  and  me  to  covet,  and  act  ill ; 
Let  true  substantial  wickedness  take  place. 
Usurp,  and  reign ;  let  it  the  very  trace 
(If  any  yet  be  left)  of  good  deface. 
If  ever  qualms  of  inward  cowardice 
(The  thing  which  some  dull  sots  call  conscience)  rise, 
Let  them  in  streams  of  blood  and  slaughter  drown, 
Or  with  new  weights  of  gTiilt  still  press  them  down. 
Shame,  faith,  religion,  honour,  loyalty, 
Nature  itself,  whatever  checks  there  be 
To  loose  and  uncontrolled  impiety. 
Be  all  extinct  in  you;  own  no  remorse 
But  that  you've  balked  a  sin,  have  been  no  worse, 
Or  too  much  pity  shown, 


SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS.  89 

Be  diligent  in  miscliief  s  trade,  be  each. 

Performing  as  a  devil ;  nor  stick  to  reach. 

At  crimes  most  dangerous;  where  bold  despair, 

Mad  lust,  and  heedless  blind  revenge  would  ne'er 

Even  look,  march  you  without  a  blush,  or  fear, 

Inflamed  by  all  the  hazards  that  oppose, 

And  firm,  as  burning  martyrs  to  your  cause. 

Then  you're  true  Jesuits,  then  you're  fit  to  be 
Disciples  of  great  Loyola  and  me ; 
Worthy  to  undertake,  worthy  a  plot, 
Like  this,  and  fit  to  scourge  a  Huguenot. 

Plagues  on  that  name !  may  swift  confusion  seize. 
And  utterly  blot  out  the  cursed  race ; 
Thrice  damned  be  that  apostate  monk,*  from  whom 
Sprung  first  these  enemies  of  us  and  Rome ; 
Whose  poisonous  filth,  dropt  from  engendering  brain, 
By  monstrous  birth  did  the  vile  insects  spawn, 
Which  now  infest  each  country,  and  defile 
With  their  o'erspreading  swarms  this  goodly  isle. 
Once  it  was  ours,  and  subject  to  our  yoke, 
Till  a  late  reigning  witch t  the  enchantment  broke: 
It  shall  again :  hell  and  I  say  it :  have  ye 
But  courage  to  make  good  the  prophecy, 
'Not  fate  itself  shall  hinder. 

Too  sparing  was  the  time,  too  mild  the  day. 
When  our  great  Mary  bore  the  English  sway ! 
XJnqueenlike  pity  marred  her  royal  power, 
Nor  was  her  purple  dyed  enough  in  gore. 

Four  or  five  hundred,  such  like  petty  sum 
Might  fall  perhaps  a  sacrifice  to  Pome, 
Scarce  worth  the  naming :  had  I  had  the  power, 
Or  been  thought  fit  to  have  been  her  counsellor. 
She  should  have  raised  it  to  a  nobler  score. 
Big  bonfii-es  should  have  blazed,  and  shone  each  day, 
To  tell  our  triumphs,  and  make  bright  our  way ; 


*  Luther.  t  Queen  Elizabeth. 


90  SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

And  when  'twas  dark,  in  every  lane  and  street 
Thick  flaming  heretics  should  serve  to  light, 
And  save  the  needless  charge  of  links  by  night ; 
Smithfield  should  still  have  kept  a  constant  fire, 
Which  never  should  be  quenched,  never  expire, 
But  with  the  lives  of  all  the  miscreant  rout. 
Till  the  last  gasping  breath  had  blown  it  out. 

So  Nero  did,  such  was  the  prudent  course 
Taken  by  all  his  mighty  successors, 
To  tame  like  heretics  of  old  by  force : 
They  scorned  dull  reason,  and  pedantic  rules 
To  conquer  and  reduce  the  hardened  fools; 
Racks,  gibbets,  halters  were  their  arguments, 
Which  did  most  undeniably  convince; 
Grave  bearded  lions  managed  the  dispute. 
And  reverend  bears  their  doctrines  did  confute ; 
And  all,  who  would  stand  out  in  stiff  defence, 
They  gently  clawed,  and  worried  into  sense; 
Better  than  all  our  Sorbonne*  dotards  now, 
Who  would  by  dint  of  words  our  foes  subdue. 
This  was  the  rigid  discipline  of  old. 
Which  modern  sots  for  persecution  hold; 
Of  which  dull  annalists  in  story  tell 
Strange  legends,  and  huge  bulky  volumes  swell 
With  martyred  fools  that  lost  their  way  to  hell. 

From  these,  our  church's  glorious  ancestors, 
We've  learned  our  arts,  and  made  their  methods  ours; 
Nor  have  we  come  behind,  the  least  degree, 
In  acts  of  rough  and  manly  cruelty ; 
Converting  faggots,  and  the  powerful  stake, 
And  sword  resistless  our  apostles  make. 

This  heretofore  Bohemia  felt,  and  thus 
Were  all  the  numerous  proselytes  of  Huss 


*  The  Society  of  the  Sorbonne  (so  called  from  the  name  of  the 
village  near  Paris,  where  it  was  established)  was  founded  in  1364,  by 
St.  Louis  IX.,  and  Ralph  de  Sorbonne,  his  confessor. 


SATIRES    UPON    THE   JESUITS.  91 

Cruslied  witli  their  head:  so  Waldo's*  cursed  rout, 
And  those  of  Wicklilffet  here  were  rooted  out, 
Their  names  scarce  left. — Sure  were  the  meanswe  chose, 
And  wrought  prevailingly;  fire  purged  the  dross 
Of  those  foul  heresies,  and  sovereign  steel 
Lopped  off  the  infected  limbs  the  church  to  heal. 

Renowned  was  that  French  brave,  renowned  his  deed, 
A  deed  for  which  the  day  deserves  its  red 
Far  more  than  for  a  paltry  saint  that  died : 
How  goodly  was  the  sight !  how  fine  the  show 
When  Paris  saw  through  all  its  channels  flow 
The  blood  of  Huguenots ;  when  the  full  Seine, 
Swelled  with  the  flood,  its  banks  with  joy  o'erran! 
He  scorned  like  common  murderers  to  deal 
By  parcels  and  piecemeal;  he  scorned  retail      [great,:}; 
In  the  trade  of  death;   whole  myriads  died  by  the 
Soon  as  one  single  life ;  so  quick  their  fate, 
Their  very  prayers  and  wishes  came  too  late. 

This  a  king§  did :  and  great  and  mighty  'twas, 
Worthy  his  high  degree,  and  power  and  place. 
And  worthy  our  religion  and  our  cause. 
Unmatched  't  had  been,  had  not  Maguire  arose, 
The  bold  Maguire  (who  read  in  modern  fame, 
Can  be  a  stranger  to  his  worth  and  name?) 
Born  to  outsin  a  monarch,  born  to  reign 
In  guilt,  and  all  competitors  disdain : 
Dread  memory !  whose  each  mention  still  can  make 
Pale  heretics  with  trembling  horror  quake ! 

*  Peter  Waldo,  a  rich  merchant  of  Lyons,  and  one  of  the  earliest 
reformers,  erroneously  supposed  by  some  writers  to  be  the  founder  of 
the  Waldenses.  He  was  anathematized  by  Alexander  III.  for  his 
opposition  to  the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation ;  and,  after  living  in 
concealment  for  three  years,  he  retired  into  Dauphiny,  and  preached 
there  with  great  success.  He  afterwards  settled  in  Bohemia,  where 
he  died  in  1 1 79. 

t  Dr.  John  Wickliflfe.  He  died  in  1 385.  and  his  body  was  dug  up 
forty  years  afterwards  and  burned. 

t  En  gros — by  wholesale. 

§  Charles  IX.,  who  ordered  the  massacre  at  Paris  in  iS7a. 


92  SATIKES    UPON    THE   JESUITS. 

To  undo  a  kingdom,  to  achieve  a  crime 

Like  his,  who  would  not  fall  and  die  like  him? 

Never  had  Rome  a  nobler  service  done. 

Never  had  hell ;  each  day  came  thronging  down 

Yast  shoals   of  ghosts,   and   mine   was   pleased   and 

glad, 
And  smiled,  when  it  the  brave  revenge  surveyed. 

Nor  do  I  mention  these  great  instances 
Por  bounds,  and  limits  to  your  wickedness : 
Dare  you  beyond,  something  out  of  the  road 
Of  all  example,  where  none  yet  have  trod, 
Nor  shall  hereafter :  what  mad  Catiline 
Durst  never  think,  nor  's  madder  poet  feign;* 
Make  the  poor  baffled  pagan  fool  confess, 
How  much  a  Christian  crime  can  conquer  his; 
How  far  in  gallant  mischief  overcome. 
The  old  must  yield  to  new  and  modern  Kome. 
Mix  ills  past,  present,  future,  in  one  act; 
One  high,  one  brave,  one  great,  one  glorious  fact. 

Which  hell,  and  very  I  may  envy 

Such  as  a  god  himself  might  wish  to  be 

Accomplice  in  the  mighty  villany. 

And  barter  his  heaven,  and  vouchsafe  to  die. 

Nor  let  delay  (the  bane  of  enterprise) 
Mar  yours,  or  make  the  great  importance  miss. 
This  fact  has  waked  your  enemies,  and  their  fear; 
Let  it  your  vigour  too,  your  haste  and  care. 
Be  swift,  and  let  your  deeds  forestall  intent, 
Forestall  even  wishes,  ere  they  can  take  vent, 
Nor  give  the  fates  the  leisure  to  prevent. 
Let  the  full  clouds,  which  a  long  time  did  wrap 
Your  gathering  thunder,  now  with  sudden  clap, 
Break  out  upon  your  foes ;  dash,  and  confound, 
And  spread  avoidless  ruin  all  around. 


*  Garnet  is  here  made  to  refer  to  Ben  Jonson's  opening  to  Catiline, 
upon  the  model  of  which  this  first  Satire  is  founded. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  93 

Let  the  fired  city  to  your  plot  give  light  ;* 
You  razed  it  half  before, t  now  raze  it  quite. 
Do  't  more  effectually;  I'd  see  it  glow 
In  flames  unquenchable  as  those  below; 
I'd  see  the  miscreants  with  their  houses  burn, 
And  all  together  into  ashes  turn. 

Bend  next  your  fury  to  the  cursed  divan ; 
That  damned  committee,  whom  the  fates  ordain 
Of  all  our  well-laid  plots  to  be  the  bane. 
Unkennel  those  state  foxes  where  they  lie 
Working  your  speedy  fate  and  destiny.:]: 
Lug  by  the  ears  the  doting  prelates  thence, 
Dash  heresy  together  with  their  brains 
Out  of  their  shattered  heads.     Lop  off  the  lords 
And  commons  at  one  stroke,  and  let  your  swords 
Adjourn  them  all  to  the  other  world.  

Would  I  were  blest  with  flesh  and  blood  again, 
But  to  be  actor  in  that  happy  scene ! 
Yet  thus  I  will  be  by,  and  glut  my  view, 
Kevenge  shall  take  its  fill,  in  state  I'll  go 
With  captive  ghosts  to  attend  me  down  below. 

Let  these  the  handsels  of  your  vengeance  be, 
But  stop  not  here,  nor  flag  in  cruelty. 


*  Having  enumerated  some  of  the  past  deeds  of  papal  persecution, 
the  heads  of  the  plot,  as  communicated  by  Gates,  are  next  disclosed. 
London  was  to  be  fired,  the  Council,  Bishops,  and  Ministers  of  State, 
were  to  be  assassinated,  and  Lords  and  Commons  to  be  destroyed,  or, 
as  Oldham  has  it,  to  be  adjourned  to  the  other  world. 

t  The  great  fire  of  London  took  place  in  1666,  'begun,' says  the 
inscription  on  the  monument,  '  and  carried  on  by  the  treachery  and 
malice  of  the  Popish  faction ;'  which  inscription,  says  Ned  Ward,  '  is  as 
ignorant  of  the  matter  as  myself,  for  the  monument  was  neither  built 
then  nor  I  born ;  so  I  believe  we  are  equally  as  able  to  tell  the  truth 
of  the  story,'  &c. — London  Spy. 

X  The  proceedings  of  Parliament  against  the  Eoman  Catholics, 
during  the  excitement  that  ensued  upon  the  murder  of  Godfrey,  were 
of  the  most  stringent  character.  The  Eoman  Catholic  lords  were  for 
the  first  time  excluded  from  the  Upper  House ;  the  Duke  of  York 
driven  from  the  Privy  Council ;  strong  resolutions  were  adopted  against 
the  Queen ;  and,  adds  Macaulay,  they  even  attempted  to  wrest  the 
command  of  the  militia  out  of  the  King's  hands. 


i)4r  SATIRES    UPON   THE    JESUITS. 

Kill  like  a  plague  or  inquisition ;  spare 

No  age,  degree,  or  sex;  only  to  wear 

A  soul,  only  to  own  a  life,  be  here 

Thought  crime  enough  to  lose  't ;  no  time  nor  place 

Be  sanctuary  from  your  outrages; 

Spare  not  in  churches  kneeling  priests  at  prayer, 

Though  interceding  for  you,  slay  even  there ; 

Spare  not  young  infants  smiling  at  the  breast, 

Who  from  relenting  fools  their  mercy  wrest ; 

E,ip  teeming  wombs,  tear  out  the  hated  brood 

From  thence,  and  drown  them  in  their  mother's  blood ; 

Pity  not  virgins,  nor  their  tender  cries. 

Though  prostrate  at  your  feet  with  melting  eyes 

All  drowned  in  tears ;  strike  home,  as  'twere  in  lust. 

And  force  their  begging  hands  to  guide  the  thrust ; 

Kavish  at  the  altar,  kill  when  you  have  done. 

Make  them  your  rapes,  and  victims  too  in  one; 

Nor  let  grey  hoary  hairs  protection  give 

To  age,  just  crawling  on  the  verge  of  life ; 

Snatch  from  its  leaning  hands  the  weak  support, 

And  with  it  knock  't  into  the  grave  with  sport; 

Brain  the  poor  cripple  with  his  crutch,  then  cry. 

You've  kindly  rid  him  of  his  misery. 

Seal  up  your  ears  to  mercy,  lest  their  words 
Should  tempt  a  pity,  ram  them  with  your  swords 
(Their  tongues  too)  down  their  throats;  let  them  not 
To  mutter  for  their  souls  a  gasping  prayer,  [dare 

But  in  the  utterance  chok't,  and  stab  it  there. 
'Twere  witty  handsome  malice  (could  you  do  't) 
To  make  'em  die,  and  make  'em  damned  to  boot. 

Make  children  by  one  fate  with  parent  die, 
Kill  even  revenge  in  next  posterity; 
So  you'll  be  pestered  with  no  orphans'  cries. 
No  childless  mothers  curse  your  memories. 
Make  death  and  desolation  swim  in  blood 
Throughout  the  land,  with  nought  to  stop  the  flood 
But  slaughtered  carcasses ;  till  the  whole  isle 
Become  one  tomb,  become  one  funeral  pile ; 


SATIRES   UPON   THE    JESUITS.  95 

Till  such,  vast  numbers  swell  the  countless  sum, 
That  the  wide  gi-ave,  and  wider  hell  want  room. 

Great  was  that  tyrant's  wish,  which  should  be  mine, 
Did  I  not  scorn  the  leavings  of  a  sin ; 
Freely  I  would  bestow  't  on  England  now, 
That  the  whole  nation  with  one  neck  might  grow, 
To  be  sliced  off,  and  you  to  give  the  blow. 
What  neither  Saxon  rage  could  here  inflict, 
Nor  Danes  more  savage,  nor  the  barbarous  Pict ; 
What  Spain  or  Eighty-eight  could  e'er  devise, 
With  all  its  fleet,  and  freight  of  cruelties ; 
What  ne'er  Medina*  wished,  much  less  could  dare, 
And  bloodier  Alvat  would  with  trembling  hear; 
What  may  strike  out  dire  prodigies  of  old, 
And  make  their  mild  and  gentler  acts  untold; 
What  heaven's  judgments,  nor  the  angry  stars, 
Foreign  invasions,  nor  domestic  wars, 
Plague,  fire,  nor  famine  could  effect  or  do ; 
All  this,  and  more  be  dared,  and  done  by  you. 

But  why  do  I  with  idle  talk  delay 
Your  hands,  and  while  they  should  be  acting,  stay? 

Farewell 

If  I  may  waste  a  prayer  for  your  success. 

Hell  be  your  aid,  and  your  high  projects  bless! 

May  that  vile  wretch,  if  any  here  there  be, 

That  meanly  shrinks  from  brave  iniquity; 

If  any  here  feel  pity  or  remorse, 

May  he  feel  all  I've  bid  you  act,  and  worse! 

May  he  by  rage  of  foes  unpitied  fall, 

And  they  tread  out  his  hated  soul  to  hell. 

May  his  name  and  carcass  rot,  exposed  alike  to  be 

The  everlasting  mark  of  grinning  infamy. 

*  The  Duke  of  Medina-Sidonia,  who  commanded  the  Spanish  Ar- 
mada in  i588. 

t  The  Duke  of  Alva,  employed  by  Philip  of  Spain  in  the  Nether- 
lands, and  distinguished  in  history  by  his  merciless  wholesale  mas- 
sacres. He  boasted  that  he  had  himself  consigned  18,000  persons  to 
the  executioner.  Amongst  these  were  the  two  popular  leaders,  Counts 
Egmont  and  Horn. 


^6  SATIRES   UPON"  THE   JESUITS. 

SATIRE   II. 

"lyi  AY,  if  our  sins  are  grown  so  high  of  late, 

■^^    That  heaven  no  longer  can  adjourn  our  fate, 

May  't  please  some  milder  vengeance  to  devise, 

Plague,  fire,  sword,  dearth,  or  anything  but  this, 

Let  it  rain  scalding  showers  of  brimstone  down. 

To  burn  us,  as  of  old  the  lustful  town ; 

Let  a  new  deluge  overwhelm  again. 

And  drown  at  once  our  land,  our  lives,  our  sin. 

Thus  gladly  we'll  comjDound,  all  this  we'll  pay, 

To  have  this  worst  of  ills  removed  away. 

Judgments  of  other  kinds  are  often  sent 

In  mercy  only,  not  for  punishment; 

But  where  these  light,  they  show  a  nation's  fate 

Is  given  up,  and  past  for  reprobate. 

When  God  his  stock  of  wrath  on  Egypt  spent 
To  make  a  stubborn  land  and  king  rejDent, 
Sparing  the  rest,  had  he  this  one  plague  sent, 
Eor  this  alone  his  people  had  been  quit. 
And  Pharaoh  circumcised  a  proselyte. 

Wonder  no  longer  why  no  curse,  like  these, 
Was  known,  or  suffered  in  the  primitive  days; 
They  never  sinned  enough  to  merit  it, 
'Twas  therefore  what  Heaven's  just  power  thought  fit, 
To  scourge  this  latter,  and  more  sinful  age 
With  all  the  dregs  and  squeezings  of  his  rage. 

Top  dearly  is  proud  Spain  with  England  quit 
For  all  her  loss  sustained  in  Eighty-eight ; 
Eor  all  the  ills  our  warlike  virgin  wrought, 
Or  Drake,  or  Raleigh,  her  great  scourges,  brought. 
Amply  she  was  revenged  in  that  one  birth. 
When  hell  for  her  the  Biscain  plague  brought  forth  ;* 
Great  counter  plague !  in  which  unhappy  we 
Pay  back  her  sufferings  with  full  usury : 

*  Ignatius  Loyola,  who  was  born  in  1491  in  Guipuzcoa,  one  of  the 
Basque  provinces.  In  this  Satire,  Oldham  is  speaking  in  his  o*'.n 
pei'son. 


SATIRES   UPON  THE   JESUITS.  07 

Than  wliom  alone  none  ever  was  designed 
To  entail  a  wider  curse  on  human  kind, 
But  he,  who  first  begot  us,  and  first  sinned. 
Happy  the  world  had  been,  and  happy  thou, 
(Less  damned  at  least,  and  less  accursed  than  now) 
If  early  with  less  guilt  in  war  th'  hadst  died, 
And  from  ensuing  mischiefs  mankind  freed ; 
Or  when  thou  view'dst  the  Holy  Land,  and  tomb, 
Th'  hadst  sufiered  there  thy  l)rother  traitor's  doom.* 
Cursed  be  the  womb  that  with  the  firebrand  teemed, 
Which  ever  since  has  the  whole  globe  inflamed ; 
More  cursed  that  ill-aimed  shot,  which  basely  missed. 
Which  maimed  a  limb,  but  spared  thy  hated  breast. 
And  made  thee  at  once  a  cripple  and  a  priest,  t 

But  why  this  wish?     The  church  if  so  might  lack 
Champions,  good  works,  and  saints  for  the  almanac. 
These  are  the  Janissaries  of  the  cause, 
The  life-guard  of  the  Roman  Sultan,  chose 
To  break  the  force  of  Huguenots  and  foes ; 
The  church's  hawkers  in  divinity, 
Who  'stead  of  lace  and  ribbons,  doctrine  cry; 
Rome's  strollers,  who  survey  each  continent, 
Its  trinkets  and  commodities  to  vent ; 
Export  the  Gospel,  like  mere  ware,  for  sale, 
And  truck 't  for  indigo,  and  cochineal, 
As  the  known  factors  here,  the  brethren,  once 
Swopped  Christ  about  for  bodkins,  rings,  and  spoons. 

And  shall  these  great  Apostles  be  contemned, 
And  thus  by  scoffing  heretics  defamed? 
They,  by  whose  means  both  Indies  now  enjoy 
The  two  choice  blessings,  lust  and  popery? 
Which  buried  else  in  ignorance  had  been, 
Kor  known  the  worth  of  beads  and  Bellarmine?;}: 

*  Loyola's  original  profession  was  that  of  a  soldier,  in  which  he  is 
said  to  have  displayed  courage  and  ability.  Having  renounced  arms 
for  a  religious  life,  he  determined  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem, 
for  which  he  made  elaborate  preparations  in  the  way  of  prayer  and 
penance.  t  See  note  p.  ia3. 

X  An  Italian  Jesuit,  created  a  cardinal  by  Sextus  V.,  and  after- 
OLDHAM.  7 


98  SATIRES   UPON   THE  JESUITS. 

It  pitied  holy  mother  church  to  see 
A  world  so  drowned  in  gross  idolatry : 
It  grieved  to  see  such  goodly  nations  hold 
Bad  errors  and  unpardonable  gold. 
Strange !  what  a  fervent  zeal  can  coin  infuse ! 
What  charity  pieces  of  eight  produce ! 
So  were  you  chosen  the  fittest  to  reclaim 
The  pagan  world,  and  give  it  a  Christian  name. 
And  great  was  the  success ;  whole  myriads  stood 
At  font,  and  were  baptized  in  their  own  blood ; 
Millions  of  souls  were  hurled  from  hence  to  burn 
Before  their  time,  be  damned  before  their  turn. 

Yet  these  were  in  compassion  sent  to  hell, 
The  rest  reserved  in  spite,  and  worse  to  feel, 
Compelled  instead  of  fiends  to  worship  you. 
The  more  inhuman  devils  of  the  two. 
Rare  way  and  method  of  conversion  this, 
To  make  your  votaries  your  sacrifice ! 
If  to  destroy  be  Reformation  thought, 
A  plague  as  well  might  the  good  work  have  wrought. 

Now  see  we  why  your  founder,  weary  grown 
Would  lay  his  former  trade  of  killing  down ; 
He  found  'twas  dull,  he  found  a  crown  would  be 
A  fitter  case,  and  badge  of  cruelty. 
Each  snivelling  hero  seas  of  blood  can  spill, 
When  wrongs  provoke,  and  honour  bids  him  kill; 
Each  tiny  bully  lives  can  freely  bleed. 
When  pressed  by  wine,  or  punk  to  knock  on  the  head ; 
Give  me  your  thorough-paced  rogue,  who  scorns  to  be 
Prompted  by  poor  revenge,  or  injury. 
But  does  it  of  true  inbred  cruelty ; 
Your  cool  and  sober  murderer,  who  prays 
And  stabs  at  the  same  time,  who  one  hand  has 
Stretched  up  to  heaven,  the  other  to  make  the  pass. 

So  the  late  saints  of  blessed  memory, 
Cut-throats  in  godly  pure  sincerity, 

wards  made  Archbishop  of  Capua ;  one  of  the  most  temperate  and 
learned  controversialists  of  his  time.  His  writings  are  distinguished 
by  perspicuity  of  statement  and  integrity  of  reasoning. 


SATIRES   UPON  THE  JESUITS.  99 

So  they  with  lifted  hands,  and  eyes  devout, 

Said  grace,  and  carved  a  slaughtered  monarch  out. 

When  the  first  traitor  Cain  (too  good  to  be 
Thought  patron  of  this  black  fraternity) 
His  bloody  tragedy  of  old  designed. 
One  death  alone  quenched  his  revengeful  mind, 
Content  with  but  a  quarter  of  mankind : 
Had  he  been  Jesuit,  and  but  put  on 
Theii'  savage  cruelty,  the  rest  had  gone; 
His  hand  had  sent  old  A.dam  after  too,        * 
And  forced  the  godhead  to  create  anew. 

And   yet  'twere   well,   were   their  foul  guilt   but 
thought 
Bare  sin  :  'tis  something  even  to  own  a  fault. 
But  here  the  boldest  flights  of  wickedness 
Are  stamped  religion,  and  for  current  pass. 
The  blackest,  ugliest,  horridest,  damnedst  deed, 
For  which  hell-flames,  the  schools  a  title  need, 
If  done  for  holy  church  is  sanctified. 
This  consecrates  the  blessed  work  and  tool, 
Nor  must  we  ever  after  think  'em  foul. 
To  undo  realms,  kill  parents,  murder  kings, ' 
Are  thus  but  petty  trifles,  venial  things, 
Not  worth  a  confessor;  nay,  heaven  shall  be 
Itself  invoked  to  abet  the  impiety. 

'  Grant,  gracious  Lord,'  some  reverend  villain  prays, 
'  That  this  the  bold  assertor  of  our  cause 
May  with  success  accomplish  that  great  end. 
For  which  he  was  by  thee  and  us  designed. 
Thou  to  his  arm  and  sword  thy  strength  impart. 
And  guide  'em  steady  to  the  tyrant's  heart; 
Grant  him  for  every  meritorious  thrust 
Degrees  of  bliss  above,  among  the  just ; 
Where  holy  Garnet,  and  St.  Guy  are  placed. 
Whom  works,  like  this,  before  have  thither  raised; 
Where  they  are  interceding  for  us  now — 
For  sure  they're  there.'     Yes,  questionless;  and  so 
Good  Nero  is,  and  Dioclesian  too, 

7-2 


100  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

And  that  great  ancient  saint  Herostratus, 
And  the  late  godly  martyr  at  Toulouse. 

Dare  something  worthy  Newgate  and  the  Tower, 
If  you'll  be  canonized,  and  heaven  insure. 
Dull  primitive  fools  of  old !  who  would  be  good, 
"Who  would  by  virtue  reach  the  blessed  abode ! 
Tar  other  are  the  ways  found  out  of  late, 
Which  mortals  to  that  happy  place  translate ; 
Kebellion,  treason,  murder,  massacre. 
The  chief  ingredients  now  of  saintship  are, 
And  Tyburn  only  stocks  the  calendar. 

Unhappy  Judas,  whose  ill  fate,  or  chance, 
Threw  him  upon  gross  times  of  ignorance ; 
Who  knew  not  how  to  value,  or  esteem 
The  worth  and  merit  of  a  glorious  crime! 
Should  his  kind  stars  have  let  him  acted  now, 
He  had  died  absolved,  and  died  a  martyr  too. 

Hearst  thou,  great  God,  such  daring  blasphemy. 
And  let'st  thy  patient  thunder  still  lay  by? 
Strike,  and  avenge,  lest  impious  atheists  say, 
Chance  guides  the  world,  and  has  usurped  thy  sway; 
Lest  these  proud  prosperous  villains  too  confess, 
Thou'rt  senseless,  as  they  make  thy  images. 
Thou  just  and  sacred  Power !  wilt  thou  admit 
Such  guests  should  in  thy  glorious  presence  sit? 
If  Heaven  can  with  such  company  dispense, 
Well  did  the  Indian  pray,  might  he  keep  thence! 

But  this  we  only  feign,  all  vain  and  false 
As  their  own  legends,  miracles,  and  tales ; 
Either  the  groundless  calumnies  of  spite, 
Or  idle  rants  of  poetry  and  wit. 

We  wish  they  were :  but  you  hear  Gamet  cry, 
*  I  did  it,  and  would  do  't  again ;  had  I 
As  much  of  blood,  as  many  lives  as  Rome 
Has  spilt  in  what  the  fools  call  martyrdom. 
As  many  souls  as  sins,  I'd  freely  stake 
All  them,  and  more  for  mother  church's  sake. 
For  that  I'll  stride  o'er  crowns,  swim  through  a  flood, 
Made  up  of  slaughtered  monarchs'  brains  and  blood. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS  101 

For  that  no  lives  of  heretics  I'll  spare, 

But  reap  'em  clown  w-itli  less  remorse  and  care 

Than  Tarquin  did  the  poppy-heads  of  old, 

Or  we  drop  beads,  by  which  our  prayers  are  told.' 

Bravely  resolved !  and  'twas  as  bravely  dared : 
But,  lo !  the  recompense,  and  great  reward 
The  wight  is  to  the  almanac  preferred. 
Bare  motives  to  be  damned  for  holy  cause, 
A  few  red  letters,  and  some  painted  straws ! 
Fools !  who  thus  truck  with  hell  by  Mohatra, 
And  play  their  souls  against  no  stakes  away. 

'Tis  strange  with  what  an  holy  impudence 
The  villain  caught,  liis  innocence  maintains; 
Denies  with  oaths  the  fact,  until  it  be 
Less  guilt  to  own  it  than  the  perjury; 
By  the  mass  and  blessed  sacraments  he  swears, 
This  j\Iary's  milk,  and  the  other  Mary's  tears. 
And  the  whole  muster-roll  in  calendars. 
Not  yet  swallow  the  falsehood?  if  all  this 
Wont  gain  a  resty  faith,  he  will  on  his  knees 
The  evangelists,  and  lady's  psalter  kiss, 
To  vouch  the  lie;  nay,  more,  to  make  it  good, 
Mortgage  his  soul  upon't,  his  heaven,  and  God. 
Damned  faithless  heretics !  hard  to  convince, 
Who  trust  no  verdict  but  dull  obvious  sense. 
Unconscionable  courts !  who  priests  deny 
Their  benefit  of  the  clergy,  perjury. 

Boom  for  the  martyred  saints !  behold  they  come ! 
With  what  a  noble  scorn  they  meet  their  doom ! 
IS^ot  knights  o'  the  post,""  nor  often  carted  whores 
Show  more  of  impudence,  or  less  remorse. 


*  Persons  who  were  ready  to  take  false  oaths  for  a  consideration. 
Thus,  in  one  of  the  Eoxburghe  ballads : — 

'  I'll  be  no  knight  of  the  post, 
•  To  sell  my  soul  for  a  bribe.' 

They  were  called  knights  of  the  post,  because  they  waited  at  the  posts 
which  it  was  the  custom  of  the  sheriffs  to  have  at  their  doors  for  fixing 
proclamations  upon.  The  custom  is  alluded  to  by  Ben  Jonson  in 
Cynthia's  Bevels,  A.  i.  Sc.  4. 


102  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

O  glorious  and  heroic  constancy! 
That  can  forswear  upon  the  cart,  and  die 
With  gasping  souls  expiring  in  a  lie. 
None  but  tame  sheepish  criminals  repent, 
Who  fear  the  idle  bugbear,  punishment : 
Your  gallant  sinner  scorns  that  cowardice. 
The  poor  regret  of  having  done  amiss ; 
Brave  he,  to  his  first  principles  still  true, 
Can  face  damnation,  sin  with  hell  in  \'iew. 
And  bid  it  take  the  soul  he  does  bequeath. 
And  blow  it  thither  with  his  dving  breath. 

Dare  such  as  these  profess  religion's  name? 
Who,  should  they  own 't,  and  be  believed,  would  shame 
It's  practice  out  of  the  world,  would  atheists  make 
Pirm  in  their  creed,  and  vouch  it  at  the  stake? 
Is  heaven  for  such,  whose  deeds  make  hell  too  good, 
Too  mild  a  penance  for  their  cursed  brood? 
For  whose  unheard  of  crimes,  and  damned  sake, 
Fate  must  below  new  sorts  of  torture  make, 
Since,  when  of  old  it  framed  that  place  of  doom, 
'Twas  thought  no  guilt,  like  this,  could  thither  come. 

Base  recreant  souls !  would  you  have  kings  trust  you, 
Who  never  yet  kept  your  allegiance  true 
To  any  but  hell's  prince?  who  with  more  ease 
Can  swallow  down  most  solemn  perjuries. 
Than  a  town-bully  common  oaths  and  lies? 
Are  the  French  HaiTy's  fates  so  soon  forgot? 
Our  last  best  Tudor?  or  the  powder-plot? 
And  those  fine  streamers  that  adorned  so  loncj 
The  bridge,  and  Westminster,  and  yet  had  hung. 
Were  they  not  stolen,  and  now  for  relics  gone? 

Think  Tories  loyal,  or  Scotch  Covenanters ; 
Bobbed  tigers  gentle;  courteous,  fasting  bears; 
Atheists  devout,  and  thrice  wracked  mariners ; 
Take  goats  for  chaste  and  cloistered  marmosites; 
For  plain  and  open,  two-edged  parasites ; 
Believe  bawds  modest,  and  the  shameless  stews ; 
And  binding  drunkards'  oaths,  and  strumpets'  vows; 


SATIRES    UPON   THE    JESUITS.  103 

And  when  in  time  these  contradictions  meet. 
Then  hope  to  find  'em  in  a  Loyolite : 
To  whom,  though  gasping,  should  I  credit  give, 
I'd  think  'twere  sin,  and  damned  like  unbelief. 

Oh  for  the  Swedish  law  enacted  here ! 
No  scarecrow  frightens  like  a  priest-gelder, 
Hunt  them,  as  beavers  are,  force  them  to  buy 
Their  lives  with  ransom  of  their  lechery. 
Or  let  that  wholesome  statute  be  revived, 
Which  England  heretofore  from  wolves  relieved; 
Tax  every  shire  instead  of  them  to  bring 
Each  year  a  certain  tale  of  Jesuits  in ; 
And  let  their  mangled  quarters  hang  the  isle 
To  scare  all  future  vermin  from  the  soil. 
Monsters  avaunt !  may  some  kind  whirlwind  sweep 
Our  land,  and  drown  these  locusts  in  the  deep; 
Hence  ye  loathed  objects  of  our  scorn  and  hate, 
With  all  the  curses  of  an  injured  state; 
Go,  foul  impostors,  to  some  duller  soil. 
Some  easier  nation  with  your  cheats  beguile ; 
Where  your  gross  common  guUeries  may  pass, 
To  slur  and  top  on  bubbled  consciences; 
Where  ignorance,  and  the  inquisition  rules, 
Where  the  vile  herd  of  poor  implicit  fools 
Are  damned  contentedly,  where  they  are  led 
Blindfold  to  hell,  and  thank,  and  pay  their  guide ! 

Go,  where  all  your  black  tribe  before  are  gone, 
Follow  Chastel,  E-availlac,  Clement  down. 
Your  Catesby,  Faux,  and  Garnet,  thousands  more. 
And  those  who  hence  have  lately  raised  the  score ; 
Where  the  gi-and  traitor  now,  and  all  the  crew 
Of  his  disciples  must  receive  their  due ; 
Where  flames,  and  tortures  of  eternal  date 
Must  punish  you,  yet  ne'er  can  expiate : 
Learn  duller  fiends  your  unknown  cruelties, 
Such  as  no  wit,  but  yours,  could  e'er  devise, 
No  guilt,  but  yours,  deserve ;  make  hell  confess 
Itself  outdone,  it's  devils  damned  for  less. 


104  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 


SATIRE   III. LOYOLA  S    WILL.* 

T  ONG  had  the  famed  impostor  found  success, 

-^  Long  seen  his  damned  fraternity's  increas^e, 

In  wealth,  and  power,  mischief,  guile  improved,  i 

By  popes,  and  pope-rid  kings  upheld,  and  loved ; 

Laden  with  tears,  and  sins,  and  numerous  scars, 

Got  some  i'  the  field,  but  most  in  other  wars, 

Now  finding  life  decay,  and  fate  draw  near. 

Grown  ripe  for  hell,  and  Roman  calendar. 

He  thinks  it  worth  his  holy  thoughts,  and  care, 

Some  hidden  rules,  and  secrets  to  impart. 

The  proofs  of  long  ex23erience  and  deep  art, 

Which  to  his  successors  may  useful  be 

In  conduct  of  their  future  villany. 

Summoned  together,  all  the  officious  band 

The  orders  of  their  bedrid  chief  attend ; 

Doubtful,  what  legacy  he  will  bequeath, 

And  wait  with  greedy  ears  his  dying  breath : 

"With  such  quick  duty  vassal  fiends  below 

To  meet  commands  of  their  dread  monarch  go. 

On  pillow  raised,  he  does  their  entrance  greet, 
And  joys  to  see  the  wished  assembly  meet: 
They  in  glad  murmurs  tell  their  joy  aloud. 
Then  a  deep  silence  stills  the  expecting  crowd. 
Like  Delphic  hag  of  old,  by  fiend  possessed. 
He  swells ;  -wild  frenzy  heaves  his  panting  breast ; 
His  bristling  hairs  stick  up,  his  eyeballs  glow, 
And  from  his  mouth  lonsf  streaks  of  drivel  flow : 
Thrice  with  due  reverence  he  himself  doth  cross, 
Then  thus  his  hellish  oracles  disclose. 

'  Ye  firm  associates  of  my  great  design, 
Whom  the  same  vows,  and  oaths,  and  order  join, 

*  The  institution  and  mission  of  the  Jesuits  were  never  more 
fiercely  assailed  than  in  this  and  the  following  Satire,  which  pro- 
duced, on  their  first  publication,  as  powerful  a  temporary  eflect  in 
England  as  the  Provincial  Letters  upon  public  opinion  in  the  Eoniau 
Catholic  states  of  Europe. 


SATIRES    UPON   THE    JESUITS.  105 

Tlie  faithful  band,  whom  I  and  Rome  have  chose, 

The  last  support  of  our  declining  cause ; 

Whose  conquering  troops  I  with  success  have  led 

'Gainst  all  opposers  of  our  Church  and  Head; 

Who  e'er  to  the  mad  German  owe  their  rise, 

Geneva's  rebels,  or  the  hot-brained  Swiss; 

Revolted  heretics,  who  late  have  broke 

And  durst  tlu^ow  off  the  long- worn  sa(51"ed  yoke ; 

You,  by  whose  happy  influence  Rome  can  boast 

A  greater  empire  than  by  Luther  lost : 

By  whom  wide  nature's  far-fetched  limits  now, 

And  utmost  Indies  to  its  crosier  bow. 

'  Go  on,  ye  mighty  champions  of  our  cause, 
Maintain  our  party,  and  subdue  oiu'  foes; 
Kill  heresy,  that  rank  and  poisonous  weed, 
Which  threatens  now  the  church  to  overspread; 
Fire  Calvin,  and  his  nest  of  upstarts  out, 
Who  tread  our  sacred  mitre  under  foot ; 
Strayed  Germany  reduce ;  let  it  no  more 
The  incestuous  monk  of  Wittemberg  adore ; 
Make  stubborn  England  once  more  stoop  its  crown. 
And  fealty  to  our  priestly  sovereign  own; 
Regain  our  church's  rights,  the  island  clear 
From  all  remaining  di^egs  of  Wickliffe  there. 
Plot,  enterprize,  contrive,  endeavour;  spare 
No  toil  nor  pains;  no  death,  nor  danger  fear; 
Restless  your  aims  pursue ;  let  no  defeat 
Your  sprightly  courage,  and  attempts  rebate. 
But  urge  to  fresh,  and  bolder,  ne'er  to  end 
Till  the  whole  world  to  our  great  Caliph  bend ; 
Till  he  through  every  nation  everywhere 
Bear  sway,  and  reign  as  absolute  as  here ; 
Till  Rome  without  control  or  contest  be 
The  universal  ghostly  monarchy. 

'  Oh !  that  kind  Heaven  a  longer  thread  would  give, 
And  let  me  to  that  happy  juncture  live : 

But  'tis  decreed !' at  this  he  paused  and  wept, 

The  rest  alike  time  with  his  sorrow  kept ; 


106  SATIRES   UPON   THE    JESUITS. 

Then  thus  continued  he '  Since  unjust  fate 

Envies  my  race  of  glory  longer  date, 
Yet,  as  a  wounded  general^  e'er  he  dies, 
To  his  sad  troops,  sighs  out  his  last  advice, 
(Who,  though  they  must  his  fatal  absence  moan, 
By  those  great  lessons  conquer,  when  he's  gone) 
So  I  to  you  my  last  instructions  give, 
And  breathe  out  counsel  with  my  parting  life : 
Let  each  to  my  important  words  give  ear, 
Worth  your  attention,  and  my  dying  care. 

^  First,  and  the  chiefest  thing  by  me  enjoined, 
The  solemnest  tie,  that  must  your  order  bind. 
Let  each  without  demur,  or  scruple  pay 
A  strict  obedience  to  the  Roman  sway  :* 
To  the  unerring  chair  all  homage  swear, 
Although  a  punk,  a  witch,  a  fiend  sit  there. 
Whoe'er  is  to  the  sacred  mitre  reared, 
Believe  all  virtues  with  the  place  conferred ; 
Think  him  established  there  by  Heaven,  though  he 
Has  altars  robbed  for  bribes  the  choice  to  buy, 
Or  pawned  his  soul  to  hell  for  simony ; 
Though  he  be  atheist,  heathen,  Turk,  or  Jew, 
Blasphemer,  sacrilegious,  perjured  too : 
Though  he  be  bawd,  pimp,  pathick,  panderer, 
Whate'er  old  Sodom's  nest  of  lechers  were ; 
Though  tyrant,  traitor,  poisoner,  parricide. 
Magician,  monster,  all  that's  bad  beside; 
Fouler  than  infamy ;  the  very  lees. 
The  sink,  the  jakes,  the  common-sewer  of  vice ; 
Strait  count  him  holy,  virtuous,  good,  devout. 
Chaste,  gentle,  meek,  a  saint,  a  god,  who  not? 

'  Make  fate  hang  on  his  lips,  nor  Heaven  have 
Power  to  predestinate  without  his  leave ; 


*  The  three  vows  of  the  Jesuits  laid  down  by  Loyola  were  poverty, 
chastity,  and  strict  obedience  to  the  chief  of  the  order.  It  was  the 
last  which  made  Paul  III.  withhold  his  sanction  from  the  institution; 
but  his  scruples  were  removed  by  the  addition  of  a  fourth  vow,  of  im- 
plicit submission  to  himself. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  107 

None  be  admitted  there,  but  whom  he  please, 
Who  buys  from  him  the  patent  for  the  place. 
Hold  those  amongst  the  highest  rank  of  saints, 
Whome'er  he  to  that  honour  shall  advance, 
Though  here  the  refuse  of  the  jail,  and  stews, 
Which  hell  itself  would  scarce  for  lumber  choose. 
But  count  all  reprobate,  and  damned,  and  worse. 
Whom  he,  when  gout,  or  phthisic  rage,  shall  curse ; 
Whom  he  in  anger  excommunicates, 
For  Friday  meals,  and  abrogating  sprats; 
Or  in  just  indignation  spurns  to  hell 
For  jeering  holy  toe,  and  pantofle. 

'  Whate'er  he  says,  esteem  for  holy  writ, 
And  text  apocryphal,  if  he  think  fit; 
Let  arrant  legends,  worst  of  tales  and  lies, 
Falser  than  Capgraves,  and  Yoragines, 
Than  Quixote,  Rabelais,  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
If  signed  with  sacred  lead,  and  fisher's  seal, 
Be  thouQ'ht  authentic  and  canonical. 

o 

Again,  if  he  ordain  't  in  his  decrees, 

Let  every  gospel  for  mere  fable  pass; 

Let  right  be  wrong,  black  white,  and  virtue  vice, 

No  sun,  no  moon,  nor  no  antipodes; 

Forswear  your  reason,  conscience,  and  your  creed, 

Your  very  sense,  and  Euclid,  if  he  bid. 

'  Let  it  be  held  less  heinous,  less  amiss. 
To  break  all  God's  commands,  than  one  of  his. 
When  his  great  missions  call,  without  delay, 
Without  reluctance  readily  obey, 
Nor  let  your  inmost  wishes  dare  gainsay. 
Should  he  to  Bantam,  or  Japan  command. 
Or  farthest  bounds  of  southern  unknown  land, 
Farther  than  avarice  its  vassals  drives. 
Through  rocks,  and  dangers,  loss  of  blood,  and  lives, 
Like  great  Xavier's*  be  your  obedience  shown ; 
Outstrip  his  courage,  glory,  and  renown, 

*  St.  Francis  Xavier,  generally  called  the  Apostle  of  the  Indies. 
He  was  one  of  the  disciples  of  Loyola,  and  the  most  indefatigable  and 


108  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

"VYhom  neither  yawning  gulfs  of  deep  despair, 
Nor  scorching  heats  of  burning  line  could  scare ; 
Whom    seas,    nor    storms,    nor   wrecks    could    make 

refrain 
From  propagating  holy  faith,  and  gain. 

'  If  he  but  nod  commissions  out  to  kill. 
But  beckon  lives  of  heretics  to  spill, 
Let  the  inquisition  rage,  fresh  cruelties 
Make  the  dire  engines  groan  with  tortured  cries: 
Let  Campo  Flori  every  day  be  strowed 
With  the  warm  ashes  of  the  Lutheran  brood; 
Repeat  again  Bohemian  slaughters  o'er. 
And  Piedmont  valleys  drown  with  floating  gore 
Swifter  than  murdering  angels,  when  they  fly 
On  errands  of  avenging  destiny. 
Fiercer  than  storms  let  loose,  with  eager  haste 
Lay  cities,  countries,  realms,  whole  nature  waste, 
Sack,  ravish,  burn,  destroy,  slay,  massacre. 
Till  the  same  gTave  their  lives  and  names  inter. 

'  These  are  the  rights  to  our  great  Mufti  due, 
The  sworn  allegiance  of  your  sacred  vow. 
What  else  we  in  our  votaries  require. 
What  other  gift,  next  follows  to  enquire. 

^  And  first  it  will  our  great  advice  befit. 
What  soldiers  to  your  lists  you  ought  admit. 
To  natives  of  the  church,  and  faith,  like  you. 
The  foremost  rank  of  choice  is  justly  due  : 
'Mongst  whom  the  chiefest  place  assign  to  those, 
Whose  zeal  has  mostly  signalized  the  cause. 
But  let  not  entrance  be  to  them  denied, 
Whoever  shall  desert  the  adverse  side; 
Omit  no  promises  of  wealth,  or  power. 
That  may  inveigled  heretics  allure ; 


successful  of  all  the  Roman  Catholic  missionaries.  The  great  scene  of 
his  labours  was  the  East  Indies  and  Japan.  His  zeal  led  him  to  con- 
template the  conversion  of  tlie  Chinese ;  but  he  died  on  the  voyage. 
He  was  the  patron  saint  of  the  Queen  of  James  II.,  and  his  aid  was 
invoked  when  her  majesty  desired  a  son.  In  reference  to  this  augu.st 
occasion,  his  life  by  Bouhours  was  translated  into  English  by  Dryden. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  109 

Those,  whom  great  learning,  parts,  or  wit  renowns. 
Cajole  with  hopes  of  honours,  scarlet  gowns, 
Provincialships,  and  palls,  and  triple  crowns. 
This  miTst  a  rector,  that  a  provost  be, 
A  third  succeed  to  the  next  abbacy; 
Some,  princes'  tutors,  others,  confessors 
To  dukes,  and  kings,  and  queens,  and  emperors : 
These  are  strong  arguments,  which  seldom  fail, 
Which  more  than  all  your  weak  disputes  prevaiL 

'  Exclude  not  those  of  less  desert ;  decree 
To  all  revolters  your  foundation  free; 
To  all,  whom  gaming,  drunkenness,  or  lust, 
To  need,  and  popery  shall  have  reduced : 
To  all,  whom  slighted  love,  ambition  crossed, 
Hopes  often  bilked,  and  sought  preferment  lost, 
Whom  pride,  or  discontent,  revenge,  or  spite, 
Fear,  frenzy,  or  despair  shall  proselyte : 
Those  powerful  motives,  which  the  most  bring  in, 
Most  converts  to  our  church,  and  order  win. 
Reject  not  those,  whom  guilt,  and  crimes  at  home 
Have  made  to  us  for  sanctuary  come ; 
Let  sinners  of  each  hue,  and  size,  and  kind. 
Here  quick  admittance,  and  safe  refuge  find; 
Be  they  from  justice  of  their  country  fled, 
With  blood  of  murders,  rapes,  and  treasons  dyed, 
No  varlet,  rogue,  or  miscreant  refuse. 
From  galleys,  jails,  or  hell  itself  broke  loose. 
By  this  you  shall  in  strength,  and  numbers  grow, 
And  shoals  each  day  to  your  thronged  cloisters  flow: 
So  Rome's  and  Mecca's  first  great  founders  did. 
By  such  wise  methods,  make  their  churches  spread. 

*  When  shaven  crown  and  hallowed  girdle's  power 
Has  dubbed  him  saint,  that  villain  was  before. 
Entered,  let  it  his  first  endeavour  be 
To  shake  ofi"  all  remains  of  modesty. 
Dull  sneaking  modesty,  not  more  unfit 
For  needy  flattering  poets,  when  they  write, 
Or  trading  punks,  than  for  a  Jesuit. 
If  any  novice  feel  at  first  a  blush, 


110  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Let  wine,  and  frequent  converse  with  the  stews, 
Reform  the  fop,  and  shame  it  out  of  use, 
Unteach  the  puling  folly  by  degrees, 
And  train  him  to  a  well-bred  shamelessness. 
Get  that  great  gift,  and  talent,  impudence, 
Accomplished  mankind's  highest  excellence : 
'Tis  that  alone  prefers,  alone  makes  great, 
Confers  alone  wealth,  titles,  and  estate, 
Gains  place  at  court,  can  make  a  fool  a  peer, 
An  ass  a  bishop,  vilest  blockheads  rear 
To  wear  red  hats,  and  sit  in  porphyry  chair. 
'Tis  learning,  parts,  and  skill,  and  wit,  and  sense, 
Worth,  merit,  honour,  virtue,  innocence. 

^  Next  for  religion,  learn  what's  fit  to  take. 
How  small  a  dram  does  the  just  compound  make, 
As  much  as  is  by  crafty  statesmen  worn 
For  fashion  only,  or  to  serve  a  turn. 
To  bigot  fools  its  idle  practice  leave, 
Think  it  enough  the  empty  form  to  have. 
The  outward  show  is  seemly,  cheap,  and  light. 
The  substance  cumbersome,  of  cost,  and  weight ; 
The  rabble  judge  by  what  appears  to  the  eye. 
None,  or  but  few,  the  thoughts  within  descry. 
Make  it  an  engine  to  ambitious  power 
To  stalk  behind,  and  hit  your  mark  more  sure ; 
A  cloak  to  cover  well-hid  knavery. 
Like  it,  when  used,  to  be  with  ease  thrown  by ; 
A  shifting  card,  by  which  your  course  to  steer. 
And  taught  with  every  changing  wind  to  veer. 
Let  no  nice,  holy,  conscientious  ass 
Amongst  your  better  company  find  place, 
Me,  and  your  foundation  to  disgrace. 
Let  truth  be  banished,  ragged  virtue  fly, 
And  poor  unprofitable  honesty; 
Weak  idols,  who  their  wretched  slaves  betray, 
To  every  rook,  and  every  knave  a  prey : 
These  lie  remote,  and  wide  from  interest, 
Farther  than  heaven  from  hell,  or  east  from  west. 
Far,  as  they  e'er  were  distant  from  the  breast. 


SATIRES    UPON    THE   JESUITS.  Ill 

'  Think  not  yourselves  to  austerities  confined, 
Or  those  strict  rules  which  other  orders  bind; 
To  Capuchins,  Carthusians,  Cordeliers 
Leave  penance,  meagre  abstinence,  and  prayers; 
In  lousy  rags  let  begging  friars  lie. 
Content  on  straw  or  boards  to  mortify; 
Let  them  with  sackcloth  discipline  their  skins, 
And  scourge  them  for  their  madness  and  their  sins; 
Let  pining  anchorets  in  grottos  starve. 
Who  from  the  liberties  of  nature  swerve, 
Who  make  't  their  chief  religion  not  to  eat, 
And  place  't  in  nastiness,  and  want  of  meat. 
Live  you  in  luxury  and  pampered  ease. 
As  if  whole  nature  were  your  cateress ; 
Soft  be  your  beds,  as  those  which  monarchs'  whores 
Lie  on,  or  gouts  of  bedrid  emperors ; 
Your  wardrobes  stored  with  choice  of  suits  more  dear 
Than  cardinals  on  high  processions  wear; 
With  dainties  load  your  boards,  whose  every  dish 
May  tempt  cloyed  gluttons,  or  Yitellius'  wish. 
Each  fit  a  longing  queen ;  let  richest  wines 
With  mirth  your  heads  inflame,  with  lust  your  veins. 
Such  as  the  friends  of  dying  popes  would  give 
For  cordials  to  prolong  their  gasping  life. 

'  Ne'er  let  the  Nazarene,  whose  badge  and  name 
You  wear,*  upbraid  you  with  a  conscious  shame; 
Leave  him  his  slighted  homilies  and  rules. 
To  stuff  the  squabbles  of  the  wrangling  schools ; 
Disdain,  that  He,  and  the  poor  angling  tribe. 
Should  laws  and  government  to  you  prescribe ; 
Let  none  of  those  good  fools  your  patterns  make. 
Instead  of  them,  the  mighty  Judas  take ; 
Renowned  Iscariot !  fit  alone  to  be 
The  example  of  our  great  society. 
Whose  darling  guilt  despised  the  common  road, 
And  scorned  to  stop  at  sin  beneath  a  god. 

*  The  Jesuits  were  established  by  a  bull  in  1540,  under  the  name 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus.  The  term  Jesuits  was  originally  applied  to 
them  in  ridicule  of  their  institution. 


112  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

'  And  now  'tis  time  I  should  instructions  givo, 
What  wiles  and  cheats  the  rabble  best  deceive. 
Each  age  and  sex  their  different  passions  wear, 
To  suit  with  which  requires  a  prudent  care : 
Youth  is  capricious,  headstrong,  fickle,  vain, 
Given  to  lawless  pleasure,  age  to  gain; 
Old  wives,  in  superstition  overgrown, 
With  chimney-tales  and  stories  best  are  won; 
'Tis  no  mean  talent  rightly  to  descry. 
What  several  baits  to  each  you  ought  apply. 
The  credulous  and  easy  of  belief 
With  miracles  and  well-framed  lies  deceive ; 
Empty  whole  Surius  and  the  Talmud;  drain 
Saint  Francis,  and  Saint  Mahomet's  Alcoran ; 
Sooner  shall  popes  and  cardinals  want  pride, 
Than  you  a  stock  of  lies  and  legends  need. 

'  Tell  how  blessed  Virgin  to  come  down  was  seen, 
Like  playhouse  punk  descending  in  machine ; 
How  she  writ  billet-doux,  and  love-discourse, 
Made  assignations,  visits,  and  amours; 
How  hosts,  distressed,  her  smock  for  banner  bore. 
Which  vanquished  foes,  and  murdered  at  twelve  score. 
Kelate  how  fish  in  conventicles  met. 
And  mackerel  were  with  bait  of  doctrine  caught ; 
How  cattle  have  judicious  hearers  been. 
And  stones  pathetically  cried  Amen! 
How  consecrated  hive  with  bells  was  hung, 
And  bees  kept  mass,  and  holy  anthems  sung ; 
How  pigs  to  the  rosary  kneeled,  and  sheep  were  taught 
To  bleat  Te  Deum  and  Magnificat; 
How  flyflap  of  church-censure  houses  rid 
Of  insects,  which  at  curse  of  friar  died ; 
How  travelling  saints,  well  mounted  on  a  switch, 
Ride  journeys  through  the  air,  like  Lapland  witch; 
And  ferrying  cowls  religious  pilgrims  bore. 
O'er  waves  without  the  helj:)  of  sail  or  oar. 
'Nor  let  Xavier's  great  wonders  pass  concealed. 
How  storms  were  by  the  almighty  wafer  quelled ; 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  113 

Ho"w  zealous  crab  the  sacred  image  bore, 
And  swam  a  catholic  to  the  distant  shore : 
With  shams  like  these  the  giddy  rout  mislead, 
Their  folly  and  their  superstition  feed. 

'  'Twas  found  a  good  and  gainful  art  of  old 
(And  much  it  did  our  church's  power  uphold) 
To  feign  hobgoblins,  elves,  and  walking  sprites, 
And  fairies  dancing  salenger*  o' nights; 
White  sheets  for  ghosts,  and  will-a-wisps  have  passed 
For  souls  in  purgatory  unreleased, 
And  crabs  in  churchyard  crawled  in  masquerade, 
To  cheat  the  parish,  and  have  masses  said. 
By  this  our  ancestors  in  happier  days. 
Did  store  of  credit  and  advantage  raise : 
But  now  the  trade  is  fallen,  decayed,  and  dead. 
E'er  since  contagious  knowledge  has  o'erspread, 
AYith  scorn  the  grinning  rabble  now  hear  tell 
Of  Hecla,  Patrick's  Hole,  and  Mongibel, 
Believed  no  more  than  tales  of  Troy,  unless  i 

In  countries  drowned  in  ignorance,  like  this. 
Henceforth  be  wary  how  such  things  you  feign, 
Except  it  be  beyond  the  Cape  or  Line, 
Except  at  Mexico,  Brazil,  Peru, 
At  the  Moluccos,  Goa,  or  Pegu, 
Or  any  distant  and  remoter  place, 
WTiere  they  may  current  and  unquestioned  pass, 
Where  never  poaching  heretics  resort. 
To  spring  the  lie,  and  make  't  their  game  and  sport. 

'  But  I  forget  (what  should  be  mentioned  most) 
Confession,  our  chief  privilege  and  boast, 
That  staple  ware,  which  ne'er  returns  in  vain, 
Ne'er  balks  the  trader  of  expected  gain. 
'Tis  this  that  spies  through  court  intrigues,  and  brings 
Admission  to  the  cabinets  of  kings ; 
By  this  we  keep  proud  monarchs  at  our  becks, 
And  make  our  footstools  of  their  thrones  and  necks. 


*  One  of  the  oldest  dances  in  England  was  called  Sellinger's  Round. 
OLDHAM.  8 


114  SATIRES   UPON  THE   JESUITS. 

Give  'em  command,  and  if  they  disobey, 
Betray  them  to  the  ambitious  heir  a  prey; 
Hound  the  officious  curs  on  heretics. 
The  vermin  which  the  church  infest,  and  vex ; 
And  when  our  turn  is  served,  and  business  done^ 
Dispatch  them  for  reward,  as  useless  grown. 

'  Nor  are  these  half  the  benefits  and  gains, 
Which  by  wise  managery  accrue  from  thence. 
By  this  we  unlock  the  miser's  hoarded  chests 
Ajid  treasure,  though  kept  close  as  statesmen's  breasts ; 
This  does  rich  widows  to  our  nets  decoy. 
Let  us  their  jointures  and  themselves  enjoy; 
To  us  the  merchant  does  his  customs  bring, 
And  pays  our  duty,  though  he  cheats  his  king; 
To  us  court-ministers  refund,  made  great 
By  robbery,  and  bankrupt  of  the  state ; 
Ours  is  the  soldier's  plunder,  padder's  prize, 
Gabels*  on  lechery,  and  the  stew's  excise; 
By  this  our  colleges  in  riches  shine, 
And  vie  with  Becket's  and  Loretto's  shrine. 

'  And  here  I  must  not  grudge  a  word  or  two, 
My  younger  votaries,  of  advice  to  you. 
To  you,  whom  beauty's  charms,  and  generous  fire 
Of  boiling  youth  to  sports  of  love  inspire. 
This  is  your  harvest ;  here,  secure  and  cheap. 
You  may  the  ft-uits  of  unbought  pleasure  reap ; 
Biot  in  free  and  uncontrolled  delight, 
Where  no  dull  marriage  clogs  the  appetite; 
Taste  every  dish  of  lust's  variety. 
Which  popes  and  scarlet  lechers  dearly  buy 
With  bribes,  and  bishoprics,  and  simony. 
But  this  I  ever  to  your  care  commend, — 
Be  wary  how  you  openly  ofiend, 
Lest  scoffing  lewd  buffi^ons  descry  our  shame, 
And  fix  disgrace  on  the  great  order's  fame. 


*  A  tax  or  duty.      The  terra  is  Anglo-Norman,   and   there  is  a 
little  inconsistency  in  putting  it  into  the  mouth  of  Ignatius  Loyola. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  115 

'  When  tlie  "unguarded  maid  alone  repairs 
To  ease  the  burthens  of  her  sins  and  cares ; 
When  youth  in  each,  and  privacy  conspire 
To  kindle  wishes,  and  befriend  desire; 
If  she  has  practised  in  the  trade  before, 
(Few  else  of  proselytes  to  us  brought  o'er) 
Little  of  force,  or  artifice  will  need, 
To  make  you  in  the  victory  succeed : 
But  if  some  untaught  innocent  she  be, 
Rudo,  and  unknowing  in  the  mystery, 
She'll  cost  more  labour  to  be  made  comply. 
Make  her  by  pumping  understand  the  sport, 
And  undermine  with  secret  trains  the  fort. 
Sometimes,  as  if  you'd  blame  her  gaudy  dress, 
Her  naked  pride,  her  jewels,  point,  and  lace, 
Find  opportunity  her  breasts  to  press  j 
Oft  feel  her  hand,  and  whisper  in  her  ear. 
You  find  the  secret  marks  of  lew^dness  there ; 
Sometimes  with  naughty  sense  her  blushes  raise, 
And  make  'em  g*uilt,  she  never  knew,  confess; 
'  Thus,'  may  you  say,  '  with  such  a  leering  smile, 
So  languishing  a  look  you  hearts  beguile ; 
Thus  with  your  foot,  hand,  eye,  you  tokens  speak, 
These  signs  deny,  these  assignations  make; 
Thus  'tis  you  clip,  with  such  a  fierce  embrace 
You  clasp  your  lover  to  your  breast  and  face ; 
Thus  are  your  hungry  lips  with  kisses  cloyed. 
Thus  is  your  hand,  and  thus  your  tongue  employed.' 

'  Ply  her  with  talk  like  this ;  and,  if  she  incline 
To  help  devotion,  give  her  Aretine* 
Instead  of  the  rosary.     Never  despair ; 
She,  that  to  such  discourse  will  lend  an  ear. 
Though  chaster  than  cold  cloistered  nuns  she  were, 


*  Peter  Aretino,  born  in  Tuscany  149*,  died  i557;  a  writer  of  inde- 
cent lampoons.  He  stood  so  high  in  favour  with  the  leading  sovereigns 
of  Europe,  and  three  of  the  Popes,  that  he  obtained  an  employment  in 
the  Vatican,  expected  to  be  made  a  cardinal,  and  took  the  title  of 
II  Divino. 

8—2 


116  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Will  soon  prove  soft;  and  pliant  to  your  use, 
As  strumpets  on  the  carnival  let  loose. 
Credit  experience;  I  have  tried  them  all, 
And  never  found  the  unerring  methods  fail. 
Not  Ovid,  though  'twere  his  chief  mastery, 
Had  greater  skill  in  these  intrigues  than  I ; 
Nor  Nero's  learned  pimp,  to  whom  we  owe 
What  choice  records  of  lust  are  extant  now. 
This  heretofore,  when  youth  and  sprightly  blood 
Han  in  my  veins,  T  tasted,  and  enjoyed : 
Ah  those  blest  days !' — (here  the  old  lecher  smiled, 
With  sweet  remembrance  of  past  pleasures  filled) 
'  But  they  are  gone !     Wishes  alone  remain, 
And  dreams  of  joy,  ne'er  to  be  felt  again: 
To  abler  youth  I  now  the  practice  leave, 
To  whom  this  counsel  and  advice  I  give. 

^  But  the  dear  mention  of  my  gayer  days 
Has  made  me  farther,  than  I  would,  digress. 
'Tis  time  we  now  should  in  due  place  expound. 
How  guilt  is  after  shrift  to  be  atoned : 
Enjoin  no  sour  repentance,  tear,  and  grief; 
Eyes  weep  no  cash,  and  you  no  profit  give : 
Sins,  though  of  the  first  rate,  must  punished  be. 
Not  by  their  own,  but  the  actor's  quality : 
The  poor,  whose  purse  cannot  the  j^enance  bear, 
Let  whipping  serve,  bare  feet,  and  shirts  of  hair : 
The  richer  fools  to  Compostella  send,* 
To  Bome,  Montserrat,  or  the  Holy  Land ; 
Let  pardons,  and  the  indulgence  office  drain 
Their  coffers,  and  enrich  the  Pope's  with  gain, 
Make  'em  build  churches,  monasteries  found. 
And  dear-bought  masses  for  their  crimes  compound. 

'  Let  law  and  gospel  rigid  precepts  set. 
And  make  the  paths  to  bliss  rugged  and  strait; 

*  Ships  used  to  be  fitted  out  from  the  different  ports  with  cargoes 
of  pilgrims  to  tlie  slirine  of  St.  James  of  Compostella,  as  a  regular 
article  of  exportation.  ^Q&'EA\is>'s  Original  Letters:  Second  Series.  A 
MS.  ballad  of  the  time  of  Henry  YI.,  in  the  Trinity  Library,  Cam- 
bridge, describes  one  of  these  voyages. 


SATIRES   UPON  THE   JESUITS.  117 

Teach  you  a  smooth,  an  easier  way  to  gain 

Heaven's  joys,  yet  sweet  and  useful  sin  retain. 

With  every  frailty,  every  lust  comply, 

To  advance  your  spiritual  realm  and  monarchy; 

Pull  up  weak  virtue's  fence,  give  scope  and  space 

And  purlieus  to  out-lying  consciences; 

Show  that  the  needle's  eye  may  stretch,  and  how 

The  largest  camel-vices  may  go  through. 

'  Teach  how  the  priest  pluralities  may  buy, 
Yet  fear  no  odious  sin  of  simony, 
While  thoughts,  and  ducats  well  directed  be : 
Let  whores  adorn  his  exemplary  life. 
But  no  lewd  heinous  wife  a  scandal  give.* 
Sooth  up  the  gaudy  atheist,  who  maintains  < 

No  law  but  sense,  and  owns  no  god  but  chance; 
Bid  thieves  rob  on,  the  boisterous  ruffian  tell 
He  may  for  hire,  revenge,  or  honour  kill ; 
Bid  strumpets  persevere,  absolve  them  too, 
And  take  their  dues  in  kind  for  what  you  do ; 
Exhort  the  painful  and  industrious  bawd 
To  diligence  and  labour  in  her  trade, 
Nor  think  her  innocent  vocation  ill. 
Whose  incomes  does  the  sacred  treasure  fill; 
Let  griping  usurers  extortion  use. 
No  rapine,  falsehood,  perjury  refuse. 
Stick  at  no  crime,  which  covetous  popes  would  scarce 
Act  to  enrich  themselves  and  bastard-heirs  : 
A  small  bequest  to  the  church  can  all  atone, 
Wipes  ojff  all  scores,  and  heaven  and  all's  their  own. 
Be  these  your  doctrines,  these  the  truths  you  preach, 
But  no  forbidden  Bible  come  in  reach 
Your  cheats  and  artifices  to  impeach. 
Lest  thence  lay-fools  pernicious  knowledge  get, 
Throw  oflf  obedience,  and  your  laws  forget : 

*  A  remarkable  instance  of  Oldham's  negligence.  With  a  perfect 
rhyme  in  the  middle  of  the  line,  easily  transferable  to  the  close  by  an 
inversion,  he  prefers  the  direct  construction  that  seems  first  to  have 
presented  itself. 


118  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Make  them  believe  't  a  spell,  more  dreadful  far 
Than  Bacon,*  Halley,t  or  Albumazar.  :|: 
Happy  the  time,  when  the  unpretending  crowd 
No  more  than  I  its  language  understood ! 
When  the  worm-eaten  book,  linked  to  a  chain. 
In  dust  lay  mouldering  in  the  Vatican, 
Despised,  neglected,  and  forgot;  to  none 
But  poring  rabbles,  or  the  Sorbonne  known  : 
Then  in  full  power  our  sovereign  prelate  swayed, 
By  kings,  and  all  the  rabble  world  obeyed; 
Here,  humble  monarchs  at  his  feet  kneeled  down, 
And  begged  the  alms  and  charity  of  a  crown ; 
There,  when  in  solemn  state  he  pleased  to  ride, 
Poor  sceptred  slaves  ran  henchboys  by  his  side ; 
None,  though  in  thought,  his  gTandeur  durst  blaspheme, 
Nor  in  their  very  sleep  a  treason  dream. 

'  But  since  the  broaching  that  mischievous  piece, 
Each  alderman  a  Father  Lombard  is. 
And  every  cit  dares  impudently  know 
More  than  a  council,  pope,  and  conclave  too. 
Hence  the  late  damned  friar,  and  all  the  crew 
Of  former  crawling  sects  their  poison  drew ; 
Hence  all  the  troubles,  plagues,  rebellion's  breed, 
We've  felt,  or  feel,  or  may  hereafter  di'ead. 
Wherefore  enjoin,  that  no  lay  coxcomb  dare 
About  him  that  unlawful  weapon  wear; 
But  charge  him  chiefly  not  to  touch  at  all 
The  dangerous  works  of  that  old  Lollard,  Paul ; 
That  arrant  Wickliffist,  from  whom  our  foes 
Take  all  their  batteries  to  attack  our  cause. 
Would  he  in  his  first  years  had  martyred  been. 
Never  Damascus,  nor  the  Vision  seen; 

*  Friar  Bacon,  a  learned  English  Franciscan  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  whose  discoveries  were  so  much  in  advance  of  his  age,  that  he 
was  denounced  and  imprisoned  many  years  on  a  charge  of  necromancy. 

t  Haly  in  all  the  editions ;  a  misprint  for  Halley,  the  astronomer, 
who  had  recently  (1679)  returned  to  England  after  completing 
his  observations  at  St.  Helena,  and  publishing  his  famous  Catalogus 
Stellarum  Aiistralium. 

X  An  Arabian  astronomer  of  the  ninth  century,  celebrated  amongst 
Eastern  writers  by  his  treatise  on  astrology,  entitled  Thousands  of  iears. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  119 

Then  he  our  party  was,  stout,  vigorous, 
And  fierce  in  chase  of  heretics,  like  us ; 
Till  he  at  length,  by  the  enemy  seduced. 
Forsook  us,  and  the  hostile  side  espoused. 

•Had  not  the  mighty  Julian*  missed  his  aims. 
These  holy  shreds  had  all  consumed  in  flames; 
But  since  the  immortal  lumber  still  endures, 
In  spite  of  all  his  industry  and  ours. 
Take  care  at  least  it  may  not  come  abroad. 
To  taint  with  catcliing  heresy  the  crowd. 
Let  them  be  still  kept  low  in  sense, — they'll  pay 
The  more  respect,  more  readily  obey ; 
Pray  that  kind  Heaven  would  on  their  hearts  dispense 
A  bounteous  and  abundant  ignorance, 
That  they  may  never  swerve,  nor  turn  awry 
From  sound  and  orthodox  stupidity. 

'  But  these  are  obvious  things,  easy  to  know. 
Common  to  every  monk,  as  well  as  you. 
Greater  afiairs,  and  more  important,  wait 
To  be  discussed,  and  call  for  our  debate; 
Matters  that  depth  require,  and  well  befit 
The  address  and  conduct  of  a  Jesuit ; 
How  kingdoms  are  embroiled,  what  shakes  a  throne. 
How  the  first  seeds  of  discontent  are  sown 
To  spring  up  in  rebellion ;  how  are  set 
The  secret  snares  that  circumvent  a  state; 
How  bubbled  monarchs  are  at  first  beguiled. 
Trepanned,  and  gulled,  at  last  deposed,  and  killed. 

'  When  some  proud  prince,  a  rebel  to  our  head. 
For  disbelieving  holy  church's  creed. 
And  Peter-pence,t  is  heretic  decreed. 
And  by  a  solemn  and  unquestioned  power 
To  death,  and  hell,  and  you  delivered  o'er : 
Choose  first  some  dexterous  rogue,  well  tried,  and  known,, 
(Such  by  confession  your  familiars  grown) 

*  Julian,  the  Apostate  Emperor  of  Rome, 
t  A  tribute,  or  tax,  formerly  paid  by  the  English  to  the  Pope.     It 
was  levied  at  Lammas-day,  and  was  called  Peter-pence,  the  rate  being 
a  penny  for  every  house.     It  was  called  also  by  the  no  less  significant 
name  of  Romescot. 


120  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Let  him  by  art  and  nature  fitted  be 
For  any  great,  and  gallant  villany, 
Practised  in  every  sin,  each  kind  of  vice, 
Which  deepest  casuists  in  their  searches  miss, 
Watchful  as  jealousy,  wary  as  fear, 
Fiercer  than  lust,  and  bolder  than  despair, 
But  close,  as  plotting  fiends  in  council  are. 
To  him,  in  firmest  oaths  of  silence  bound, 
The  worth  and  merit  of  the  deed  propound : 
Tell  of  whole  reams  of  pardon,  new  come  o'er, 
Indies  of  gold,  and  blessings,  endless  store, 
Choice  of  preferments,  if  he  overcome; 
And  if  he  fail,  undoubted  martyrdom, 
And  bills  for  sums  in  heaven,  to  be  drawn 
On  factors  there,  and  at  first  sight  paid  down. 
With  arts  and  promises  like  these  allure, 
And  make  him  to  your  great  design  secure. 

*  And  here  to  know  the  sundry  ways  to  kill, 
Is  worth  the  genius  of  a  Machiavel. 

Dull  northern  brains,  in  these  deep  arts  unbred, 
Know  nought  but  to  cut  throats,  or  knock  o'  th'head; 
No  sleight  of  murder  of  the  subtlest  shape, 
Your  busy  search  and  observation  'scape; 
Legerdemain  of  killing,  that  dives  in. 
And  juggling  steals  away  a  life  unseen; 
How  gaudy  fate  may  be  in  presents  sent, 
And  creep  insensibly  by  touch,  or  scent; 
How  ribands,  gloves,  or  saddle-pommel  may 
An  unperceived,  but  certain  death  convey, 
Above  the  reach  of  antidotes,  above  the  power 
Of  the  famed  Pontick  Mountebank  to  cure ; 
Whate'er  is  known  to  quaint  Italian  spite. 
In  studied  poisoning  skilled,  and  exquisite, 
Whate'er  great  Borgia,  or  his  sire  could  boast. 
Which  the  expense  of  half  the  conclave  cost. 

*  Thus  may  the  business  be  in  secret  done, 
Nor  authors,  nor  the  accessories  known. 

And  the  slurred  guilt  with  ease  on  others  thrown. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  121 

But  if  ill  fortune  should  your  plot  betray, 

And  leave  you  to  the  rage  of  foes  a  prey ; 

Let  none  his  crime  by  weak  confession  own, 

Nor  shame  the  church,  while  he'd  himself  atone. 

Let  varnished  guile,  and  feigned  hypocrisies, 

Pretended  holiness,  and  useful  lies. 

Your  well  dissembled  villanies  disguise. 

A  thousand  wily  turns,  and  doubles  try, 

To  foil  the  scent,  and  to  divert  the  cry ; 

Cog,  sham,  out-face,  deny,  equivocate. 

Into  a  thousand  shapes  yourselves  translate. 

Remember  what  the  crafty  Spartan  taught. 

Children  with  rattles,  men  with  oaths  are  caught; 

Forswear  upon  the  rack,  and  if  you  fall, 

Let  this  great  comfort  make  amends  for  all, — 

Those  whom  they  damn  for  rogues,  next  age  shall  see 

Made  advocates  i'  th'  church's  Litany. 

Whoever  with  bold  tongue,  or  pen  shall  dare 

Against  your  arts  and  practices  declare ; 

What  fool  shall  e'er  presumptuously  oppose, 

Your  holy  cheats  and  godly  frauds  disclose ; 

Pronounce  him  heretic,  firebrand  of  hell, 

Turk,  Jew,  fiend,  miscreant,  pagan,  infidel; 

A  thousand  blacker  names,  worse  calumnies. 

All  wit  can  think,  and  pregnant  spite  devise; 

Strike  home,  gash  deep,  no  lies,  nor  slanders  spare; 

A  wound,  though  cured,  yet  leaves  behind  a  scar. 

'  Those  whom  your  wit  and  reason  can't  decry, 
Make  scandalous  with  loads  of  infamy ; 
Make  Luther  monster,  by  a  fiend  begot. 
Brought  forth  with  wings  and  tail,  and  cloven  foot; 
Make  whoredom,  incest,  worst  of  vice,  and  shame. 
Pollute  and  foul  his  manners,  life  and  name ; 
Tell  how  strange  storms  ushered  his  fatal  end, 
And  hell's  black  troops  did  for  his  soul  contend. 

*  Much  more  I  had  to  say ;  but  now  grow  faint, 
And  strength  and  spirits  for  the  subject  want. 


122  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Be  these  great  mysteries,  I  here  unfold, 

Amongst  your  order's  institutes  enrolled; 

Preserve  them  sacred,  close  and  unrevealed, 

As  ancient  Kome  her  Sybil's  books  concealed. 

Let  no  bold  heretic  with  saucy  eye 

Into  the  hidden  unseen  archives  pry. 

Lest  the  malicious  flouting  rascals  turn 

Our  church  to  laughter,  raillery,  and  scorn. 

Let  never  rack,  or  torture,  pain,  or  fear, 

From  your  firm  breasts  the  important  secrets  tear. 

If  any  treacherous  brother  of  your  own 

Shall  to  the  world  divulge,  and  make  them  known, 

Let  him  by  worst  of  deaths  his  guilt  atone. 

Should  but  his  thoughts,  or  dreams  suspected  be, 

Let  him  for  safety,  and  prevention  die, 

And  learn  in  the  grave  the  art  of  secrecy. 

'  But  one  thing  more,  and  then  with  joy  I  go, 
Nor  urge  a  longer  stay  of  fate  below. 
Give  me  again  once  more  your  plighted  faith, 
And  let  each  seal  it  with  his  dying  breath. 
As  the  great  Carthagenian*  heretofore 
The  bloody  reeking  altar  touched,  and  swore 
Eternal  enmity  to  the  Roman  power, 
Swear  you  (and  let  the  Fates  confirm  the  same) 
An  endless  hatred  to  the  Lutheran  name ! 
"Vow  never  to  admit,  or  league,  or  peace, 
Or  truce,  or  commerce  with  the  cursed  race; 
Now,  through  all  age,  when  time  or  place  soe'er 
Shall  give  you  power,  wage  an  immortal  war; 
Like  Theban  feuds,  let  yours  yourselves  survive, 
And  in  your  very  dust  and  ashes  live ; 

Like  mine,  be  your  last  gasp  their  curse.' At  this 

They  kneel,  and  all  the  sacred  volume  kiss; 
Vowing  to  send  each  year  an  hecatomb 
Of  Huguenots,  an  offering  to  his  tomb. 

In  vain  he  would  continue; — abrupt  death 
A  period  puts,  and  stops  his  impious  breath ; 

*  Hannibal. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE    JESUITS.  123 

In  broken  accents  he  is  scarce  allowed 

To  falter  out  his  blessing  on  the  crowd. 

Amen  is  echoed  by  infernal  howl, 

And  scrambling  spirits  seize  his  parting  soul. 


SATIRE  IV. ST.  IGNATIUS  S  IMAGE  BROUGHT  IN,  DISCOVER- 
ING THE  ROGUERIES  OF  THE  JESUITS,  AND  RIDI- 
CULOUS  SUPERSTITION   OF  THE    CHURCH    OF   ROME.  ' 

ONCE  I  was  common  wood,  a  shapeless  log. 
Thrown  out  a  kennel  post  for  every  dog ; 
The  workman,  yet  in  doubt  what  course  to  take, 
Whether  I'd  best  a  saint,  or  hog-trough  make, 
After  debate  resolved  me  for  a  saint, 
And  thus  famed  Loyola  I  represent : 
And  well  I  may  resemble  him,  for  he 
As  stupid  was,  as  much  a  block  as  me. 
My  right  leg  maimed,  at  halt  I  seem  to  stand, 
To  tell  the  wounds  at  Pampelune  sustained.* 
My  sword,  and  soldier's  armour  here  had  been. 
But  they  may  in  Montserrat's  church  be  seen : 
Those  to  the  blessed  Virgin  I  laid  down 
For  cassock,  sursingle,  and  shaven  crown, 
The  spiritual  garb,  in  which  I  now  am  shown,  f 

With  due  accoutrements,  and  fit  disguise 
I  might  for  sentinel  of  corn  suffice ; 
As  once  the  lusty  god  of  old  stood  guard, 
And  the  invading  crows  from  forage  scared. 
Now  on  my  head  the  birds  their  relics  leave. 
And  spiders  in  my  mouth  their  arras  weave ; 

*  In  the  early  part  of  his  life  Loyola  served  in  the  Spanish  army 
against  the  French,  and  at  the  siege  of  Pampeluna  received  a  severe 
wound  in  his  left  leg,  and  had  his  right  thigh  shattered  by  a  cannon 
ball.  The  perusal  of  the  Lives  of  the  Saints  during  the  progress  of  a 
lingering  cure  heated  his  imagination  with  religious  enthusiasm,  and 
is  said  to  have  given  that  direction  to  the  rest  of  his  life  which  finally 
led  to  the  establishment  of  the  order  of  Jesuits. 

t  Before  he  went  to  Jerusalem,  Loyola  hung  up  his  arms  in  the 
Church  of  Montserrat,  and  dedicated  himself  to  the  Virgin. 


124  SATIKES  UPON  THE  JESUITS, 

And  persecuted  rats  oft  find  in  me 
A  refuge,  and  religious  sanctuary. 
But  you  profaner  heretics,  whoe'er 
The  Inquisition  and  its  vengeance  fear, 
I  charge,  stand  off,  at  peril  come  not  near; 
Let  none  at  twelve  score  impiously  untruss, 
He  enters  Fox's  lists  that  dare  transgress; 
For  I'm  by  holy  church  in  reverence  had. 
And  all  good  catholic  folk  implore  my  aid. 

These  pictures,  which  you  see,  my  story  give, 
The  acts  and  monuments  of  me  alive ; 
That  frame,  wherein  with  pilgrim  weeds  I  stand, 
Contains  my  travels  to  the  Holy  Land ; 
This,  me  and  my  Decemvirate  at  Rome, 
When  I  for  grant  of  my  great  order  come. 
There,  with  devotion  wrapt,  I  hang  in  air, 
With  dove,  like  Mahomet's,  whispering  in  my  ear; 
Here,  Yirgin  in  calash  of  clouds  descends. 
To  be  my  safeguard  from  assaulting  fiends. 

Those  tables  by,  and  crutches  of  the  lame. 
My  great  achievements  since  my  death  proclaim : 
Plague,  ague,  dropsy,  palsy,  stone,  and  gout. 
Legions  of  maladies  by  me  cast  out, 
More  than  the  college  knows,  or  ever  fill 
Quack's  wiping- paper,  and  the  weekly  bill. 
What  Peter's  shadow  did  of  old,  the  same 
Is  fancied  done  by  my  all-powerful  name ; 
For  which  some  wear't  about  their  necks  and  arms, 
To  guard  from  dangers,  sicknesses,  and  harms; 
And  some  on  wombs  the  barren  to  relieve, 
A  miracle  I  better  did  alive. 

Oft  I  by  crafty  Jesuit  am  taught 
Wonders  to  do,  and  many  a  juggling  feat. 
Sometimes  with  chafing-dish  behind  me  put, 
I  sweat  like  debauchee  in  hothouse  shut, 
And  drip  like  any  spitchcocked  Huguenot; 
Sometimes  by  secret  springs  I  learn  to  stir. 
As  pasteboard  saints  dance  by  miraculous  wire; 


SATIRES    UPON   THE   JESUITS,  125 

Then  I  Tradescant's  rarities  outdo,* 

Sand's  water-works,  and  German  clock-work  too,t 

Or  any  choice  device  at  Bartholomew. 

Sometimes  I  utter  oracles,  by  priest 

Instead  of  a  familiar  possessed. 

The  church  I  vindicate,  Luther  confute, 

And  cause  amazement  in  the  gaping  rout. 

Such  holy  cheats,  such  hocus  tricks,  as  these, 
Eor  miracles  amongst  the  rabble  pass. 
By  this,  in  their  esteem  I  daily  grow. 
In  wealth  enriched,  increased  in  votaries  too; 
This  draws  each  year  vast  numbers  to  my  tomb. 
More  than  in  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  come ; 
This  brings  each  week  new  presents  to  my  shrine, 
And  makes  it  those  of  India  gods  outshine ; 
This  gives  a  chalice,  that  a  golden  cross. 
Another  massy  candlesticks  bestows, 
Some,  altar-cloths  of  costly  work  and  price, 
Plush,  tissue,  ermine,  silks  of  noblest  dies. 
The  Birth  and  Passion  in  embroideries; 
Some  jewels,  rich  as  those  the  -Egyptian  punk 
In  jellies  to  her  Poman  lover  drunk; 
Some  offer  gorgeous  robes,  which  serve  to  wear 
When  I  on  holy  days  in  state  appear; 
When  I'm  in  pomp  on  high  processions  shown, 
Like  pageants  of  Lord  Mayor,  or  Skimmington. 
Lucullus  could  not  such  a  wardrobe  boast ; 
Less  those  of  popes  at  their  election  cost ; 

*  John  Tradescant,  usually  called  Tradeskin  by  his  contemporaries, 
a  celebrated  collector  of  curiosities,  originally  gardener  to  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  and  subsequently  to  Charles  I.  He  lived  in  South  Lam- 
beth, where  he  had  his  museum  and  botanic  garden.  His  house,  since 
known  as  Turret  House,  contained  so  vast  a  variety  of  rarities  that  it 
was  commonly  called  Tradescant's  Ark.  Evelyn  records  a  visit  to  him 
in  1657.  After  his  death  his  son  gave  the  whole  collection  to  Elias 
Ashmole,  who  presented  it  to  the  University  of  Oxford,  where  it 
formed  the  foundation  of  the  Ashmolean  Museum. 

t  German  clock-work  was  much  in  vogue  in  this  reign.  Pepys 
speaks  of  a  'brave  clock,'  belonging  to  the  King,  that  went  with 
bullets ;  and  describes  another  which,  by  its  mechanism,  displayed  the 
various  stages  of  man's  life.    This  latter  was  made  by  an  Englishman. 


126  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Less  those,  which  Sicily's  tyrant  heretofore 

From  plundered  gods,  and  Jove's  own  shoulders  tore. 

Hither,  as  to  some  fair,  the  rabble  come, 
To  barter  for  the  merchandize  of  Rome ; 
Where  priests,  like  mountebanks,  on  stage  appear, 
To  expose  the  frippery  of  their  hallowed  ware; 
This  is  the  laboratory  of  their  trade, 
The  shop  where  all  their  staple  drugs  are  made; 
Prescriptions  and  receipts  to  bring  in  gain, 
All  from  the  church  dispensatories  ta'en. 

The  pope's  elixir,  holy  water's  here. 
Which  they  with  chemic  art  distilled  prepare ; 
Choice  above  Goddard's  drops,*  and  all  the  trash 
Of  modern  quacks ;  this  is  that  sovereign  wash 
For  fetching  spots  and  morphewf  from  the  face, 
And  scouring  dirty  clothes,  and  consciences. 
One  drop  of  this,  if  used,  had  power  to  fray 
The  legion  from  the  hogs  of  Gadara; 
This  would  have  silenced  quite  the  Wiltshire  Drum, 
And  made  the  prating  fiend  of  Mascon  dumb. 

That  vessel  consecrated  oil  contains. 
Kept  sacred,  as  the  famed  ampoule;};  of  France, 
Which  some  profaner  heretics  would  use 
For  liquoring  wheels  of  jacks,  of  boots,  and  shoes; 
This  makes  the  chrism,§  which,  mixed  by  cunning  priests, 
Anoints  young  catholics  for  the  church's  lists ; 
And  when  they're  crossed,  confessed,  and  die,  by  this 
Their  launching  souls  slide  off  to  endless  bliss ; 
As  Lapland  saints,  when  they  on  broomsticks  fly, 
By  help  of  magic  unctions  mount  the  sky. 

Yon  altar-pix||  of  gold  is  the  abode 
And  safe  repository  of  their  god. 
A  cross  is  fixed  upon  't  the  fiends  to  scare, 
And  flies  which  would  the  deity  besmear; 

*  Dr.  Jonathan  Goddard,  who  had  been  physician  to  Cromwell, 
and  Member  of  Parliament  for  Oxfordshire  in  i653. 
t  A  rash  or  scurf  on  the  skin.     The  -word  is  obsolete. 
t  The  phial  in  which  holy  oil  is  kept. 

§  The  unguent  used  in  the  sacraments  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 
U  The  vessel  in  which  the  consecrated  Host  is  kept. 


SATIRES   UPON  THE   JESUITS.  127 

And  mice,  wliicli  oft  miglit  unprepared  receive, 
And  to  lewd  scoffers  cause  of  scandal  give. 

Here  are  performed  the  conjurings  and  spells, 
For  christening  saints,  and  hawks,  and  carriers'  bells ; 
For    hallowing    shreds,    and    grains,    and    salts,    and 

balms,* 
Shrines,  crosses,  medals,  shells,  and  waxen  lambs : 
Of  wondrous  virtue  all  (you  must  believe) 
And  from  all  sorts  of  ill  preservative ; 
From  plague,  infection,  thunder,  storm,  and  hail, 
Love,  grief,  want,  debt,  sin,  and  the  devil  and  all. 
Here  beads  are  blest,  and  pater  nosters  framed, 
(By  some  the  tallies  of  devotion  named) 
Which  of  their  prayers,  and  orisons  keep  tale. 
Lest  they  and  Heaven  should  in  the  reckoning  fail. 
Here  sacred  lights,  the  altar's  graceful  j)ride. 
Are  by  priests'  breath  perfumed  and  sanctified; 
Made  some  of  wax,  of  heretics'  tallow  some, 
A  gift,  which  Irish  Emma  sent  to  Rome ; 
For  which  great  merit  worthily  (we're  told) 
She's  now  amongst  her  country-saints  enrolled. 
Here  holy  banners  are  reserved  in  store. 
And  flags,  such  as  the  famed  Armada  bore; 
And  hallowed  swords,  and  daggers  kept  for  use, 
When  restive  kings  the  papal  yoke  refuse; 
And  consecrated  ratsbane,  to  be  laid 
For  heretic  vermin,  which  the  church  invade. 

But  that  which  brings  in  most  of  wealth  and  gain. 
Does  best  the  priests'  swollen  tripes  and  purses  strain, 
Here  they  each  week  their  constant  auctions  hold 
Of  reliques,  which  by  candle's  inch  are  sold : 
Saints  by  the  dozen  here  are  set  to  sale. 
Like  mortals  wrought  in  gingerbread  on  stall. 
Hither  are  loads  from  emptied  channels  brought,    ' 
And  voiders  of  the  worms  from  sextons  bought, 
Which  serve  for  retail  through  the  world  to  vent, 
Such  as  of  late  were  to  the  Savoy  sent ; 


*  Balsams  used  in  embalming. 


128  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Hair  from  tlie  skulls  of  dying  strunipets  sliorn, 

And  felons'  bones,  from  rifled  gibbets  torn, 

Like  those,  which  some  old  hag  at  midnight  steals, 

For  witchcrafts,  amulets,  and  charms,  and  spells, 

Are  passed  for  sacred  to  the  cheapening  rout, 

And  worn  on  fingers,  breasts,  and  ears  about. 

This  boasts  a  scrap  of  me,  and  that  a  bit 

Of  good  St.  George,  St.  Patrick,  or  St.  Kit ; 

These  locks  St.  Bridget's  were,  and  those  St.  Clare's ; 

Some  for  St.  Catharine's  go,  and  some  for  her's 

That  wiped  her  Saviour's  feet,  washed  with  her  tears. 

Here  you  may  see  my  wounded  leg,  and  here 
Those  which  to  China  bore  the  great  Xavier. 
Here  may  you  the  grand  traitor's  halter  see, 
Some  call  't  the  arms  of  the  society ; 
Here  is  his  lantern  too,  but  Faux's  not, 
That  was  embezzled  by  the  Huguenot. 
Here  Garnet's  straws,  and  Becket's  bones  and  hair. 
For  murdering  whom,  some  tails  are  said  to  wear, 
As  learned  Capgrave  does  record  their  fate. 
And  faithful  British  histories  relate. 
Those  are  St.  Lawrence'  coals  exposed  to  view, 
Strangely  preserved,  and  kept  alive  till  now ; 
That's  the  famed  Wildefortis'  wondrous  beard. 
For  which  her  maidenshame  the  tyrant  spared; 
Yon  is  the  Baptist's  coat,  and  one  of  's  heads. 
The  rest  are  shown  in  many  a  place  besides; 
And  of  his  teeth  as  many  sets  there  are. 
As  on  their  belts  six  ojDerators  wear. 
Here  blessed  Mary's  milk,  not  yet  turned  sour, 
Benowned  (like  asses')  for  its  healing  power, 
Ten  Holland  kine  scarce  in  a  year  give  more. 
Here  is  her  manteau,  and  a  smock  of  hers. 
Fellow  to  that,  which  once  relieved  Poictiers;* 
Besides  her  husband's  utensils  of  trade. 
Wherewith  some  prove  that  images  were  made. 


*  The  Maid  of  Orleans. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS.  129 

Here  is  the  soldier's  spear,  and  passion -nails 
Whose  quantity  would  serve  for  building  Paul's; 
Chips,  some  from  Holy  Cross,  from  Tyburn  some, 
Honoured  by  many  a  Jesuit's  martyrdom; 
All  held  of  special  and  miraculous  power, 
Not  Tabor  more  approved  for  ague's  cure. 
Here  shoes,  which  once  perhaps  at  Newgate  hung, 
Angling  their  charity  that  passed  along,* 
Now  for  St.  Peter's  go,  and  the  office  bear 
For  priests,  they  did  for  lesser  villains  there. 

These  are  the  Fathers'  implements  and  tools, 
Their  gaudy  trangumst  for  inveigling  fools ; 
These  serve  for  baits  the  simple  to  ensnare, 
Like  children  spirited  with  toys  at  fair. 
Nor  are  they  half  the  artifices  yet. 
By  which  the  vulgar  they  delude  and  cheat; 
Which  should  1  undertake,  much  easier  I, 
^luch  sooner,  might  compute  what  sins  there  be 
Wiped  off,  and  pardoned  at  a  jubilee; 
What  bribes  enrich  the  datary:};  each  year. 
Or  vices  treated  on  by  Escobar; 
How  many  punks  in  Rome  profess  the  trade, 
Or  greater  numbers  by  confession  made. 

One  undertakes  by  scale  of  miles  to  tell  "^ 

The  bounds,  dimensions,  and  extent  of  hell ; 
How  far  and  wide  the  infernal  monarch  reigns, 
How  many  German  leagues  his  realm  contains; 
Who  are  his  ministers,  pretends  to  know. 
And  all  their  several  offices  below; 
How  many  chaldrons  he  each  year  expends 
In  coals  for  roasting  Huguenots  and  fiends ; 


»  Alluding  to  the  old  custom  by  which  prisoners  solicited  charity 
from  the  passers-by.  A  shoe,  into  which  alms  were  dropped,  was 
suspended  by  a  string  to  the  level  of  the  street. 

t  Sometimes  trinkum-trankums — trinkets,  toys.  There  was  an  old 
engine,  called  a  trink,  which  was  used  for  catching  fish. 

I  The  officer  in  the  Chancery  of  Home,  who  affixes  the  datum  Eomce 
to  the  Pope's  bulls. 

OLDHAM.  9 


130  SATIRES   UPON  THE   JESUITS. 

And  witH  as  much  exactness  states  the  case, 
As  if  he  had  been  surveyor  of  the  place. 

Another  frights  the  rout  with  rueful  stories, 
Of  wild  chimeras,  limbos,  purgatories. 
And  bloated  souls  in  smoky  durance  hung. 
Like  a  Westphalia  gammon,  or  neat's  tongue, 
To  bo  redeemed  with  masses  and  a  song. 
A  good  round  sum  must  the  deliverance  buy, 
For  none  may  there  swear  out  on  poverty. 
Your  rich,  and  bounteous  shades  are  only  eased ; 
Xo  Fleet,  or  King's-bench  ghosts  are  thence  released. 

A  third,  the  wicked  and  debauched  to  please, 
Cries  up  the  virtue  of  indulgences. 
And  all  the  rates  of  vices  does  assess ; 
What  price  they  in  the  holy  chamber  beai'. 
And  customs  for  each  sin  imported  there; 
How  you  at  best  advantages  may  buy 
Patents  for  sacrilege  and  simony; 
What  tax  is  in  the  lechery-oflS.ce  laid 
On  panders,  bawds,  and  punks,  that  ply  the  trade; 
What  costs  a  rape,  or  incest,  and  how  cheap 
Yon  may  an  harlot,  or  an  ingle  keep; 
How  easy  murder  may  afiforded  be 
For  one,  two,  three,  or  a  whole  family — 
But  not  of  heretics ;  there  no  pardon  lacks, 
'Tis  one  of  the  church's  meritorious  acts. 

For  venial  trifles,  less  and  slighter  faults, 
They  ne'er  deserve  the  trouble  of  your  thoughts. 
Ten  Ave  Maries  mumbled  to  the  cross. 
Clear  scores  of  twice  ten  thousand  such  as  those. 
Some  are  at  sound  of  christened  bell  forgiven, 
And  some  by  squirt  of  holy  water  driven ; 
Others  by  anthems  played  are  charmed  away, 
As  men  cure  bites  of  the  tarantula. 

But  nothing  with  the  crowd  does  more  enhaiiCe 
The  value  of  these  holy  charlatans. 
Than  when  the  wonders  of  the  mass  they  view. 
Where  spiritual  jugglers  their  chief  mastery  shew. 


SATIRES   UPON   THE    JESUITS.  131 

*  Hey  jingo,  sirs!    What's  this?'    'Tis  bread  you  see; 

'  Presto  begone !'   'Tis  now  a  deity. 

Two  grains  of  dough,  with  cross,  and  stamp  of  priest, 

And  five  small  words  pronounced,  make  up  their  Christ. 

To  this  they  all  fall  down,  this  all  adore, 

Ajid  straight  devour,  what  they  adored  before. — 

'Tis  this  that  does  the  astonished  rout  amuse, 
And  reverence  to  shaven  crown  infuse, 
To  see  a  silly,  sinful,  mortal  wight 
His  Maker  make,  create  the  infinite. 
None  boggles  at  the  impossibility ; 
Alas,  'tis  wondrous  heavenly  mystery!  — 

And  here  I  might  (if  I  but  durst)  reveal 
What  pranks  are  played  in  the  confessional : 
How  haunted  virgins  have  been  dispossessed, 
And  devils  were  cast  out,  to  let  in  priest : 
What  fathers  act  with  novices  alone, 
And  what  to  punks  in  shrieving  seats  is  done, 
-Who  thither  flock  to  ghostly  confessor. 
To  clear  old  debts,  and  tick  with  Heaven  for  more. 
Oft  have  I  seen  these  hallowed  altars  stained 
With  rapes,  those  pews  which  infamies  profaned; 
Not  great  Cellier,*  nor  any  greater  bawd, 
Of  note,  and  long  experience  in  the  trade, 
Has  more,  and  fouler  scenes  of  lust  surveyed. 
But  I  these  dangerous  truths  forbear  to  tell, 
For  fear  I  should  the  Inquisition  feel. 
Should  I  tell  all  their  countless  knaveries, 
Their  cheats,  and  shams,  and  forgeries,  and  lies. 
Their  cringings,  crossings,  censings,  sprinklings,  chrisms. 
Their  conjurings,  and  spells,  and  exorcisms, 
Their  motley  habits,  maniples,  and  stoles. 
Albs,  am  m its,  rochets,  chimers,  hoods,  and  cowls  ;t 


*  This  notorious  person  narrowly  escaped  the  gibbet  in  1680,  wheu 
she  was  tried  for  high  treason.  She  was  condemned  in  a  fine  of  loooZ. 
and  sentenced  three  times  to  the  pillory  for  a  libel. 

t  The  alb  is  the  vestment  of  white  linen  reaching  to  the  feet — ammit 
(more  correctly  ammis,  and  sometimes  spelt  variously  as  amyse,  ammys, 

9—2 


132  SATIRES   UPON   THE   JESUITS. 

Should  I  tell  all  their  several  services, 
Their  trentals,*  masses,  dirges,  rosaries ; 
Their  solemn  pomps,  their  pageants,  and  parades, 
Their  holy  masks,  and  spiritual  cavalcades. 
With  thousand  antic  tricks,  and  gambols  more; 
'Twould  swell  the  sum  to  such  a  mighty  score, 
That  I  at  length  should  more  voluminous  grow, 
Than  Crabb,  or  Surius,t  lying  Fox,  or  Stow. 

Believe  whate'er  I  have  related  here. 
As  true,  as  if  'twere  spoke  from  porphyry  chair. 
If  I  have  feigned  in  aught,  or  broached  a  lie, 
Let  worst  of  fates  attend  me,  let  me  be 
Made  the  next  bonfire  for  the  powder-plot, 
The  sport  of  every  sneering  Huguenot ; 
There  like  a  martyred  pope  in  flames  expire, 
And  no  kind  catholic  dare  quench  the  fire. 


a7nice),the  vestment  lined  with  fur  that  covered  the  head  and  shoulders 
— rochet,  the  surplice — chimer,  a  vestment  worn  by  bishops,  both  of 
the  Anglican  and  Roman  church,  between  their  gown  and  rochet. 

*  Thirty  masses  for  the  dead.  According  to  Burnet,  they  were 
distributed  over  a  whole  year,  three  being  said  at  each  of  the  principal 
festivals  of  the  Church,  under  the  impression  that  they  possessed  ad- 
ditional efficacy  on  those  occasions. 

t  Laurentius  Surius,  a  Carthusian  friar,  born  at  Lubeck  in  iSzz, 
died  at  Cologne  in  1 5 78.  He  obtained  celebrity  by  the  quantity  of 
his  works,  rather  than  by  the  extent  or  accuracy  of  his  learning,  and 
is  one  of  the  most  voluminous  compilers  of  history,  biography,  and 
ecclesiastical  records  in  the  annals  of  the  Church,  His  principal  works 
are  a  History  of  his  oion  Times,  from  i5oo  to  i565;  a  Collection  of 
Councils;  and  TAe  Lives  oftJie  Saints, 


133 

THE  CAKELESS  GOOD  EELLOW.* 
SONG. 

I 

A  PLAGUE  of  this  fooling  and  plotting  of  late, 
What  a  pother  and  stir  has  it  kept  in  the  State ; 
Let  the  rabble  run  mad  with  suspicions  and  fears, 
Let  them  scuffle  and  jar,  till  they  go  by  the  ears; 
Their  grievances  never  shall  trouble  my  pate, 
So  I  can  enjoy  my  dear  bottle  at  quiet. 

2 

What  coxcombs  were  those  who  would  barter  their  ease 
And  their  necks  for  a  toy,  a  thin  wafer  and  mass; 
At  old  Tyburn  thay  never  had  needed  to  swing. 
Had  they  been  but  true  subjects  to  drink  and  their  king; 

A  friend  and  a  bottle  is  all  my  design ; 

He  has  no  room  for  treason,  that's  top-full  of  wine. 

3 

I  mind  not  the  members  and  makers  of  laws. 
Let  them  sit  or  prorogue,  as  his  majesty  please; 
Let  them  damn  us  to  woollen,  t  I'll  never  repine 
At  my  lodging  when  dead,  so  alive  I  have  wine; 
Yet  oft  in  my  drink  I  can  hardly  forbear 
To  curse  them  for  making  my  claret  so  dear. 

4 
I  mind  not  grave  asses  who  idly  debate 
About  right  and  succession,  the  trifles  of  state ; 
We've  a  good  king  already ;  and  he  deserves  laughter 
That  will  trouble  his  head  with  who  shall  come  after; 
Come,  here's  to  his  health,  and  I  wish  he  may  be 
As  free  from  all  care  and  all  trouble  as  we. 

5 

What  care  I  how  leagues  with  the  Hollander  go? 
Or  intrigues  betwixt  Sidney  and  Monsieur  D'Avaux? 

*  Written  in  March,  i68o. 
t  The  Woollen  Act  came  into  operation  on  the  ist  August,  1678. 


134  AN   IMITATION   OF   HORACE. 

What  concerns  it  my  drinking,  if  Cassel  be  sold, 
If  the  conqueror  take  it  by  storming,  or  gold? 
Good  Bordeaux  alone  is  the  place  that  I  mind, 
And  when  the  fleet's  coming,  I  pray  for  a  wind. 

6 

The  bully  of  France,  that  aspires  to  renown 

By  d\ill  cutting  of  throats,  and  venturing  his  own, 

Let  him  fight  and  be  damned,  and  make  matches  and 

treat. 
To  afford  the  newsmongers  and  coffee-house  chat ; 
He's  but  a  brave  wretch,  while  I  am  more  free. 
More  safe,  and  a  thousand  times  happier  than  he. 

7 
Come  he,  or  the  pope,  or  the  devil  to  boot, 
Or  come  faggot  and  stake,  I  care  not  a  groat ; 
Never  think  that  in  Smithfield  I  porters  will  heat : 
No,  I  swear,  Mr.  Fox,  pray  excuse  me  for  that. 
I'll  drink  in  defiance  of  gibbet  and  halter. 
This  is  the  profession  that  never  will  alter. 


AN   IMITATION    OF    HORACE. 

BOOK   I. SATIRE   IX.* 

Ibam  forte  via  sacra,  &c. 

AS  I  was  walking  in  'the  Mall  of  late. 
Alone,  and  musing  on  I  know  not  what ; 
Comes  a  familiar  fop,  whom  hardly  I 
Knew  by  his  name,  and  rudely  seizes  me : 

*  Dear  sir,  I'm  mighty  glad  to  meet  with  you : 
And  pray,  how  have  you  done  this  age,  or  twof 

*  Well,  I  thank  God,'  said  I,  '  as  times  are  now : 
I  wish  the  same  to  you.'     And  so  passed  on, 
Hoping  with  this,  the  coxcomb  would  be  gone. 

*  This  is  one  of  the  pieces  selected  for  particular  approbation  by 
Pope.    It  was  written  in  June,  i68i. 


AN   IMITATION   OF   HORACE.  135 

But  "when  I  saw  I  could  not  thus  get  free, 

I  asked,  what  business  else  he  had  for  me? 

'  Sir,'  answered  he,  '  if  learning,  parts,  or  sense 

Merit  your  friendship,  I  have  just  pretence.' 

'  I  honour  you,'  said  I,  *  upon  that  score. 

And  shall  be  glad  to  serve  you  to  my  power.* 

Meantime,  wild  to  get  loose,  I  try  all  ways 

To  shake  him  off;  sometimes  I  walk  apace, 

Sometimes  stand  still ;  I  frown,  I  chafe,  I  fret. 

Shrug,  turn  my  back,  as  in  the  Bagnio,  sweat ; 

And  show  all  kinds  of  signs  to  make  him  guess 

At  my  impatience  and  uneasiness. 

'  Happy  the  folk  in  Newgate !'  whispered  I, 

'  Who,  though  in  chains,  are  from  this  torment  free ; 

Would  I  were  like  rough  Manly*  in  the  play. 

To  send  impertinents  with  kicks  away !' 

He  all  the  while  baits  me  with  tedious  chat, 
Speaks  much  about  the  drought,  and  how  the  rate 
Of  hay  is  raised,  and  what  it  now  goes  at ; 
Tells  me  of  a  new  comet  at  the  Hague, 
Portending  God  knows  what,  a  dearth,  or  plague ; 
Names  every  wench  that  passes  through  the  park, 
How  much  she  is  allowed,  and  who  the  spark; 
Who  had  ill  hap  at  the  groom-porter's  board. 
Three  nights  ago,  in  play  with  such  a  lord; 
When  he  observed  I  minded  not  a  word, 
And  did  no  answer  to  his  trash  afford, 
'  Sir,  I  perceive  you  stand  on  thorns,'  said  he, 
*  And  fain  would  part ;  but,  faith,  it  must  not  be ; 
Come,  let  us  take  a  bottle.'     I  cried,  '  No; 
Sir,  I'm  an  invalid,  and  dare  not  now.' 
'  Then  tell  me  whither  you  desire  to  go : 
I'll  wait  upon  you.'     '  Oh !  sir,  'tis  too  far : 
I  visit  cross  the  water ;  therefore  spare 
Your  needless  trouble.'     '  Trouble!  sir,  'tis  none: 
'Tis  more  by  half  to  leave  you  here  alone. 

*  A  character  in  tlie  Plain-Dealer. 


136  AN   IMITATION    OF    HORACE. 

I  have  no  present  business  to  attend, 

At  least,  which  I'll  not  quit  for  such  a  friend. 

Tell  me  not  of  the  distance;  for,  I  vow, 

I'll  cut  the  Line,  double  the  Cape  for  you ; 

Good  faith,  I  will  not  leave  you;   make  no  words ; 

Go  you  to  Lambeth?  Is  it  to  my  lord's'? 

His  steward  I  most  intimately  know, 

Have  often  drunk  with  his  comptroller  too.' 

By  this  I  found  my  wheedle  would  not  pass, 

But  rather  served  my  suflferings  to  increase; 

And  seeing  'twas  in  vain  to  vex,  or  fret, 

I  patiently  submitted  to  my  fate. 

Straight  he  begins  again :   '  Sir,  if  you  knew 
My  worth  but  half  so  thoroughly  as  I  do ; 
I'm  sure  you  would  not  value  any  friend 
You  have,  like  me ;  but  that  I  wont  commend 
Myself,  and  my  own  talents,  I  might  tell 
How  many  ways  to  wonder  I  excel. 
None  has  a  greater  gift  in  poetry. 
Or  writes  more  verses  with  more  ease  than  I; 
I'm  grown  the  envy  of  the  men  of  wit, 
I  killed  even  Rochester  with  grief  and  spite ; 
Next  for  the  dancing  part  I  all  surpass, 
St.  Andre  *  never  moved  with  such  a  grace ; 
And  'tis  well  known,  whene'er  I  sing  or  set, 
Humphreys,  nor  Blow,t  could  ever  match  me  yet.' 

BLere  I  got  room  to  interrupt :  '  Have  you 
A  ^mother,  sir,  or  kindred  living  now?' 
'  Not  one :  they  are  all  dead.'    '  Troth,  so  I  guessed ; 
'  The  happier  they,'  said  I,  '  who  are  at  rest ! 
Poor  I  am  only  left  unmurdered  yet ; 
Haste,  I  beseech  you,  and  despatch  me  quite  ; 
For  I  am  well  convinced,  my  time  is  come : 
When  I  was  young,  a  gipsy  told  my  doom : 


*  The  famous  dancing-master. 

t  The  composer.     Humphreys  was  a  singer. 


AN    IMITATION   OF   HORACE.  137 

This  lad  (said  she,  and  looked  upon  my  hand,) 
Shall  not  by  sword,  or  poison  come  to's  end, 
Nor  by  the  fever,  dropsy,  gout,  or  stone, 
But  he  shall  die  by  an  eternal  tongue; 
Therefore,  when  he's  grown  up,  if  he  be  wise, 
Let  him  avoid  great  talkers,  I  advise.' 

By  this  time  we  were  got  to  Westminster, 
Where  he  by  chance  a  trial  had  to  hear. 
And,  if  he  were  not  there,  his  cause  must  fall : 
*  Sir,  if  you  love  me,  step  into  the  Hall 
For  one  half-hour.'     '  The  devil  take  me  now,' 
Said  I,  '  if  I  know  anything  of  law : 
Besides,  I  told  you  whither  I'm  to  go.' 
Hereat  he  made  a  stand,  pulled  down  his  hat 
Over  his  eyes,  and  mused  in  deep  debate : 
'  I'm  in  a  strait,'  says  he,  '  what  I  shall  do : 
Whether  forsake  my  business,  sir,  or  you.' 
'  Me  by  all  means,'  say  I.     '  No,'  says  my  sot, 
'  I  fear  you'll  take  it  ill,  if  I  should  do't ; 
I'm  sure  you  will.'     '  Not  I,  by  all  that's  good, 
But  I've  more  breeding,  than  to  be  so  rude. 
Pray,  don't  neglect  your  own  concerns  for  me; 
Your  cause,  good  sir !'  '  My  cause  be  damned,'  says  he, 
'  I  value't  less  than  your  dear  company.' 
With  this  he  came  up  to  me,  and  would  lead 
The  way;  I,  sneaking  after,  hung  my  head. 

Next  he  begins  to  plague  me  with  the  plot, 
Asks,  whether  I  were  known  to  Gates  or  not? 
'Not  I,  thank  Heaven!  I  no  priest  have  been; 
Have  never  Douay,  nor  St.  Omer  seen.' 
'What  think  you,  sir;  will  they  the  Joiner  try?* 
Will  he  die,  think  you?'    'Yes,  most  certainly.' 
'  I  mean,  be  hanged.'  '  Would  thou  wert  so,'  wished  I ! 

*  College,  the  '  Protestant  joiner,'  who  wrote  a  satirical  ballad  on 
the  removal  of  the  Parliament,  and  was  tried  and  executed  on  the 
3ist  August,  1 68 1,  two  months  after  the  date  of  this  humorous  para- 
phrase of  Horace. 


138  AN    IMITATION   OF   HORACE. 

Heligion  came  in  next,  though  he'd  no  more 
Than  the  noble  peer,  his  punk,  or  confessor. 
'  Oh !  the  sad  times,  if  once  the  king  should  die ! 
Sir,  are  you  not  afraid  of  popery  ]' 

*  No  more  than  my  superiors  :  why  should  1 1 
Come  popery,  come  anything,'  thought  I, 

'  So  heaven  would  bless  me  to  get  rid  of  thee ! 
But  'tis  some  comfort,  that  my  hell  is  here; 
I  need  no  punishment  hereafter  fear.' 

Scarce  had  I  thought,  but  he  falls  on  anew : 
'  How  stands  it,  sir,  betwixt  his  grace  and  you  V 
'  Sir,  he's  a  man  of  sense  above  the  crowd, 
And  shuns  the  converse  of  a  multitude.' 
'  Ay,  sir,'  says  he,  '  you're  happy  who  are  near 
His  grace,  and  have  the  favour  of  his  ear ; 
But  let  me  tell  you,  if  you'll  recommend 
This  person  here,  your  point  will  soon  be  gained. 
Gad,  sir,  I'll  die,  if  my  own  single  wit 
Don't  fob  his  minions,  and  displace  'em  quite, 
And  make  yourself  his  only  favourite.' 
'  No,  you  are  out  abundantly,'  said  I, 
'  We  live  not,  as  you  think ;  no  family 
Throughout  the  whole  three  kingdoms  is  more  free 
From  those  ill  customs,  which  are  used  to  swarm 
In  great  men's  houses ;  none  e'er  does  me  harm, 
Because  more  learned,  or  more  rich  than  I; 
But  each  man  keeps  his  place,  and  his  degree.' 

*  'Tis  mighty  strange,'  says  he,  '  what  you  relate.' 

*  But  nothing  truer,  take  my  word  for  that.' 
'  You  make  me  long  to  be  admitted  too 
Amongst  his  creatures;  sir,  I  beg,  that  you 
Will  stand  my  friend ;  your  interest  is  such. 
You  may  prevail ;  I'm  sure  you  can  do  much ; 
He's  one  that  may  be  won  upon,  I've  heard, 
Though  at  the  first  approach  access  be  hard. 
I'll  spare  no  trouble  of  my  own,  or  friends. 
No  cost  in  fees,  and  bribes  to  gain  my  ends; 


AN   IMITATION    OF   HORACE.  139 

ni  seek  all  opportunities  to  meet 
With  him ;  accost  him  in  the  very  street ; 
Hang  on  his  coach,  and  wait  upon  him  home, 
Fawn,  scrape  and  cringe  to  him,  nay,  to  his  groom. 
Faith,  sir,  this  must  be  done,  if  we'll  be  great ; 
Preferment  comes  not  at  a  cheaper  rate.' 

While  at  this  savage  rate  he  worried  me, 
Ey  chance  a  doctor,  my  dear  friend,  came  by, 
That  knew  the  fellow's  humour  passing  well ; 
Glad  of  the  sight  I  join  him;  we  stand  still : 
'  Whence  came  you,  sir?  and  whither  go  you  now?' 
And  such  like  questions  passed  betwixt  us  two. 
Straight  I  begin  to  pull  him  by  the  sleeve, 
Nod,  wink  upon  him,  touch  my  nose,  and  give 
A  thousand  hints,  to  let  him  know  that  I 
Needed  his  help  for  my  delivery; 
He,  naughty  wag,  with  an  arch  fleering  smile, 
Seems  ignorant  of  what  I  mean  the  while ; 
I  grow  stark  wild  with  rage.     '  Sir,  said  not  you, 
You'd  somewhat  to  discourse,  not  long  ago, 
With  me  in  private?'     *  I  remember  't  well. 
Some  other  time  be  sure,  I  will  not  fail; 
Now  I  am  in  great  haste  upon  my  word  j 
A  messenger  came  for  me  from  a  lord 
That's  in  a  bad  condition,  like  to  die.' 

*  Oh !  sir,  he  can't  be  in  a  worse  than  I ; 
Therefore  for  God's  sake  do  not  stir  from  hence.' 

*  Sweet  sir !  your  pardon ;  'tis  of  consequence ; 
I  hope  you're  kinder  than  to  press  my  stay. 
Which  may  be  heaven  knows  what  out  of  my  way.' 
This  said,  he  left  me  to  my  murderer. 

Seeing  no  hopes  of  my  relief  appear, 

'  Confounded  be  the  stars,'  said  I,  '  that  swayed 

This  fatal  day !  would  I  had  kept  my  bed 

With  sickness,  rather  than  be  visited 

With  this  worse  plague !  what  ill  have  I  e'er  done, 

To  pull  this  curse,  this  heavy  judgment  down]' 


140  PARAPHRASE    UPON   HORACE. 

WMle  I  was  thus  lamenting  my  ill  hap, 
Comes  aid  at  length ;  a  brace  of  bailiffs  clap 
The  rascal  on  the  back :  '  Here  take  your  fees, 
Kind  gentlemen,'  said  I,  '  for  my  release.' 
He  would  have  had  me  bail.     '  Excuse  me,  sir, 
I've  made  a  vow  ne'er  to  be  surety  more ; 
My  father  was  undone  by  't  heretofore.' 
Thus  I  got  off,  and  blessed  the  fates  that  he 
Was  prisoner  made,  I  set  at  liberty. 


PARAPHRASE   UPON   HORACE. 

BOOK  I. ODE  XXXI. 

Quid  dedicatum  poscit  Apollinem 
Vates?  &c. 

I 

TT7H AT  does  the  poet's  modest  wish  require  ? 

'  *     What  boon  does  he  of  gracious  heaven  desire  1 
Not  the  large  crops  of  Esham's  goodly  soil. 
Which  tire  the  mower's  and  the  reaper's  toil ; 
Not  the  soft  flocks  on  hilly  Cotswold  fed, 
Nor  Lempster  fields  with  living  fleeces  clad ; 
He  does  not  ask  the  grounds,  where  gentle  Thames, 
Or  swifter  Severn,  spread  their  fattening  streams, 

Where  they  with  wanton  windings  play. 
And  eat  their  widened  banks  insensibly  away; 
He  does  not  ask  the  wealth  of  Lombard-street, 
Which  consciences  and  souls  are  pawned  to  get ; 
Nor  those  exhaustless  mines  of  gold. 
Which  Guinea  and  Peru  in  their  rich  bosoms  hold. 


Let  those  that  live  in  the  Canary  Isles, 
On  which  indulgent  nature  ever  smiles, 


PARAPHRASE  UPON  HORACE.  141 

Take  pleasure  in  their  plenteous  vintages, 
And  from  the  juicy  grape  its  racy  liquor  press; 
Let  wealthy  merchants,  when  they  dine, 
Run  o'er  their  costly  names  of  wine. 
Their  chests  of  Florence,  and  their  Mont-Alchine, 
Their  Mants,  Champagnes,  Chablis,  Frontiniacs  tell. 
Their  aumes  *  of  Hock,  of  Backrach,  and  Moselle ; 

He  envies  not  their  luxury. 
Which  they  with  so  much  pains  and  danger  buy ; 
For  which  so  many  storms  and  wrecks  they  bear, 
For  which  they  pass  the  Straits  so  oft  each  year, 
And  'scape  so  narrowly  the  bondage  of  Algier. 

3 

He  wants  no  Cyprus  birds,  nor  ortolans, 

Nor  dainties  fetched  from  far  to  please  his  sense; 

Cheap  wholesome  herbs  content  his  frugal  board, 

The  food  of  unfallen  innocence, 
Which  the  meanest  village  garden  does  afford ; 
Grant  him,  kind  heaven,  the  sum  of  his  desires. 
What  nature,  not  what  luxury  requires ; 
He  only  does  a  competency  claim. 
And,  when  he  has  it,  wit  to  use  the  same. 
Grant  him  sound  health,  impaired  by  no  disease, 

Nor  by  his  own  excess ; 
Let  him  in  strength  of  mind  and  body  live, 
But  not  his  reason,  nor  his  sense  survive; 
His  age  (if  age  he  e'er  must  live  to  see) 
Let  it  from  want,  contempt,  and  care  be  free, 

But  not  from  mirth,  and  the  delights  of  poetry. 
Grant  him  but  this,  he's  amply  satisfied. 

And  scorns  whatever  fate  can  give  beside. 


♦  A  Dutch  measure  for  Rhenish  wine,  containing  forty  gallons. 


142 

PARAPHRASE    UPON   HORACE. 
BOOK   II. ODE   XIV. 

Eheu  fugaces  Posthume,  Posthume, 
Labuntur  anni,  &c. 


A  LAS !  dear  friend,  alas !  time  hastes  away, 
-^  Nor  is  it  in  our  power  to  bribe  its  stay; 
The  rolling  years  with  constant  motion  run, 
Lo !  while  I  speak,  the  present  minute's  gone. 
And  followinsc  hours  still  urge  the  foreo^oinsf  on. 

'Tis  not  thy  wealth,  'tis  not  thy  power, 
'Tis  not  thy  piety  can  thee  secure ; 

They're  all  too  feeble  to  withstand 
Grey  hairs,  approaching  age,  and  thy  avoidless  end 

When  once  thy  glass  is  run. 

When  once  thy  utmost  thread  is  spun, 
'Twill  then  be  fruitless  to  expect  reprieve ; 

Couldst  thou  ten  thousand  kingdoms  give 
In  purchase  for  each  hour  of  longer  life, 

They  would  not  buy  one  gasp  of  breath, 
Not  move  one  jot  inexorable  death. 

2 

All  the  vast  stock  of  human  progeny. 

Which  now,  like  swarms  of  insects,  crawl 
Upon  the  surface  of  earth's  spacious  ball, 
Must  quit  this  hillock  of  mortality. 
And  in  its  bowels  buried  lie. 
The  mightiest  king,  and  proudest  potentate 
In  spite  of  all  his  pomp,  and  all  his  state. 
Must  pay  this  necessary  tribute  unto  fate. 
The  busy,  restless  monarch  of  the  world,  which  now 
Keeps  such  a  pother,  and  so  much  ado 
To  fill  gazettes  alive. 
And  after  in  some  lying  annal  to  survive. 


PARAPHRASE    VPON    HORACE.  143 

Even  he,  even  that  great  mortal  man  must  die, 
And  stink,  and  rot,  as  well  as  thou  and  I, 
As  well  as  the  poor  tattered  wretch  that  begs  his 

bread. 
And  is  with  scraps  out  of  the  common  basket  fed. 

3 

In  vain  from  dangers  of  the  bloody  field  we  keep, 
In  vain  do  we  escape 
The  sultry  Line,  and  stormy  Cape, 
And  all  the  treacheries  of  the  faithless  deep; 
In  vain  for  health  to  foreign  countries  we  repair. 
And  change  our  English  for  Montpellier  air, 
In  hope  to  leave  our  fears  of  dying  there ; 
In  vain  with  costly  far-fetched  drugs  we  strive 
To  keep  the  wasting  vital  lamp  alive ; 
In  vain  on  doctor's  feeble  art  rely; 
Against  resistless  death  there  is  no  remedy. 

Both  we  and  they,  for  all  their  skill,  must  die, 
And  fill  alike  the  bead-rolls  of  mortaKty. 

4 

Thou  must,  thou  must  resign  to  fate,  my  friend, 

And  leave  thy  house,  thy  wife,  and  family  behind ; 
Thou  must  thy  fair  and  goodly  manors  leave. 
Of  these  thy  trees  thou  shalt  not  with  thee  take. 
Save  just  as  much  as  will  thy  coffin  make; 

Nor  wilt  thou  be  allowed  of  all  thy  land,  to  have 
But  the  small  pittance  of  a  six-foot  grave. 

Then  shall  thy  prodigal  young  heir 
Lavish  the  wealth,  which  thou  for  many  a  year 
Hast  hoarded  up  with  so  much  pains  and  care ; 
Then  shall  he  drain  thy  cellars  of  their  stores, 

Kept  sacred  now  as  vaults  of  buried  ancestors ; 
Shall  set  the  enlarged  butts  at  liberty, 
Which  there  close  prisoners  under  diu-ance  lie. 
And  wash  these  stately  floors  with  better  wino 

Than  that  of  consecrated  prelates  when  they  dine. 


144 


Horace's  art  of  poetry,  imitated  in 

ENGLISH.* 

ADDRESSED  BY  WAY   OF   LETTER   TO   A   FREEND. 

OHOULD  some  ill  painter,  in  a  wild  design, 

^  To  a  man's  head  a  horse's  shoulders  join, 

Or  fish's  tail  to  a  fair  woman's  waist, 

Or  draw  the  limbs  of  many  a  different  beast, 

111  matched,  and  with  as  motley  feathers  dressed; 

If  you  by  chance  were  to  pass  by  his  shop, 

Could  you  forbear  from  laughing  at  the  fop. 

And  not  believe  him  whimsical  or  mad? 

Credit  me,  sir,  that  book  is  quite  as  bad, 

As  worthy  laughter,  which  throughout  is  filled 

With  monstrous  inconsistencies,  more  vain,  and  wild 

Than  sick  men's  dreams,  whose  neither  head,  nor  tail, 

Nor  any  parts  in  due  proportion  fall. 

But  'twill  be  said,  '  None  ever  did  deny 

Painters  and  poets  their  free  liberty 

*  Oldham,  in  his  introduction  to  this  translation,  or  rather,  adapta- 
tion of  the  Art  of  Poetry,  explains  the  object  he  kept  in  view  through- 
out. He  says  that  he  thought  of  turning  the  work  to  an  advantage 
which  had  not  occurred  to  those  who  went  before  him  in  the  transla- 
tion, by  making  Horace  speak  as  if  he  were  then  living.  '  I  therefore,* 
he  adds,  '  resolved  to  alter  the  scene  from  Kome  to  London,  and  to 
make  use  of  English  names  of  men,  places,  and  customs,  where  the 
parallel  would  decently  permit,  which  I  conceived  would  give  a  kind 
of  new  air  to  the  poem,  and  render  it  more  agreeable  to  the  relish  of 
the  present  age.'  And  it  may  be  added,  that  this  is  the  feature  which 
constitutes  its  chief  attraction  for  the  modern  reader.  Of  his  plan  uf 
translation,  and  the  liberties  he  took  with  his  original,  he  says, '  I  have 
not,  I  acknowledge,  been  over  nice  in  keeping  to  the'words  of  the 
original,  for  that  were  to  transgress  a  rule  therein  contained.  Never- 
theless I  have  been  religiously  strict  to  its  sense,  and  expressed  it  in 
as  plain  and  intelligible  a  manner  as  the  subject  would  bear.  Where 
I  may  be  thought  to  have  varied  from  it  (which  is  not  above  once  or 
twice,  and  in  passages  not  much  material),  the  skilful  reader  will 
perceive  'twas  necessary  for  carrying  on  my  proposed  design,  and  the 
author  himself,  were  he  again  alive,  would  (I  believe)  forgive  me.  I  have 
been  careful  to  avoid  stiffness,  and  made  it  my  endeavour  to  hit  (as 
near  as  I  could)  the  easy  and  familiar  way  of  WTiting,  which  is  peculiar 
to  Horace  in  his  Epistles,  and  was  his  proper  talent  above  any  of 
mankind.' 


Horace's  art  of  poetry.  145 

Of  feigning  anything.'    We  grant  it  true, 
And  the  same  privilege  crave  and  allow; 
But  to  mix  natures  clearly  opposite, 
To  make  the  serpent  and  the  dove  unite, 
Or  lambs  from  savage  tigers  seek  defence, 
Shocks  reason,  and  the  rules  of  common  sense. 

Some,  who  would  have  us  think  they  meant  to  treat 
At  first  on  arguments  of  greatest  weight. 
Are  proud,  when  here  and  there  a  glittering  line 
Does  through  the  mass  of  their  coarse  rubbish  shine. 
In  gay  digressions  they  delight  to  rove, 
Describing  here  a  temple,  there  a  grove, 
A  vale  enamelled  o'er  with  pleasant  streams, 
A  painted  rainbow,  or  the  gliding  Thames. 
But  how  does  this  relate  to  their  design? 
Though  good  elsewhere,  'tis  here  but  foisted  in, 
A  common  dauber  may  perhaps  have  skill 
To  paint  a  tavern  sign,  or  landscape  well; 
But  what  is  this  to  drawing  of  a  light, 
A  wreck,  a  storm,  or  the  last  judgment  right? 
When  the  fair  model  and  foundation  shews, 
That  you  some  great  Escurial  would  produce, 
How  comes  it  dwindled  to  a  cottage  thus? 
In  fine,  whatever  work  you  mean  to  frame. 
Be  uniform,  and  everywhere  the  same. 

Most  poets,  sir,  ('tis  easy  to  observe) 
Into  the  worst  of  faults  are  apt  to  swerve ; 
Through  a  false  hope  of  reaching  excellence, 
Avoiding  length,  we  often  cramp  our  sense. 
And  make  't  obscure ;  oft,  when  we'd  have  our  style 
Easy  and  flowing,  lose  its  force  the  while ; 
Some,  striving  to  surmount  the  common  flight, 
Soar  up  in  airy  bombast  out  of  sight ; 
Others,  who  fear  to  a  bold  pitch  to  trust 
Themselves,  flag  low,  and  humbly  sweep  the  dust; 
And  many  fond  of  seeming  marvellous, 
While  they  too  carelessly  transgress  the  laws 

OLDHAM.  10 


146  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Of  likeliliood,  most  odd  chimeras  feign, 
Dolphins  in  woods,  and  boars  upon  the  main. 
Thus  they  who  would  take  aim,  but  want  the  skill, 
Miss  always,  and  shoot  wide,  or  narrow  still. 
One  of  the  meanest  workmen  in  the  town 
Can  imitate  the  nails,  or  hair  in  stone. 
And  to  the  life  enough  perhaps,  who  yet 
Wants  mastery  to  make  the  work  complete. 
Trc^fch,  sir,  if  'twere  my  fancy  to  compose, 
Katlier  than  be  this  bungling  wretch,  I'd  choose 
To  wear  a  crooked  and  unsightly  nose, 
'Mongst  other  handsome  features  of  a  face, 
Which  only  would  set  off  my  ugliness. 

Be  sure  all  you  that  undei*take  to  write, 
To  choose  a  subject  for  your  genius  fit; 
Try  long  and  often  what  your  talents  are ; 
What  is  the  burthen  which  your  parts  will  bear. 
And  where  they'll  fail;  he  that  discerns  with  skill 
To  cull  his  argument  and  matter  well, 
Will  never  be  to  seek  for  eloquence 
To  dress,  or  method  to  dispose  his  sense. 
They  the  chief  art  and  grace  in  order  show 
(If  I  may  claim  aiiy  pretence  to  know) 
Who  time  discreetly  what's  to  be  discoursed, 
What  should  be  said  at  last,  and  what  at  first; 
Some  passages  at  present  may  be  heard, 
Others  till  afterward  are  best  deferred; 
Verse,  which  disdains  the  laws  of  history. 
Speaks  things  not  as  they  are,  but  ought  to  be ; 
Whoever  will  in  poetry  excel. 
Must  learn,  and  use  his  hidden  secret  well. 

'Tis  next  to  be  observed,  that  care  is  due, 
And  sparingness  in  framing  words  anew. 
You  show  your  mastery,  if  you  have  the  knack 
So  to  make  use  of  what  known  word  you  take, 
To  give  't  a  newer  sense ;  if  there  be  need 
For  some  uncommon  matter  to  be  said, 


IMITATED    IN    ENGLISH.  147 

Power  of  inventing  terms  may  be  allowed, 

Which  Chaucer  and  his  age  ne'er  understood; 

Provided  always,  as  'twas  said  before, 

We  seldom,  and  discreetly  use  that  power. 

Words  new  and  foreign  may  be  best  brought  in, 

If  borrowed  from  a  language  near  akin. 

Why  should  the  peevish  critics  now  forbid 

To  Lee  and  Dryden,  what  was  not  denied 

To  Shakespeare,  Ben,  and  Fletcher  heretofore, 

For  which  they  praise,  and  commendation  bore  1 

If  Spenser's  Muse  be  justly  so  adored 

For  that  rich  copiousness  wherewith  he  stored 

Our  native  tongue,  for  God's  sake  why  should  I 

Straight  be  thought  arrogant,  if  modestly 

I  claim  and  use  the  self-same  liberty? 

This  the  just  right  of  poets  ever  was, 

And  will  be  still,  to  coin  what  words  they  please, 

W^ell  fitted  to  the  present  age  and  place. 

Words  with  the  leaves  of  trees  a  semblance  hold 
In  this  respect,  where  every  year  the  old 
Fall  off,  and  new  ones  in  their  places  grow ; 
Death  is  the  fate  of  all  things  here  below  : 
i^ature  herself  by  art  has  changes  felt, 
The  Tangier  mole  (by  our  great  monarch  built) 
Like  a  vast  bulwark  in  the  ocean  set, 
From  pirates  and  from  storms  defends  our  fleet ; 
Fens  every  day  are  drained,  and  men  now  plough, 
And  sow,  and  reap,  where  they  before  might  row ; 
And  rivers  have  been  taught  by  Middleton* 
From  their  old  course  within  new  banks  to  run, 
And  pay  their  useful  tribute  to  the  town. 

*  Sir  Hugh  Middleton,  goldsmith,  and  citizen  of  London.  He  pro- 
cured an  Act  of  Parliament,  in  i5o8,  to  bring  a  supply  of  water  to  the 
City  from  the  streams  of  Jliddlesex  and  Hertfordshire.  He  nearly 
ruined  himself  by  the  undertaking,  the  Corporation  refusing  to  assist 
him ;  but  prevailing  at  last  upon  the  King  to  take  a  share  in  the  con- 
cern, he  completed  his  work  in  i6i3,  when  the  reservoir  at  Islington 
was  opened  with  great  ceremony.     The  value  of  a  share  in  the  New 

10—2 


148  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

If  man's  and  nature's  works  submit  to  fate, 

Much  less  must  words  expect  a  lasting  datej 

Many,  which  we  approve  for  current  now. 

In  the  next  age  out  of  request  shall  grow ; 

And  others,  which  are  now  thrown  out  of  doors, 

Shall  be  revived,  and  come  again  in  force. 

If  custom  please,  from  whence  their  vogue  they  draw, 

Which. of  our  speech  is  the  sole  judge  and  law. 

Homer  first  showed  us  in  heroic  strains. 
To  write  of  wars,  of  battles,  and  campaigns, 
Kings  and  great  leaders,  mighty  in  renown. 
And  him  we  still  for  our  chief  pattern  own. 

Soft  elegy,  designed  for  grief  and  tears, 
"Was  first  devised  to  grace  some  mournful  hearse ; 
Since  to  a  brisker  note  'tis  taught  to  move. 
And  clothes  our  gayest  passions,  joy  and  love. 
But  who  was  first  inventor  of  the  kind, 
Critics  have  sought,  but  never  yet  could  find. 
Gods,  heroes,  warriors,  and  the  lofty  praise 
Of  peaceful  conquerors  in  Pisa's  race, 
The  mirth  and  joys  which  love  and  wine  produce. 
With  other  wanton  sallies  of  a  muse. 
The  stately  ode  does  for  its  subjects  choose. 

Archilochus  to  vent  his  gall  and  spite. 
In  keen  iambics  first  was  known  to  write; 
Dramatic  authors  used  this  sort  of  verse 
On  all  the  Greek  and  Roman  theatres, 
As  for  discourse  and  conversation  fit. 
And  aptest  to  drown  the  noises  of  the  pit. 

If  I  discern  not  the  true  style  and  air, 
Nor  how  to  give  the  proper  character 
To  every  kind  of  work,  how  dare  I  claim 
And  challenge  to  myself  a  poet's  name? 
And  why  had  I,  with  awkward  modesty, 
Rather  than  learn,  always  unskilful  be]   < 

River,  originally  worth   looZ.,  has  since  risen  to  io,oooL     IMiddleton 
was  knighted  for  his  labours,  and  created  a  baronet  in  \6ii. 


IMITATED   IN   ENGLISH.  149 

Volpone  and  Morose  will  not  admit 
Of  Catiline's  high  strains ;  nor  is  it  fit 
To  make  Sejanus  on  the  stage  appear 
In  the  low  dress  which  comic  persons  wear. 
Whate'er  the  subject  be  on  which  you  write, 
Give  each  thing  its  due  place  and  time  aright. 
Yet  comedy  sometimes  may  raise  her  styh*, 
And  angry  Chremes  is  allowed  to  swell; 
And  tragedy  alike  sometimes  has  leave 
To  throw  off  majesty,  when  'tis  to  grieve: 
Peleus  and  Telephus  in  miseiy, 
Lay  their  big  words  and  blustering  language  by, 
If  they  expect  to  make  their  audience  cry. 
'Tis  not  enough  to  have  your  plays  succeed, 
That  they  be  elegant ;  they  must  not  need 
Those  warm  and  moving  touches  which  impart 
A  kind  concernment  to  each  hearer's  heart. 
And  ravish  it  which  way  they  please  with  art.- 
Where  joy  and  sorrow  put  on  good  disguise. 
Ours  with  the  person's  looks  straight  sympathize. 
Would'st  have  me  weep  ?  thyself  must  first  begin ; 
Then,  Telephus,  to  pity  I  incline, 
And  think  thy  case  and  all  thy  sufferings  mine ; 
But  if  thou'rt  made  to  act  thy  part  amiss, 
I  can't  forbear  to  sleep,  or  laugh,  or  hiss. 
Let  words  express  the  looks  which  speakers  wear ; 
Sad,  fit  a  mournful  and  dejected  air; 
The  passionate  must  huff",  and  storm,  and  rave; 
The  gay  be  pleasant,  and  the  serious  grave. 
For  nature  works,  and  moulds  our  frame  within, 
To  take  all  manner  of  impressions  in ; 
Now  makes  us  hot,  and  ready  to  take  fire, 
Now  hope,  now  joy,  now  sorrow  does  inspire, 
And  all  these  passions  in  our  face  appear, 
Of  which  the  tongue  is  sole  interpreter ; 
But  he  whose  words  and  fortunes  do  not  suit. 
By  pit  and  gallery  both  is  hooted  out. 


150  hoeace's  art  of  poetry, 

Observe  what  characters  your  persons  fit. 
Whether  the  master  speak,  or  Todelet ; 
Whether  a  man,  that's  elderly  in  growth, 
Or  a  brisk  Hotspur  in  his  boiling  youth; 
A  roaring  bully,  or  a  shirking  cheat, 
A  court-bred  lady,  or  a  tawdry  cit; 
A  prating  gossip,  or  a  jilting  whore, 
A  travelled  merchant,  or  a  homespun  boor; 
Spaniard  or  French,  Italian,  Dutch,  or  Dane, 
Native  of  Turkey,  India,  or  Japan. 

Either  from  history  your  persons  take, 
Or  let  them  nothing  inconsistent  speak; 
If  you  bring  great  Achilles  on  the  stage. 
Let  him  be  fierce  and  brave,  all  heat  and  rage, 
Inflexible,  and  headstrong  to  all  laws. 
But  those  which  arms  and  his  own  will  impose. 
Cruel  Medea  must  no  pity  have, 
]xion  must  be  treacherous,  Juno  grieve, 
lo  must  wander,  and  Orestes  rave; 
But  if  you  dare  to  tread  in  paths  unknown, 
And  boldly  start  new  persons  of  your  own. 
Be  sure  to  make  them  in  one  strain  agree, 
And  let  the  end  like  the  beginning  be. 

'Tis  difiicult  for  writers  to  succeed 
On  arguments  which  none  before  have  tried ; 
The  Iliad,  or  the  Odyssey,  with  ease 
Will  better  furnish  subjects  for  your  plays, 
Than  that  you  should  your  own  invention  trust, 
And  broach  unheard  of  things  yourself  the  first. 
In  copying  other  works,  to  make  them  pass. 
And  seem  your  own,  let  these  few  rules  take  place 
When  you  some  of  their  story  represent. 
Take  care  that  you  new  episodes  invent; 
Be  not  too  nice  the  author's  words  to  trace, 
But  vary  all  with  a  fresh  air  and  grace; 
Nor  such  strict  rules  of  imitation  choose. 
Which  you  must  still  be  tied  to  follow  close, 


IMITATED    IN   EXGLISH.  151 

Or,  forced  to  a  retreat  for  want  of  room, 
Give  over,  and  ridiculous  become. 

Do  not,  like  that  affected  fool,  begin, 
'  King  Priam's  fate,  and  Troy's  famed  war,  I  sing !' 
What  will  this  mighty  promiser  produce? 
You  look  for  mountains,  and  out  creeps  a  mouse. 
How  short  is  this  of  Homer's  fine  address 
And  art,  who  ne'er  says  anything  amiss? 
'  Muse,  speak  the  man,  who,  since  Troy's  laying  waste. 
Into  such  numerous  dangers  has  been  cast. 
So  many  towns  and  various  people  passed.' 
He  does  not  lavish  at  a  blaze  his  fire, 
To  glare  awhile,  and  in  a  snuff  expire ; 
But  modestly  at  first  conceals  his  light ; 
In  dazzling  wonders  then  breaks  forth  to  sight. 
Surprises  you  with  miracles  all  o'er, 
IVJakes  dreadful  Scylla  and  Charybdis  roar, 
Cyclops,  and  bloody  Lestrygons  devour ; 
Nor  does  he  time  in  long  preambles  spend, 
Describing  Meleager's  rueful  end, 
When  he's  of  Diomed's  return  to  treat ; 
Nor  when  he  would  the  Trojan  war  relate. 
The  tale  of  brooding  Leda's  eggs  repeat ; 
But  still  to  the  designed  event  hastes  on. 
And  at  first  dash,  as  if  before  'twere  known, 
Embarks  you  in  the  middle  of  the  plot, 
And  what  is  unimprovable  leaves  out. 
And  mixes  truth  and  fiction  skilfully, 
That  nothing  in  the  whole  may  disagree. 

Whoe'er  you  are,  that  set  yourselves  to  write. 
If  you  expect  to  have  your  audience  sit 
Till  the  fifth  act  be  done,  and  curtain  fall. 
Mind  what  instructions  I  shall  further  tell, 
Our  guise  and  manners  alter  with  our  age, 
And  such  they  must  be  brought  upon  the  stage. 

A  cliild,  who  newly  has  to  speech  attained. 
And  now  can  go  without  the  nurse's  hand, 


152  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

To  play  "with  those  of  his  own  growth  is  pleased, 
Suddenly  angry,  and  as  soon  appeased, 
Fond  of  new  trifles,  and  as  quickly  cloyed, 
And  loathes  next  hour  what  he  the  last  enjoyed. 

The  beardless  youth  from  pedagogue  got  loose, 
Does  dogs  and  horses  for  his  pleasure  choose; 
Yielding,  and  soft  to  every  print  of  vice, 
Kesty  to  those  who  would  his  faults  chastise, 
Careless  of  profit,  of  expenses  vain, 
Haughty,  and  eager  his  desires  to  obtain, 
And  swift  to  quit  the  same  desires  again. 

Those,  who  to  manly  years  and  sense  are  grown, 
Seek  wealth  and  friendship,  honour  and  renown ; 
And  are  discreet,  and  fearful  how  to  act 
What  after  they  must  alter  and  correct. 

Diseases,  ills,  and  troubles  numberless 
A.ttend  old  men,  and  with  their  age  increase; 
In  painful  toil  they  spend  their  wretched  years, 
Still  heaping  wealth,  and  with  that  wealth  new  cares; 
Fond  to  possess,  and  fearful  to  enjoy; 
Slow,  and  suspicious  in  their  managery ; 
Full  of  delays  and  hopes,  lovers  of  ease. 
Greedy  of  life,  morose,  and  hard  to  please ; 
Envious  at  pleasures  of  the  young  and  gay, 
Where  they  themselves  now  want  a  stock  to  play; 
Ill-natured  censors  of  the  present  age, 
And  what  has  passed  since  they  have  quit  the  stage ; 
But  loud  admirers  of  Queen  Bess's  time, 
And  what  was  done  when  they  were  in  their  prime 

Thus,  what  our  tide  of  flowing  years  brings  in. 
Still  with  our  ebb  of  life  goes  out  again ; 
The  humours  of  fourscore  will  never  hit 
One  of  fifteen,  nor  a  boy's  part  befit 
A  full-grown  man;  it  shows  no  mean  address. 
If  you  the  tempers  of  each  age  express. 

Some  things  are  best  to  act,  others  to  tell ; 
Those  by  the  ear  conveyed  do  not  so  well, 


IMITATED    IN   ENGLISH.  153 

Nor  half  so  movingly  affect  the  mind, 

As  what  we  to  oiir  eyes  presented  find. 

Yet  there  are  many  things  which  should  not  come 

in  view,  nor  pass  beyond  the  tiring-room; 

Which,  after  in  expressive  language  told, 

Shall  please  the  audience  more  than  to  behold; 

Let  not  Medea  show  her  fatal  rage, 

And  cut  her  children's  throats  upon  the  stage; 

Nor  (Edipus  tear  out  his  eyeballs  there. 

Nor  bloody  Atreus  his  dire  feast  prepare ; 

Cadmus,  nor  Progne  their  odd  changes  take, 

This  to  a  bird,  the  other  to  a  snake; 

Whatever  so  incredible  you  show. 

Shocks  my  belief,  and  straight  does  nauseous  grow. 

Five  acts,  no  more  nor  less,  your  play  must  have,  , 
If  you'll  a  handsome  third  day's  share  receive.* 
Let  not  a  god  be  summoned  to  attend 
On  a  slight  errand,  nor  on  wire  descend. 
Unless  the  importance  of  the  plot  engage ; 
And  let  but  three  at  once  speak  on  the  stage. 

Be  sure  to  make  the  chorus  still  promote 
The  chief  intrigue  and  business  of  the  plot ; 
Betwixt  the  acts  there  must  be  nothing  sung 
Which  does  not  to  the  main  design  belong; 
The  praises  of  the  good  must  here  be  told. 
The  passions  curbed,  and  foes  of  vice  extolled ; 
Here  thrift  and  temperance,  and  wholesome  laws, 
Strict  justice,  and  the  gentle  calms  of  peace, 
Must  have  their  commendations  and  applause; 
And  prayers  must  be  sent  up  to  heaven  to  guide 
Blind  fortune's  blessing  to  the  juster  side. 
To  raise  the  poor,  and  lower  prosperous  pride. 

*  The  custom  of  paying  writers  for  the  stage  by  the  profits  of  the 
third  night  prevailed  generally  at  this  period,  and  not  many  years  have 
elapsed  since  it  was  finally  abandoned.  But  the  rule  was  not  arbitrary. 
At  an  earlier  date,  the  second  night's  profits  were  assigned  to  the 
author,  and,  in  Henslowe's  time,  plays  were  frequently  purchaoed,  aud 
paid  for  in  advance. 


154  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

At  first  the  music  of  our  stage  was  rude, 
Whilst  in  the  cockpit  and  Blackfriars  it  stood ; 
And  this  might  please  enough  in  former  reigns, 
A  thrifty,  thin,  and  bashful  audience. 
When  Bussy  d'Amhois*  and  his  fustian  took. 
And  men  were  ravished  with  Queen  Gordobuc.f 
But  since  our  monarch,  by  kind  heaven  sent, 
Brought  back  the  arts  with  him  from  banishment, 
And  by  his  gentle  influence  gave  increase 
To  all  the  harmless  luxuries  of  peace ; 
Favoured  by  him,  our  stage  has  flourished  too. 
And  every  day  in  outward  splendour  grew; 
In  music,  song,  and  dance  of  every  kind. 
And  all  the  grace  of  action  'tis  refined ; 
And  since  that  opera  's  at  length  come  in, 
Our  players  have  so  well  improved  the  scene 
With  gallantry  of  habit,  and  machine, 
As  makes  our  theatre  in  glory  vie 
With  the  best  ages  of  antiquity  ;X 
And  mighty  Boscius  were  he  living  now. 
Would  envy  both  our  stage  and  acting  too.  § 

Those  who  did  first  in  tragedy  essay, 
(When  the  vile  groat  was  all  the  poet's  pay) 

*  By  Chapman, 
t  BySackville,LordBuckhurst.  The  same  mistakewas  made  in  the  sex 
of  Gorclubuc  by  Dryden,  from  whom  it  was  copied,  probably,  by  Oldham. 
X  The  improvements  in  scenery  and  machinery  (of  which  the  first 
magnificent  example  was  the  Aglaura  of  Suckling),  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  foreign  operas,  noticed  with  such  applause  by  Oldham,  were  re- 
probated by  Dryden  as  one  of  the  causes  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  drama. 
§  "While  Oldham  was  thus  recording  the  prosperity  of  the  stage,  the 
dramatists  were  bitterly  deploring  its  decline.     At  this  very  time  the 
theatres  were  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  in  consequence  of  the  political 
agitation,  and  the  actors  were  migrating  from  the  metropolis  to  the  pro- 
vinces in  the  hope  of  bettering  their  fortunes.    Thus  Dryden,  in  an  epi- 
logue spoken  towards  the  close  of  1 68 1 ,  describes  the  state  of  the  players : 
'  We  act  by  fits  and  starts,  like  drowning  men. 
But  just  peep  up,  and  then  pop  down  again. 
Let  those  who  call  us  wicked  change  their  sense, 
For  never  men  lived  more  on  Providence. 
Not  lottery  cavaliers  are  half  so  poor,'  &c. 

Dryden,  Ann.  Ed.  iii.  p.  a57. 


IMITATED   IN   ENGLISH.  155 

Used  to  allay  their  subjects'  gravity 

With  interludes  of  mirth  and  raillery ; 

Here  they  brought  rough  and  naked  satyrs  in, 

Whose  farce-like  gesture,  motion,  speech  and  mien, 

Resemble  those  of  modern  harlequin ; 

Because  such  antic  tricks,  and  odd  grimace, 

After  their  drunken  feasts  on  holidays. 

The  giddy  and  hot-headed  rout  would  please: 

As  the  wild  feats  of  merry-andrews  now. 

Divert  the  senseless  crowd  at  Bartholomew. 

But  he  that  would  in  this  mock- way  excel. 
And  exercise  the  art  of  railing  well. 
Had  need  with  diligence  observe  this  rule, 
In  turning  serious  things  to  ridicule : 
If  he  a  hero,  or  a  god  bring  in. 
With  kingly  robes  and  sceptre  lately  seen, 
Let  them  not  speak,  like  burlesque  characters. 
The  wit  of  Billingsgate  and  Temple-stairs ; 
Nor,  while  they  of  those  meannesses  beware, 
In  tearing  lines  of  Bajazet  appear. 
Majestic  tragedy  as  much  disdains 
To  condescend  to  low  and  trivial  strains. 
As  a  court-lady  thinks  herself  disgraced 
To  dance  with  dowdies  at  a  May-pole  feast. 

If  in  this  kind  you  will  attempt  to  write. 
You  must  no  broad  and  clownish  words  admit ; 
Nor  must  you  so  confound  your  characters, 
As  not  to  mind  what  person  'tis  appears. 
Take  a  known  subject,  and  invent  it  well. 
And  let  your  style  be  smooth  and  natural; 
Though  others  think  it  easy  to  attain. 
They'll  find  it  hard,  and  ii^^itate  in  vain: 
So  much  does  method  and  connexion  grace 
The  commonest  things,  the  plainest  matters  raise. 

In  my  opinion,  'tis  absurd  and  odd 
To  make  wild  satyrs,  coming  from  the  wood. 
Speak  the  fine  language  of  the  Park  and  Mall, 
As  if  they  had  their  training  at  Whitehall.  -^ 


156  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Yet,  though  I  would  not  have  their  words  too  quaint, 

Much  less  can  I  allow  them  impudent; 

For  men  of  breeding  and  of  quality 

Must  needs  be  shocked  with  fulsome  ribaldry, 

Which,  though  it  pass  the  footboy  and  the  cit, 

Is  always  nauseous  to  the  box  and  pit. 

There  are  but  few,  who  have  such  skilful  ears, 
To  judge  of  artless  and  ill-measured  verse. 
This  till  of  late  was  hardly  understood, 
And  still  there's  too  much  liberty  allowed. 
But  will  you  therefore  be  so  much  a  fool 
To  write  at  random,  and  neglect  a  rule? 
Or,  while  your  faults  are  set  to  general  "vdew, 
Hope  all  men  should  be  blind,  or  pardon  you? 
Who  would  not  such  foolhardiness  condemn, 
Where,  though  perchance  you  may  escape  from  blame, 
Yet  praise  you  never  can  expect,  or  claim? 
Therefore  be  sure  you  study  to  apply 
To  the  great  patterns  of  antiquity ; 
Ne'er  lay  the  Greeks  and  Romans  out  of  sight, 
Ply  them  by  day,  and  think  on  them  by  night. 
Rough  hobbling  numbers  were  allowed  for  rhyme, 
And  clench  for  deep  conceit  in  former  time; 
With  too  much  patience  (not  to  call  it  worse) 
Both  were  applauded  in  our  ancestors; 
If  you  or  I  have  sense  to  judge  aright, 
Betwixt  a  quibble  and  true  sterling  wit ; 
Or  ear  enough  to  give  the  difference 
Of  sweet  well  sounding  verse  from  doggrel  strains. 

Thespis,  'tis  said,  did  tragedy  devise. 
Unknown  before,  and  rude  at  its  first  rise; 
In  carts  the  gypsy  actors  strolled  about. 
With  faces  smeared  with  lees  of  wine  and  soot. 
And  through  the  towns  amused  the  wondering  rout ; 
Till  ^schylus  appearing  to  the  age, 
Contrived  a  playhouse,  and  convenient  stage, 
Found  out  the  use  of  vizards,  and  a  dress, 
(A  handsomer,  and  more  genteel  disguise) 


IMITATED    IN   ENGLISH.  157 

And  taught  the  actors  with  a  stately  air 
And  mien  to  speak,  and  tread,  and  whatsoe'er 
Gave  port  and  grandeur  to  the  theatre. 

Next  this,  succeeded  ancient  comedy, 
With  good  applause,  till  too  much  liberty, 
Usurped  by  writers,  had  debauched  the  stage, 
And  made  it  grow  the  grievance  of  the  age ; 
No  merit  was  secure,  no  person  free 
Prom  its  licentious  buffoonery; 
Till  for  redress  the  magistrate  was  fain 
By  law  those  insolencies  to  restrain. 

Our  authors  in  each  kind  their  praise  may  claim, 
Who  leave  no  paths  untrod  that  lead  to  fame ; 
And  well  they  merit  it,  who  scorned  to  be 
So  much  the  vassals  of  antiquity. 
As  those  who  know  no  better  than  to  cloy 
With  the  old  musty  tales  of  Thebes  and  Troy, 
But  boldly  the  dull  beaten  track  forsook. 
And  subjects  from  our  country-story  took. 
Nor  would  our  nation  less  in  wit  appear, 
Than  in  its  great  performances  of  war. 
Were  there  encouragements  to  bribe  our  care, 
Would  we  to  file  and  finish  spare  the  pains, 
And  add  but  justness  to  our  manly  sense. 
But,  sir,  let  nothing  tempt  you  to  belie 
Your  skill  and  judgment,  by  mean  flattery; 
Never  pretend  to  like  a  piece  of  wit, 
But  what  you're  certain  is  correctly  writ ; 
But  what  has  stood  all  tests,  and  is  allowed 
By  all  to  be  unquestionably  good. 

Because  some  wild  enthusiasts  there  be. 
Who  bar  the  rules  of  art  in  poetry. 
Would  have  it  rapture  all,  and  scarce  admit 
A  man  of  sober  sense  to  be  a  wit ; 
Others  by  this  conceit  have  been  misled 
So  much,  that  they're  grown  statutably  mad ; 
The  sots  affect  to  be  retired  alone. 
Court  solitude,  and  conversation  sh\in. 


158  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Tn  dirty  clotlies  and  a  wild  garb  appear, 

And  scarce  are  brought  to  cut  their  nails  and  hair, 

And  hope  to  purchase  credit  and  esteem. 

When  they,  like  Cromwell's  porter,*  frantic  seem ; 

Strange !  that  the  very  height  of  lunacy, 

Beyond  the  cure  of  Allen, t  e'er  should  be 

A  mark  of  the  elect  in  poetry. 

How  much  an  ass  am  I  that  used  to  bleed, 

And  take  a  purge  each  spring  to  clear  my  head ! 

None  otherwise  would  be  so  good  as  I, 

At  lofty  strains,  and  rants  of  poetry ; 

But,  faith,  I  am  not  yet  so  fond  of  fame, 

To  lose  my  reason  for  a  poet's  name. 

Though  I  myself  am  not  disposed  to  write, 

In  others  I  may  serve  to  sharpen  wit; 

Acquaint  them  what  a  poet's  duty  is, 

And  how  he  shall  perform  it  with  success; 

Whence  the  materials  for  his  work  are  sought, 

And  how  with  skilful  art  they  must  be  wrought ; 

And  show  what  is,  and  is  not,  decency, 

And  where  his  faults  and  excellencies  lie. 

Good  sense  must  be  the  certain  standard  still. 
To  all  that  will  pretend  to  writing  well ; 
If  you'll  arrive  at  that,  you  needs  must  be 
Well  versed  and  grounded  in  philosophy; 
Then  choose  a  subject  which  you  thoroughly  know, 
And  words  unsought  thereon  will  easy  flow. 
Whoe'er  will  write,  must  diligently  mind 
The  several  sorts  and  ranks  of  human  kind ; 
He  that  has  learned  what  to  his  country's  due. 
What  we  to  parents,  friends,  and  kindred  owe. 
What  charge  a  statesman  or  a  judge  does  bear, 
And  what  the  parts  of  a  commander  are. 
Will  ne'er  be  at  a  loss  (he  may  be  sure) 
To  give  each  person  their  due  portraiture. 

*  A  poor  fellow,  so  called,  who  died  in  Bedlam, 
t  Dr.  Thomas   Allen,  to  whom  some  allusions  will  be   found  in 
Pepys. 


IMITATED    IN   ENGLISH.  159 

Take  human  life  for  your  original, 
Keep  but  your  draughts  to  that,  you'll  never  fail. 
Sometimes  in  plays,  though  else  but  badly  writ, 
With  nought  of  force  or  grace  of  art  or  wit, 
Some  one  well-humoured  character  we  meet, 
That  takes  us  more  than  all  the  empty  scenes, 
And  jingling  toys  of  more  elaborate  pens. 

Greece  had  command  of  language,  wit,  and  sense, 
For  cultivating  which  she  spared  no  pains; 
Glory  her  sole  design,  and  all  her  aim 
Was  how  to  gain  herself  immortal  fame. 
Our  English  youth  another  way  are  bred, 
They're  fitted  for  apprenticeship  and  trade, 
And  Wingate's  all  the  authors  which  they've  read. 
'  The  boy  has  been  a  year  at  writing-school. 
Has  learned  division  and  the  golden  rule ; 
Scholar  enough !'  cries  the  old  doting  fool, 
'  I'll  hold  a  piece,  he'll  prove  an  Alderman, 
And  come  to  sit  at  church  with 's  furs  and  chain.' 
This  is  the  top  design,  the  only  praise, 
And  sole  ambition  of  the  booby  race. 
While  this  base  spirit  in  the  age  does  reign. 
And  men  mind  nought  but  wealth  and  sordid  gain. 
Can  we  expect  or  hope  it  should  bring  forth 
A  work  in  poetry  of  any  worth. 
Fit  for  the  learned  Bodley  to  admit 
Among  its  sacred  monuments  of  wit  ? 

A  poet  should  inform  us,  or  divert. 
But  joining  both  he  shows  his  chief  est  art. 
Whatever  precepts  you  pretend  to  give. 
Be  sure  to  lay  them  down  both  clear  and  brief; 
By  that,  they're  easier  far  to  apprehend, 
By  this,  more  faithfully  preserved  in  mind ; 
All  things  superfluous  are  apt  to  cloy 
The  judgment,  and  surcharge  the  memory. 

Let  whatsoe'er  of  fiction  you  bring  in, 
Be  so  like  truth,  to  seem  at  least  akin; 


160  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Do  not  improbabilities  conceive, 

And  hope  to  ram  them  into  my  belief; 

Ne'er  make  a  witch  upon  the  stage  appear, 

Riding  enchanted  broomstick  through  the  air; 

Nor  cannibal  a  living  infant  spew, 

Which  he  had  murdered,  and  devoured  but  now. 

The  graver  sort  dislike  all  poetry 

Which  does  not  (as  they  call  it)  edify; 

And  youthful  sparks  as  much  that  wit  despise, 

Which  is  not  strewed  with  pleasant  gaieties; 

But  he  that  has  the  knack  of  mingling  well 

What  is  of  use  with  what's  agreeable. 

That  knows  at  once  how  to  instruct  and  please, 

Is  justly  crowned  by  all  men's  suffrages : 

These  are  the  works,  which,  valued  everywhere, 

Enrich  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  the  stationer; 

These,  admiration  through  all  nations  claim, 

And  through  all  ages  spread  their  author's  fame. 

Yet  there  are  faults  wherewith  we  ought  to  bearj 
An  instrument  may  sometimes  chance  to  jar 
In  the  best  hand,  in  spite  of  all  its  care ; 
Nor  have  I  known  that  skilful  marksman  yet 
So  fortunate,  who  never  missed  the  white. 
But  where  I  many  excellencies  find, 
I'm  not  so  nicely  critical  to  mind 
Each  slight  mistake  an  author  may  produce, 
Which  human  trailty  justly  may  excuse. 
Yet  he,  who  having  oft  been  taught  to  mend 
A  fault,  will  still  pursue  it  to  the  end, 
Is  like  that  scraping  fool,  who  the  same  note 
Is  ever  playing,  and  is  ever  out ; 
And  silly  as  that  bubble  every  whit. 
Who  at  the  self-same  blot  is  always  hit. 
When  such  a  lewd  incorrigible  sot 
Lights  by  mere  chance  upon  some  happy  thought, 
Among  such  filthy  trash  I  vex  to  see't. 
And  wonder  how  the  devil  he  came  by't. 


IMITATED    IN   ENGLISH.  161 

In  works  of  bulk  and  length  we  now  and  then 
May  grant  an  author  to  be  overseen ; 
Homer  himself,  how  sacred  e'er  he  is, 
Yet  claims  not  a  pretence  to  faultlessness. 

Poems  with  pictures  a  resemblance  bear; 
Some,  best  at  distance,  shun  a  view  too  near; 
Others  are  bolder,  and  stand  off  to  sight ; 
These  love  the  shade,  those  choose  the  clearest  light, 
And  dare  the  survey  of  the  skilfullest  eyes ; 
Some  once,  and  some  ten  thousand  times  will  please. 

Sir,  though  yourself  so  much  of  knowledge  own 
In  these  affairs,  that  you  can  learn  of  none, 
Yet  mind  this  certain  truth  which  I  lay  down : 
Most  callings  else  do  deference  allow, 
Where  ordinary  parts,  and  skill  may  do ; 
I've  known  physicians  who  respect  might  claim, 
Though  they  ne'er  rose  to  Willis's  *  great  fame ; 
And  there  are  preachers  who  have  gi^eat  renown, 
Yet  ne'er  come  up  to  Sprat,  or  Tillotson; 
And  counsellors,  or  pleaders  in  the  Hall, 
May  have  esteem  and  practice,  though  they  fall 
Far  short  of  smooth-tongued  Finch  in  eloquence. 
Though  they  want  Selden's  learning,  Yaughan's  sense ; 
But  verse  alone  does  of  no  mean  admit ; 
Whoe'er  will  please,  must  please  us  to  the  height; 
He  must  a  Cowley  or  a  Flecknoet  be, 
For  there's  no  second-rate  in  poetry. 
A  dull  insipid  waiter  none  can  bear, 
In  every  place  he  is  the  public  jeer. 
And  lumber  of  the  shops  and  stationer. 

No  man  that  understands  to  make  a  feast, 
With  a  coarse  dessert  will  offend  his  guest. 


*  Dr.  "Willis  was  the  most  celebrated  physician  of  his  day.  Lower, 
with  whom  Oldham  was  intimate,  was  his  pupil  and  friend,  and  suc- 
ceeded him  in  his  practice. 

t  The  Irish  priest  immortalized  by  Dryden's  satire.  A  curious  sketch 
of  him  appears  in  Marvel's  poems. 

OLDHAM.  11 


162  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Or  bring  ill  music  in  to  grate  the  ear, 
Because  'tis  what  the  entertained  might  spare : 
'Tis  the  same  case  with  those  that  deal  in  wit, 
Whose  main  design  and  end  should  be  delight ; 
They  must  by  this  same  sentence  stand,  or  fall, 
Be  highly  excellent,  or  not  at  all. 

In  all  things  else,  save  only  poetry. 
Men  show  some  signs  of  common  modesty. 
You'll  hardly  find  a  fencer  so  unwise, 
"Who  at  Bear-garden  e'er  will  fight  a  prize, 
Not  having  learnt  before ;  nor  at  a  wake 
One,  that  wants  skill  and  strength,  the  girdle  take, 
Or  be  so  vain  the  ponderous  weight  to  sling, 
For  fear  they  should  be  hissed  out  of  the  ring.* 
Yet  every  coxcomb  will  pretend  to  verse. 
And  write  in  spite  of  nature  and  his  stars ; 
All  sorts  of  subjects  challenge  at  this  time 
The  liberty  and  property  of  rhyme,  t 
The  sot  of  honour,  fond  of  being  great 
By  something  else  than  title  and  estate. 
As  if  a  patent  gave  him  claim  to  sense. 
Or  'twere  entailed  with  an  inheritance, 
Believes  a  cast  of  footboys,  and  a  set 
Of  Flanders  X  must  advance  him  to  a  wit. 
But  you  who  have  the  judgment  to  descry 
Where  you  excel,  which  way  your  talents  lie, 


*  Thro\ving  for  the  hammer,  leaping  for  slippers,  and  dancing  for 
the  ring  were  amongst  the  sports  practised  at  wakes.  See  Brand's 
Antiquities,  by  Ellis :  Herriot's  Hesperides. 

t  Dryden  had  brought  rhyme  into  universal  fashion  by  his  use  and 
defence  of  it  in  his  heroic  plays.  But  he  had  renounced  the  heresy  three 
years  before  this  poem  of  Oldham's  was  published.  His  recantation 
dates  from  the  production  of  All  for  Love  (the  only  play,  according  to 
Dr.  Johnson,  he  wrote  to  please  himself),  in  i678.  It  was  not  so  easy, 
however,  to  check  the  impulse  he  had  given  to  the  use  of  rhyme,  and 
we  here  learn  from  Oldham  that  it  was  the  common  vice  of  every  cox- 
comb about  town. 

t  Flemish  barbs  were  in  general  request  amongst  people  of  quality, 
and  are  frequently  mentioned  in  the  comedies  of  the  Restoration. 
Some  of  the  nobility  used  to  drive  six  Flemish  horses  in  the  time  of 
Elizabeth.     The  custom  is  alluded  to  by  Ma.ssiuyer. 


IMITATED    IN    ENGLISH.  163 

I'm  sure  will  never  be  induced  to  strain 

Your  genius,  or  attempt  against  your  vein. 

Yet  (this  let  me  advise)  if  e'er  you  write, 

Let  none  of  your  composures  see  the  light 

Till  they've  been  thoroughly  weighed,  and  passed  the  test 

Of  all  those  judges  who  are  thought  the  best; 

While  in  your  desk  they're  locked  up  from  the  press, 

You've  power  to  correct  them  as  you  please; 

But  when  they  once  come  forth  to  view  of  all, 

Your  faults  are  chronicled,  and  past  recall. 

Orpheus,  the  first  of  the  inspired  train, 
By  force  of  powerful  numbei-s  did  restrain 
Mankind  from  rage  and  bloody  cruelty, 
And  taught  the  barbarous  world  civility; 
Hence  rose  the  fiction,  which  the  poets  framed, 
That  lions  were  by's  tuneful  magic  tamed, 
And  tigers,  charmed  by  his  harmonious  lays, 
Grew  gentle,  and  laid  by  their  savageness. 
Hence  that  which  of  Amphion  too  they  tell, 
The  power  of  whose  miraculous  lute  could  call 
The  well-placed  stones  into  the  Theban  wall. 
Wondrous  were  the  efiects  of  primitive  verse, 
Which  settled  and  reformed  the  universe; 
This  did  all  things  to  their  due  ends  reduce. 
To  public,  private,  sacred,  civil  use; 
Marriage  foi  weighty  causes  was  ordained. 
That  bridled  lust,  and  lawless  love  restrained ; 
Cities  with  walls,  and  rampiers  were  enclosed, 
And  property  with  wholesome  laws  disposed; 
And  bounds  were  fixed  of  equity  and  right, 
To  guard  weak  innocence  from  wrongful  might. 
Hence  poets  have  been  held  a  sacred  name. 
And  placed  them  wdth  first-ra.tes  in  the  lists  of  fame. 
Next  these,  great  Homer  to  the  world  appeared, 
Around  the  globe  his  loud  alarms  were  heard, 
Which  all  the  brave  to  warlike  action  fired; 
And  Hesiod  after  him  with  useful  skill 
Gave  lessons  to  instruct  the  ploughman's  toil. 

11—3 


164  Horace's  art  of  poetry, 

Verse  was  the  language  of  the  gods  of  old, 

In  -which  their  sacred  oracles  were  told ; 

In  verse  were  the  first  rules  of  virtue  taught, 

And  doctrine  thence,  as  now  from  pulpits  sought; 

By  verse  some  have  the  love  of  princes  gained, 

Who  oft  vouchsafe  so  to  be  entertained, 

And  with  a  muse  their  weighty  cares  unbend. 

Then  think  it  no  disparagement,  dear  sir. 

To  own  yourself  a  member  of  that  choir 

Whom  kings  esteem,  and  Heaven  does  inspire. 

Concerning  poets  there  has  been  contest, 
Whether  they're  made  by  art  or  nature  best; 
But  if  I  may  presume  in  this  afiair. 
Amongst  the  rest  my  judgment  to  declare, 
No  art  without  a  genius  will  avail. 
And  parts  without  the  help  of  art  will  fail : 
But  both  ingredients  jointly  must  unite 
To  make  the  happy  character  complete. 

None  at  Newmarket  ever  won  the  prize, 
But  used  his  airings  and  his  exercise. 
His  courses  and  his  diets  long  before, 
And  wine  and  women  for  a  time  forbore ; 
Nor  is  there  any  singing-man,  we  know, 
Of  good  repute  in  a  cathedral  now. 
But  was  a  learner  once,  he'll  freely  own. 
And  by  long  practice  to  that  skill  has  grown. 
But  each  conceited  dunce,  without  pretence 
To  the  least  grain  of  learning,  parts,  or  sense, 
Or  anything  but  hardened  impudence. 
Sets  up  for  poetry,  and  dares  engage 
With  all  the  topping  writers  of  the  age : 
*  Why  should  not  he  put  in  among  the  rest  ? 
Damn  him !  he  scorns  to  come  behind  the  best; 
Declares  himself  a  wit,  and  vows  to  draw 
On  the  next  man,  whoe'er  disowns  him  sa' 

Scribblers  of  quality  who  have  estate, 
To  gain  applauding  fools  at  any  rate, 


IMITATED   IN    ENGLISH.  165 

Practise  as  many  tricks  as  shopkeepers 

To  force  a  trade,  and  put  off  naughty  wares. 

Some  hire  the  house  their  follies  to  expose, 

And  are  at  charge  to  be  ridiculous; 

Others,  with  wine  and  ordinaries  treat 

A  needy  rabble  to  cry  up  their  wit : 

'Tis  strange,  that  such  should  the  true  difference  find 

Betwixt  a  spunging  knave  and  faithful  friend. 

Take  heed  how  you  e'er  prostitute  your  sense 

To  such  a  fawning  crew  of  sycophants ; 

All  signs  of  being  pleased  the  rogues  will  feign, 

Wonder,  and  bless  themselves  at  every  line ; 

Swearing,  '  Tis  soft !  'tis  charming !  'tis  divine !' 

Here  they'll  look  pale,  as  if  surprised, — and  there. 

In  a  disguise  of  grief,  squeeze  out  a  tear ; 

Oft  seem  transported  with  a  sudden  joy, 

Stamp  and  lift  up  their  hands  in  ecstasy; 

But  if  by  chance  your  back  once  turned  appear, 

You'll  have  'em  straight  put  out  their  tongues  in  jeer, 

Or  point,  or  gibe  you  with  a  scornful  sneer. 

As  they  who  truly  grieve  at  funerals,  show 

Less  outward  sorrow  than  hired  mourners  do, 

So  true  admirers  less  concernment  wear 

Before  your  face  than  the  sham  flatterer. 

They  tell  of  kings,  who  never  would  admit 
A  confidant,  or  bosom  favourite. 
Till  store  of  wine  had  made  his  secrets  float, 
And  by  that  means  they'd  found  his  temper  out. 
'Twere  well  if  poets  knew  some  way  like  this, 
How  to  discern  their  friends  from  enemies. 

Had  you  consulted  learned  Ben  of  old. 
He  would  your  faults  impartially  have  told : 
'  This  verse  correction  wants,'  he  would  have  said, 
'  And  so  does  this.'   If  you  replied,  you  had 
To  little  purpose  several  trials  made — 
He  presently  would  bid  you  strike  a  dash 
On  all,  and  put  in  better  in  the  place; 


166  Horace's  art  of  poetry. 

But  if  he  found  you  once  a  stubborn  sot, 

That  would  not  be  corrected  in  a  fault, 

He  would  no  more  his  pains  and  counsel  spend 

On  an  abandoned  fool  that  scorned  to  mend; 

But  bid  you  in  the  devil's  name  go  on, 

And  hug  your  dear  impertinence  alone. 

A  trusty  knowing  friend  will  boldly  dare 
To  give  his  sense  and  judgment,  wheresoe'er 
He  sees  a  fault :   '  Here,  sir,  good  faith,  you're  low, 
And  must  some  heightning  on  the  place  bestow; 
There,  if  you  mind,  the  rhyme  is  harsh  and  rough, 
A.nd  should  be  softened  to  go  smoothlier  off; 
Your  strokes  are  here  of  varnish  left  too  bare, 
Your  colours  there  too  thick  laid  on  appear; 
Your  metaphor  is  coarse,  that  phrase  not  pure. 
This  word  improper,  and  that  sense  obscure.' 
In  fine,  you'll  find  him  a  strict  censurer. 
That  will  not  your  least  negligences  spare 
Through  a  vain  fear  of  disobliging  you. 
They  are  but  slight  and  trivial  things,  'tis  true; 
Yet  these  same  trifles  (take  a  poet's  word) 
Matter  of  high  importance  will  afibrd. 
Whene'er  by  means  of  them  you  come  to  be 
Exposed  to  laughter,  scorn,  and  infamy. 

Not  those  with  '  Lord  have  mercy !'  on  their  doors, 
Venom  of  adders,  or  infected  whores, 
Are  dreaded  worse  by  men  of  sense  and  wit, 
Than  a  mad  scribbler  in  his  raving  fit ; 
Like  dog,  whose  tail  is  pegged  into  a  bone. 
The  hooting  rabble  all  about  the  town 
Pursue  the  cur,  and  pelt  him  up  and  down. 
Should  this  poor  frantic,  as  he  passed  along, 
Intent  on  's  rhyming  work  amidst  the  throng, 
Into  Fleet-ditch,  or  some  deep  cellar  fall. 
And  till  he  rent  his  throat  for  succour  bawl. 
No  one  would  lend  an  helping  hand  at  call ; 
For  who,  the  plague !  could  guess  at  his  design, 
Whether  he  did  not  for  the  nonce  drop  in? 


THE   PRAISE    OF   HOMER.  167 

I'd  tell  you,  sir,  but  questionless  you've  heard 
Of  the  odd  end  of  a  Sicilian  bard : 
Fond  to  be  deemed  a  god,  this  fool,  it  seems. 
In  's  fit  leapt  headlong  into  Etna's  flames. 
Troth,  I  could  be  content  an  act  might  pass. 
Such  poets  should  have  leave,  whene'er  they  please, 
To  die,  and  rid  us  of  our  grievances. 
A  God's  name  let  'em  hang,  or  drown,  or  choose 
What  other  way  they  will  themselves  dispose ; 
Why  should  we  life  against  their  wills  impose? 
Might  that  same  fool  I  mentioned  now  revive. 
He  would  not  be  reclaimed,  I  dare  believe, 
But  soon  be  playing  his  odd  freaks  again, 
And  still  the  same  capricious  hopes  retain. 
'Tis  hard  to  guess,  and  harder  to  allege. 
Whether  for  parricide,  or  sacrilege. 
Or  some  more  strange,  unknown,  and  horrid  crime. 
Done  in  their  own,  or  their  forefathers'  time, 
These  scribbling  wretches  have  been  damned  to  rhyme  : 
But  certain  'tis,  for  such  a  cracked-brained  race 
Bedlam,  or  Hogsdon,  is  the  fittest  place. 
Without  their  keepers  you  had  better  choose 
To  meet  the  lions  of  the  Tower  broke  loose, 
Than  these  wild  savage  rhymers  in  the  street, 
Who  with  their  verses  worry  all  they  meet; 
In  vain  you  would  release  yourself;  so  close  ' 
The  leeches  cleave,  that  there's  no  getting  loose. 
Remorseless  they  to  no  entreaties  yield. 
Till  you  are  with  inhuman  nonsense  killed. 


THE   PRAISE    OF   HO.MEB. 

ODE. 

I 

HAIL,  God  of  Verse !  pardon  that  thus  I  take  in  vain 
Thy  sacred,  everlasting  name. 
And  in  unhallowed  lines  blaspheme : 
Pardon,  that  with  strange  fire  thy  altars  I  profane. 


168  THE    PRAISE    OF    HOMER. 

Hail  thou !  to  whom  we  mortal  bards  our  faith  submit, 
Whom  we  acknowledge  our  sole  text,  and  holy  writ : 

None  other  judge  infallible  we  own. 
But  thoU;  who  art  the  canon  of  authentic  wit  alone. 

Thou  art  the  unexhausted  ocean,  whence 
Sprung  first,  and  still  do  flow  the  eternal  rills  of  sense. 

To  none  but  thee  our  art  divine  we  owe, 
From  whom  it  had  its  rise,  and  full  perfection  too. 
Thou  art  the  mighty  bank,  that  ever  dost  supply 
Throughout  the  world  the  whole  poetic  company ; 

With  thy  vast  stock  alone  they  traffic  for  a  name, 
And  send  their  glorious  ventures  out  to  all  the  coasts 
of  fame. 


How  trulier  blind  was  dull  antiquity, 
W^ho  fastened  that  unjust  reproach  on  thee ! 

Who  can  the  senseless  tale  believe? 
Who  can  to  the  false  legend  credit  give. 
Or  think  thou  wantedst  sight,  by  whom  all  others  see  ? 

What  land,  or  region,  how  remote  soe'er. 
Does  not  so  well  described  in  thy  great  draughts  appear. 
That  each  thy  native  country  seems  to  be,        [thee? 
And  each  t'  have  been  surveyed,  and  measured  out  by 
Whatever  earth  does  in  her  pregnant  bowels  bear, 
Or  on  her  fruitful  surface  wear ; 
Whate'er  the  spacious  fields  of  air  contain, 
Or  far  extended  territories  of  the  main ; 
Is  by  thy  skilful  pencil  so  exactly  shown, 
W^e  scarce  discern  where  thou,  or  nature  best  has  drawn. 
Nor  is  thy  quick  all-piercing  eye 
Or  checked,  or  bounded  here; 
But  farther  does  surpass,  and  farther  does  descry, 

Beyond  the  travels  of  the  sun,  and  year. 
Beyond  this  glorious  scene  of  starry  tapestry. 
Where  the  vast  purlieus  of  the  sky. 
And  boundless  waste  of  nature  lies, 
Thy  voyages  thou  makest,  and  bold  discoveries. 


THE    PRAISE    OF    HOMER.  169 

What  there  the  gods  in  parliament  debate, 

What  votes,  or  acts  i'th'  heavenly  houses  pass, 

By  thee  so  well  communicated  was, 

As  if  thou'dst  been  of  that  cabal  of  state. 
As  if  thou  hadst  been  sworn  the  privy  counsellor  of 
fate. 

3 
What   chief  who    does  thy  warrior's   great   exploits 
survey. 

Will  not  aspire  to  deeds  as  great  as  they? 

What  generous  readers  would  he  not  inspire 
With  the  same  gallant  heat,  the  same  ambitious  fire  1 
Methinks  from  Ida's  top  with  noble  joy  I  view 
The  warlike  squadrons,  by  his  daring  conduct  led ; 
I  see  the  immortal  host  engaging  on  his  side, 
And  him  the  blushing  gods  outdo. 

Where'er  he  does  his  dreadful  standards  bear. 
Horror  stalks  in  the  van,  and  slaughter  in  the  rear ; 

Whole  swarms  of  enemies  his  sword  does  mow, 

And  limbs  of  mangled  chiefs  his  passage  strew, 

And  floods  of  reeking  gore  the  field  o'erflow ; 

While  Heaven's  dread  monarch  from  his  throne  of 
state, 

With  high  concern  upon  the  fight  looks  down, 
And  wrinkles  his  majestic  brow  into  a  frown, 

To  see  bold  man,  like  him,  distribute  fate. 

4 

While  the  great  Macedonian  youth  in  nonage  grew, 
Kor  yet  by  charter  of  his  years  set  free 
From  guardians,  and  their  slavish  tyranny, 
Ko  tutor,  but  the  budge  philosophers  he  knew ; 
And  well  enough  the  grave  and  useful  tools 
Might  serve  to  read  him  lectures,  and  to  please 
With  unintelligible  jargon  of  the  schools, 
And  airy  terms  and  notions  of  the  colleges ; 
They  might  the  art  of  prating  and  of  brawling  teach, 
And  some  insipid  homilies  of  virtue  preach; 


l^'O  THE    PRAISE    OF   HOMER. 

But  when  the  mighty  pupil  had  outgrown 
Their  musty  discipline,  when  manlier  thoughts  pos- 
His  generous  princely  breast,  [sessed 

Now  ripe  for  empire  and  a  crown. 
And  filled  with  lust  of  honour  and  renown. 

He  then  learnt  to  contemn 
The  despicable  things,  the  men  of  phlegm ; 
Straight  he  to  the  dull  pedants  gave  release, 
And  a  more  noble  master  straight  took  place : — 
Thou,  who  the  Grecian  warrior  so  couldst  praise, 
As  might  in  him  just  envy  raise, 

Who,  one  would  think,  had  been  himself  too  high  ' 
To  envy  anything  of  all  mortality, 

'Twas  thou  that  taught'st  him  lessons  loftier  far. 

The  art  of  reigning,  and  the  art  of  war. 

And  wondrous  was  the  progress  which  he  made. 

While  he  the  acts  of  thy  great  pattern  read. 
The  world   too   narrow  for  his   boundless  conquests 
grew. 

He  conquered  one,  and  wished,  and  wept  for  new; 

From  thence  he  did  those  miracles  produce, 
And  fought,  and  vanquished  by  the  conduct  of  a  muse. 

5 

No  wonder  rival  nations  quarrelled  for  thy  birth, 
A  prize  of  greater  and  of  higher  worth 
Than  that  which  led  whole  Greece  and  Asia  forth. 
Than  that  for  which  thy  mighty  hero  fought. 

And  Troy  with  ten  years'  war,   and  its  destruction 
bought. 

Well  did  they  think  it  noble  to  have  borne  that  name. 

Which  the  whole  world  would  with  ambition  claim; 
Well  did  they  temples  raise 

To  thee,  at  whom  nature  herself  stood  in  amaze, 
A  work  she  never  tried  to  amend,  nor  could, 

In  which  mistaking  man,  by  chance  she  formed  a  god. 

How  gladly  would  our  willing  isle  resign 

Her  fabulous  Arthur,  and  her  boasted  Constantine, 


THE    PRAISE    OF    HOMER.  171 

And  half  her  worthies  of  the  Norman  line,     [thine ! 
And  quit  the  honour  of  their  births  to  be  ensured  to 

How  justly  might  it  the  wise  choice  approve, 
Prouder  in  this  than  Crete  to  have    brought   forth 
Almighty  Jove! 

6 

Unhappy  we,  thy  British  offspring  here, 
"Who  strive  by  thy  great  model  monuments  to  rear; 

In  vain  for  worthless  fame  we  toil, 
Who're  pent  in  the  straight  limits  of  a  narrow  isle ; 
In  vain  our  force  and  art  we  spend 
With  noble  labours  to  enrich  our  land,  [stand. 

Which  none  beyond  our  shores  vouchsafe  to  under- 
Be  the  fair  structure  ne'er  so  well  designed, 
The  parts  with  ne'er  so  much  proportion  joined,  , 
Yet  foreign  bards  (such  is  their  pride  or  prejudice) 
All  the  choice  workmanship  for  the  materials'  sake 
despise. 
But  happier  thou  thy  genius  didst  dispense 
In  language  universal  as  thy  sense; 
All  the  rich  bullion  which  thy  sovereign  stamp  does 
On  every  coast  of  wit  does  equal  value  bear,        [wear, 
Allowed  by  all,  and  current  everywhere. 
No  nation  yet  has  been  so  barbarous  found, 
Where  thy  transcendent  worth  was  not  renowned. 
Throughout  the  world  thou  art  with  wonder  read, 
Wherever  learning  does  its  commerce  spread, 
Wherever  fame  with  all  her  tongues  can  speak, 
Wherever  the  bright  god  of  wit  does  his  vast  joiu-neys 
take. 

7 
Happy  above  mankind  that  envied  name. 
Which  fate  ordained  to  be  thy  glorious  theme : 
What  greater  gift  could  bounteous  Heaven  bestow 

On  its  chief  favourite  below? 
What  nobler  trophy  could  his  high  deserts  befit, 
Than  these  thy  vast  erected  pyramids  of  wit  ? 


172  THE    PRAISE    OF   HOMER. 

Not  statues  cast  in  solid  brass, 
Nor  those,  which  art  in  breathing  marble  does  express, 

Can  boast  an  equal  life,  or  lastingness. 

With  their  well- polished  images,  which  claim 
A  niche  in  thy  majestic  monuments  of  fame. 
Here  their  embalmed,  incorruptible  memories 
Can  proudest  Louvres  and  Escurials  despise. 
And  all  the  needless  helps  of  Egypt's  costly  vanities. 

No  blasts  of  Heaven,  or  ruin  of  the  spheres, 

Not  all  the  washing  tides  of  rolling  years, 
Nor  the  whole  race  of  battering  time  shall  e'er  wear 
out 

The  great  inscriptions  which  thy  hand  has  wrought ; 
Here  thou  and  they  shall  live,  and  bear  an  endless 

date, 
Firm  as  enrolled  in  the  eternal  register  of  fate. 

Por  ever  cursed  be  that  mad  emperor, 
(And  cursed  enough  he  is,  be  sure) 

May  future  poets  on  his  hated  name 

Shed  all  their  gall  and  foulest  infamy. 
And  may  it  here  stand  branded  with  eternal  shame, 
Who  thought  thy  works  could  mortal  be, 

And  sought  the  glorious  fabric  to  destroy. 

In  this  (could  fate  permit  it  to  be  done) 

His  damned  successor  he  had  outgone. 
Who  Rome  and  all  its  palaces  in  ashes  laid, 
And  the  great  ruins  with  a  savage  joy  surveyed : 
He  burned  but  what  might  be  rebuilt,  and  richer  made; 

But  had  the  impious  wish  succeeded  here, 

'T  had  razed  what  age  nor  art  could  e'er  repair. 
Not  that  vast  universal  flame, 
Which,  at  the  final  doom. 

This  beauteous  work  of  nature  must  consume. 
And  Heaven,  and  all  its  glories,  in  one  urn  entomb. 

Will  burn  a  nobler  or  more  lasting  frame; 

As  firm  and  strong  as  that,  it  shall  endure, 

Through  all  the  injuries  of  time  secure, 
Nor  die,  till  the  whole  world  its  funeral  pile  become. 


173 


THE    THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF  JUVENAL, 
IMITATED.* 

Argcment. — The  Poet  comforts  a  friend  that  is  overmuch  concerned 
for  the  loss  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  of  which  he  has  lately- 
been  cheated  by  a  person  to  whom  he  intrusted  the  same.  This  he 
does  by  showing,  that  nothing  comes  to  pass  in  the  world  without 
Divine  Providence,  and  that  wicked  men  (however  they  seem  to 
escape  its  punishment  here)  yet  suffer  abundantly  in  the  torments 
of  an  evil  conscience.  And,  by  the  way,  takes  occasion  to  lash  the 
degeneracy  and  villany  of  the  present  times. 

n^'HERE  is  not  one  base  act  wliicli  men  commit, 

-^    But  carries  this  ill  sting  along  with  it, 

That  to  the  author  it  creates  regret ; 

And  this  is  some  revenge  at  least,  that  he 

Can  ne'er  acquit  himself  of  villanj. 

Though  a  bribed  judge  and  jury  set  him  free. 

All  people,  sir,  abhor  (as  'tis  but  just) 
Your  faithless  friend,  who  lately  broke  his  trust. 
And  curse  the  treacherous  deed;  but,  thanks  to  fate, 
That  has  uot  blessed  you  with  so  small  estate. 
But  that  with  patience  you  may  bear  the  cross, 
And  need  not  sink  under  so  mean  a  loss. 
Besides,  your  case  for  less  concern  does  call, 
Because  'tis  what  does  usually  befall; 
Ten  thousand  such  might  be  alleged  with  ease, 
Out  of  the  common  crowd  of  instances. 

Then  cease,  for  shame,  immoderate  regret. 
And  don't  your  manhood  and  your  sense  forgot ; 
'Tis  womanish  and  silly  to  lay  forth 
More  cost  in  grief  than  a  misfortune's  worth. t 

*  Written  in  April,  i68z. 
t  "When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended, 

By  knowing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  depended. 
To  mourn  a  mischief  that  is  past  and  gone. 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on. 
What  cannot  be  preserved  when  fortune  takes. 
Patience  her  injury  a  mockery  makes. 
The  robbed  that  smiles  steals  something  from  the  thief; 
He  robs  himself  that  spends  a  bootless  grief. 

Shakespeare. — Othello. 


174  THE   THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OP 

You  scarce  can  bear  a  puny  trifling  ill, 

It  goes  so  deep,  pray  Heaven,  it  does  not  kill ! 

And  all  this  trouble,  and  this  vain  ado. 

Because  a  friend  (forsooth)  has  proved  untrue. 

Shame  o'  your  beard !  can  this  so  much  amaze  1 

Were  you  not  born  in  good  King  Jimmy's  days? 

And  are  not  you  at  length  yet  wiser  grown, 

When  threescore  winters  on  your  head  have  snown? 

Almighty  Wisdom  gives  in  Holy  Writ 
Wholesome  advice  to  all  that  follow  it; 
And  those  that  will  not  its  great  counsels  hear, 
May  learn  from  mere  experience  how  to  bear 
(Without  vain  struggling)  fortune's  yoke,  and  how 
They  ought  her  rudest  shocks  to  undergo. 
There's  not  a  day  so  solemn  through  the  year, 
Not  one  red  letter  in  the  calendar, 
But  we  of  some  new  crime  discovered  hear : 
Theft,  murder,  treason,  perjury,  what  not? 
Money  by  cheating,  padding,  poisoning  got. 
Nor  is  it  strange ;  so  few  are  now  the  good, 
That  fewer  scarce  were  left  at  Noah's  flood ; 
Should  Sodom's  angel  here  in  fire  descend. 
Our  nation  wants  ten  men  to  save  the  land. 
Fate  has  reserved  us  for  the  very  lees 
Of  time,  where  ill  admits  of  no  degrees ; 
An  age  so  bad  old  poets  ne'er  could  frame, 
Nor  find  a  metal  out  to  give  't  a  name. 
This  your  experience  knows,  and  yet  for  all 
On  faith  of  God,  and  man,  aloud  you  call, 
Louder  than  on  Queen  Bess's  day  the  rout 
For  Antichrist  burned  in  e&gy  shout.* 


*  '  The  horrid  designs  and  contrivances  of  the  Papists,'  says  a 
pamphlet,  entitled  An  Account  of  the  Burning  of  the  Pope  at  Temple-har 
(1679), '  for  many  years  past,  for  rooting  out  the  Protestant  religion 
from  under  heaven  in  this  kingdom,  as  well  as  in  all  the  Protestant 
countries  in  Europe,  has  raised  such  a  just  indignation  in  the  breast 
of  every  good  Christian  and  true  Englishman,  that  the  people  of  this 
nation  have,  upon  all  occasions,  endeavoured  to  discover  their  generous 
detestation  of  those  cursed  invaders  of  their  religious  and  civil  liber- 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  175 

But,  tell  me,  sir,  tell  me,  grey-headed  boy, 
Do  you  not  know  wliat  lechery  men  enjoy 
In  stolen  goods?     For  God's  sake  don't  you  see 
How  they  all  laugh  at  your  simplicity. 
When  gravely  you  forewarn  of  perjury? 
Preach  up  a  god,  and  hell,  vain  emf)ty  names, 
Exploded  now  for  idle  threadbare  shams, 

ties.'  One  of  the  occasions  selected  for  the  display  of  this  '  generous 
detestation'  was  that  alluded  to  by  Oldham.  The  commemoration  of 
the  day  when  Queen  Bess  ascended  the  throne,  which  was  celebrated 
in  1(579,  1680,  and  168 1,  by  a  solemn  procession  beginning  at  Moor- 
gate,  and  winding  its  way  through  Bishopsgate- street,  down  Hounds- 
ditch  to  Aldgate,  and  thence  by  Leadenhall-street,  Cornhill,  past  the 
Koyal  Exchange,  through  Cheapside  to  Temple-bar,  where  the  object 
of  the  ceremonial  was  communicated.  First  came  six  whifQers  (pipers 
or  horn  blowers,  who,  going  in  advance,  cleared  the  way) ;  then,  a 
bell-man  ringing  a  bell,  and  calling  out  dolefully,  '  Remember  Justice 
Godfrey  !'  Next  a  figure  representing  the  dead  body  of  the  justice, 
mounted  on  a  white  horse,  with  one  of  his  murderers  behind  to  pre- 
vent him  from  falling  off,  with  spots  of  blood  over  his  dress,  &c.  ;  then 
a  priest,  with  deadmen's  skulls,  giving  out  pardons  to  all  who  would 
undertake  to  murder  Protestants,  another  priest  with  a  cross,  Car- 
melite and  Grey  Friars,  Jesuits  with  bloody  daggers,  followed  by 
bishops,  and  cardinals,  and  the  Pope's  physician  carrying  Jesuit's 
powder  in  one  hand,  and  a  urinal  in  the  other  ;  nnd  lastly  the  Pope  in 
effigy,  in  a  grand  scarlet  chair  of  state,  with  two  boys  at  his  feet,  and 
banners  emblazoned  with  consecrated  daggers  for  murdering  Protestant 
kings  and  princes.  Behind  his  holiness  stood  tlie  devil,  hugging  and 
whispering  him,  and  instructing  him  how  to  set  fire  to  the  city,  to 
destroy  his  Majesty,  and  to  render  other  diabolical  services  to  the  ' 
church.  The  procession  was  closed  by  a  hundred  and  fifty  flambeaux, 
which,  it  being  evening  when  the  demonstration  took  place,  played  a 
conspicuous  part  in  the  pageant.  As  the  procession  advanced,  it  was 
augmented  by  thousands  of  idlers,  who  manifested  their  Protestant 
zeal  by  vociferous  uproar.  Arrived  at  Temple-bar,  where  the  foiu* 
statues  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  James,  and  Charles  I.  and  II.  were 
appropriately  adorned,  and  lighted  up  mth  torches,  the  Pope  was 
brought  up  close  to  the  gate,  and  after  a  song,  written  in  wretched 
doggrel,  was  sung  by  the  assembled  thousands,  a  bonfire  was  made 
into  which  his  holiness  was  tumbled  ;  the  devil,  who,  up  to  this  time, 
had  attended  him  faithfully,  laughing  out  at  the  joke  and  abandoning 
him  to  his  fate.  '  This  last  act  of  his  holiness's  tragedy,'  adds  the 
pamphlet  referred  to,  from  which  these  particulars  are  derived, '  was 
attended  with  such  a  prodigious  shout  of  the  joyful  spectators,  that  it 
might  be  heard  far  beyond  Somerset-house,  and  we  hope  the  sound 
thereof  will  reach  all  Europe.'  Some  account  will  be  found  in  North's 
Examen  of  a  Club,  called  the  Green  Ribbon  Club,  which  sat  in  con- 
clave at  a  neighbouring  tavern  to  arrange  and  direct  their  proceedings. 


176  THE   THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF 

Devised  by  priests,  and  by  none  else  believed, 
E'er  since  great  Hobbes  the  world  has  undeceived!* 

This  might  have  passed  with  the  plain  simple  race 
Of  our  forefathers  in  King  Arthur's  days ; 
Ere  mingling  with  corrupted  foreign  seed, 
We  learned  their  vice,  and  spoiled  our  native  breed ; 
Ere  yet  blessed  Albion,  high  in  ancient  fame, 
With  her  iSrst  innocence  resigned  her  name. 
Fair  dealing  then,  and  downright  honesty, 
And  plighted  faith  were  good  security; 
No  vast  engrossments  for  estates  were  made, 
Nor  deeds,  large  as  the  lands  which  they  conveyed; 
To  bind  a  trust  there  lacked  no  formal  ties 
Of  paper,  wax,  and  seals,  and  witnesses, 
Nor  ready  coin,  but  sterling  promises ; 
Each  took  the  other's  word,  and  that  would  go 
Eor  current  then,  and  more  than  oaths  do  now; 
None  had  recourse  to  Chancery  for  defence, 
Where  you  forego  your  right  with  less  expense; 
Nor  traps  were  yet  set  up  for  perjurers, 
That  catch  men  by  the  heads,  and  whip  off  ears. 
Then  knave,  and  villain,  things  unheard  of  were, 
Scarce  in  a  century  did  one  appear, 
And  he  more  gazed  at  that  a  blazing  star. 
If  a  young  stripling  put  not  off  his  hat 
In  high  respect  to  every  beard  he  met. 
Though  a  lord's  son  and  heir,  'twas  held  a  crime, 
That  scarce  deserved  its  clergy  in  that  time; 
So  venerable  then  was  four  years  odds. 
And  grey  old  heads  were  reverenced  as  gods. 

Now  if  a  friend  once  in  an  age  prove  just. 
If  he  miraculously  keep  his  trust, 
And  without  force  of  law  deliver  all 
That's  due,  both  interest  and  principal, 


*  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury,  whose  Leviathan  brought  down  the  cen- 
sure of  parliament  and  the  special  displeasure  of  the  King,  on  account 
of  its  atheistical  principles.  Hobbes  died  in  1679,  three  years  before  the 
date  of  this  Satire. 


JUVENAL,   IMITATED.  177 

Prodigious  wonder !  fit  for  Stow  to  tell, 

And  stand  recorded  in  his  Chronicle;* 

A  thing  less  memorable  would  requii'e 

As  great  a  monument  as  London  fire. 

A  man  of  faith  and  uprightness  is  grown 

So  strange  a  creature^  both  in  court  and  town. 

That  he  with  elephants  may  well  be  shown  j 

A  monster,  more  uncommon  than  a  whale 

At  Bridge,  the  last  great  comet,  or  the  hail. 

Than  Thames  his  double  tide,  or  should  he  run 

With  streams  of  milk  or  blood  to  Gravesend  down. 

You're  troubled  that  you've  lost  five  hundred  pound 

By  treacherous  fraud ;  another  may  be  found, 

Has  lost  a  thousand ;  and  another  yet. 

Double  to  that ;  perhaps  his  whole  estate. 

Little  do  folks  the  heavenly  powers  mind, 
If  they  but  'scape  the  knowledge  of  mankind. 
Observe,  with  how  demure  and  grave  a  look 
The  rascal  lays  his  hand  upon  the  book; 
Then,  with  a  praying  face  and  lifted  eye, 
Claps  on  his  lips,  and  seals  the  perjury; 
If  you  persist  his  innocence  to  doubt. 
And  boggle  in  belief,  he'll  straight  rap  out 
Oaths  by  the  volley,  each  of  which  would  make 
Pale  atheists  start,  and  trembling  bullies  quake ; 
And  more  than  would  a  whole  ship's  crew  maintain 
To  the  East  Indies  hence,  and  back  again. 
'  As  God  shall  pardon  me,  sir,  I  am  free 
Of  what  you  charge  me  with ;  let  me  ne'er  see 
His  face  in  heaven  else ;  may  these  hands  rot, 
These  eyes  drop  out,  if  I  e'er  had  a  groat 
Of  yours,  or  if  they  ever  touched,  or  saw't.' 


*  John  Stow,  the  antiquary,  like  Speed,  the  contemporary  of  Spel- 
man  and  Cotton,  was  the  son  of  a  tailor,  and  born  in  London  about 
1 5^5.  His  principal  works  were  the  Summary  of  the  Chronicles  of 
England,  and  the  Survey  of  London.  Notwithstanding  the  high  repu- 
tation he  obtained  by  these  valuable  publications,  he  died  in  great 
poverty  at  the  age  of  eighty,  in  i6o5. 

OLDHAM.  12 


178  THE    THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF 

Thus  he'll  run  on  two  hours  in  length,  till  he 
Spin  out  a  curse  long  as  the  Litany; 
Till  heaven  has  scarce  a  judgment  left  in  store 
For  him  to  wish,  deserve,  or  suffer  more. 
There  are,  who  disavow  all  Providence, 
And  think  the  world  is  only  steered  by  chance ; 
Make  God  at  best  an  idle  looker  on, 
A  lazy  monarch  lolling  in  his  throne. 
Who  his  affairs  does  neither  mind,  nor  know, 
But  leaves  them  all  at  random  here  below; 
And  such  at  every  foot  themselves  will  damn. 
And  oaths  no  more  than  common  breath  esteem; 
No  shame,  nor  loss  of  ears,  can  frighten  these, 
Were  every  street  a  grove  of  pillories. 
Others  there  be,  that  own  a  God,  and  fear 
His  vengeance  to  ensue,  and  yet  forswear : 
Thus  to  himself,  says  one,  '  Let  Heaven  decree 
What  doom  soe'er,  its  pleasure  will,  of  me ; 
Strike  me  with  blindness,  palsies,  leprosies, 
Plague,  pox,  consumption,  all  the  maladies 
Of  both  the  Spittles  ;*  so  I  get  my  prize 
And  hold  it  sure ;  I'll  suffer  these,  and  more ; 
All  plagues  are  light  to  that  of  being  poor. 
There's  not  a  begging  cripple  in  the  streets, 
(Unless  he  with  his  limbs  has  lost  his  wits. 
And  is  grown  fit  for  Bedlam)  but  no  doubt 
To  have  his  wealth  would  have  the  rich  man's  gout. 
Grant  Heaven's  vengeance  heavy  be ;  what  though  ? 
The  heaviest  things  move  slowest  still  we  know; 
And,  if  it  punish  all  that  guilty  be, 
'Twill  be  an  age  before  it  come  to  me. 
God,  too,  is  merciful,  as  well  as  just; 
Therefore  I'll  rather  his  forgiveness  trust. 
Than  live  despised  and  poor,  as  thus  I  must ; 
I'll  try  and  hope  he's  more  a  gentleman 
Than  for  such  trivial  things  as  these,  to  damn. 

*  The  hospitals  of  St.  Thomas  in  Southwark,  and  St.  Bartholomew 
in  West  Smithfield, 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  179 

Besides,  for  tlie  same  fact,  we've  often  known 
One  mount  the  cart,  another  mount  the  throne; 
And  foulest  deeds,  attended  with  success, 
No  longer  are  reputed  wickedness, 
Disguised  with  virtue's  livery  and  dress.' 

With  these  weak  arguments  they  fortify, 
And  harden  up  themselves  in  villany; 
The  rascal  now  dares  call  you  to  account. 
And  in  what  court  you  please,  join  issue  on't; 
Next  term  he'll  bring  the  action  to  be  tried, 
And  twenty  witnesses  to  swear  on  's  side ; 
And  if  that  justice  to  his  cause  be  found. 
Expects  a  verdict  of  five  hundred  pound. 
Thus  he,  who  boldly  dares  the  guilt  out-face. 
For  innocent  shall  %vith  the  rabble  pass; 
While  you,  with  impudence  and  sham  run  down, 
Are  only  thought  the  knave  by  all  the  town. 

Meantime,  poor  you  at  heaven  exclaim,  and  rail. 
Louder  than  Jeffreys*  at  the  bar  does  bawl : 
'  Is  there  a  power  above?  and  does  he  hear? 
And  can  he  tamely  thunderbolts  forbear? 
To  what  vain  end  do  we  with  prayers  adore. 
And  on  our  bended  knees  his  aid  implore? 
Where  is  his  rule,  if  no  respect  be  had. 
Of  innocence,  or  guilt,  of  good,  or  bad? 
And  who  henceforth  will  any  credit  show 
To  what  his  lying  priests  teach  here  below? 
If  this  be  providence,  for  aught  I  see, 
Blessed  Saint  Yaninus !  t  I  shall  follow  thee : 


*  Judge  Jeffreys. — See  p.  zi4,  note. 
f  Lucilio  Vanini,  born  at  Tourosano,  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  in. 
i58S.  He  appears  to  have  been  a  physician  by  profession,  but  to  have 
devoted  his  life  to  the  active  diffusion  of  the  doctrines  of  atheism.  He 
was  an  indefatigable  propagandist,  and  travelled  into  Germany  and 
the  Low  Countries,  Geneva,  and  France,  for  the  purpose  of  dissemi- 
nating his  opinions.  In  i6i4he  was  in  London,  where  he  was  im- 
prisoned for  forty-nine  days,  and  he  was  banished  from  Genoa,  where 
he  set  up  as  a  teacher.  After  this  he  attempted  to  reconcile  himself 
to  the  church,  by  pretending  to  undertake  a  refutation  of  the  atheistical 
>vriters,  contriving  insidiously  to  make  his  arguments  in  defence  of 

12—2 


180  THE   THIRTEENTH   SATIRE   OF 

Little's  the  odds  betwixt  such  a  God,  aud  that 
Which  atheist  Lewis  wore  upon  his  hat.' 

Thus  you  blaspheme,  and  rave;  but  pray,  sir,  try 
What  comforts  my  weak  reason  can  apply, 
Who  never  yet  read  Plutarch,  hardly  saw, 
And  am  but  meanly  versed  in  Seneca. 
In  cases  dangerous,  and  hard  of  cure, 
We  have  recourse  to  Scarborough,*  or  Lower  ;t 
But  if  they  don't  so  desperate  appear, 
We  trust  to  meaner  doctors'  skill  and  care. 

If  there  were  never  in  the  world  before 
So  foul  a  deed,  I'm  dumb,  not  one  word  more; 
In  God's  name,  then,  let  both  your  sluices  flow, 
And  all  the  extravagance  of  sorrow  show ; 
And  tear  your  hair,  and  thump  your  mournful  breast, 
As  if  your  dearest  firstborn  were  deceased. 


Christianity  so  vulnerable  as  to  give  an  easy  victory  to  the  other  side. 
In  France  he  carried  the  imposition  so  far  as  to  become  a  monk  in  the 
convent  of  Guienne,  from  whence  he  was  afterwards  expelled.  He 
obtained  high  patronage,  however,  elsewhere  ;  became  chaplain  to  the 
Mareschal  de  Bassompierre,  with  a  pension  of  two  hundred  crowns,  and 
published,  with  the  King's  privilege,  a  book  of  Dialogues,  in  which  he 
took  some  pains  to  disguise  his  real  convictions ;  but  the  Doctors  of 
the  Sorbonue  detected  the  fraud,  and  condemned  the  book  to  the 
flames.  Thus  exposed,  and  held  up  to  universal  obloquy,  he  left  Paris, 
and  went  to  Toulouse,  wiiere  he  commenced  a  course  of  lectures, 
in  which  he  openly  resumed  and  defended  his  former  doctrines.  For 
this  offence  he  was  prosecuted,  and  sentenced  to  be  burned  to  death. 
His  execution  took  place  on  the  ipth  February,  1619.  Gramond,  the 
President  of  the  Parliament  of  Toulouse,  describing  his  character, 
says  of  him,  that  '  he  laughed  at  everything  sacred,  abominated  the 
incarnation  of  our  Saviour,  and  denied  the  being  of  a  God,  ascribing 
all  things  to  chance.' 

*  Sir  Charles  Scarborough,  a  distinguished  fellow  of  the  College  of 
Physicians,  knighted  for  his  great  attainments  by  Charles  II.,  who 
appointed  him  his  principal  physician.  Dr.  Scarborough  acquired  con- 
siderable reputation  by  his  anatomical  lectures  delivered  at  Surgeons' 
Hall,  which  he  continued  annually  for  sixteen  or  seventeen  years,  and 
is  stated  to  have  been  the  first  person  who  introduced  geometrical  and 
mechanical  reasoniug  on  the  muscles.  Having  espoused  the  King's 
sid«  during  the  civil  wars,  he  was  ejected  from  a  fellowship  he  held 
at  Caius  College,  Cambridge  ;  but  upon  the  Restoration  ample  amends 
were  made  to  him.  He  died  at  eighty  years  of  age  in  1696. 
t  See  ante,  p.  10,  note. 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  181 

'Tis  granted  that  a  greater  grief  attends 
Departed  moneys  than  departed  friends; 
None  ever  counterfeits  upon  this  score, 
Nor  need  he  do't;  the  thought  of  being  j)oor 
Will  serve  alone  to  make  the  eyes  run  o'er. 
Lost  money's  grieved  with  true  unfeigned  tears, 
More  true  than  sorrow  of  expecting  heirs 
At  their  dead  fathers'  funerals,  though  here 
The  back  and  hands  no  pompous  mourning  wear. 

But  if  the  like  complaints  be  daily  found 
At  Westminster,  and  in  all  courts  abound ; 
If  bonds,  and  obligations  can't  prevail. 
But  men  deny  their  very  hand  and  seal. 
Signed  with  the  arms  of  the  whole  pedigree 
Of  their  dead  ancestors  to  vouch  the  lie, 
If  Temj^le  Walks,'""  and  Smithfieldt  never  fail 
Of  plying  rogues,  that  set  their  souls  to  sale 
To  the  first  passenger,  that  bids  a  price. 
And  make  their  livelihood  of  perjuides ; 
For  God's  sake  why  are  you  so  delicate. 
And  think  it  hard  to  share  the  common  fate? 
And  why  must  you  alone  be  favourite  thought 
Of  heaven,  and  we  for  reprobates  cast  out  1 

The  wrong  you  bear,  is  hardly  worth  regard, 
Much  less  your  just  resentment,  if  compared 

*  '  My  companions,  the  worthy  knights  of  the  most  noble  order  of 
the  Post,  your  peripatetic  philosophers  of  the  Temple  Walks.' — 
Otway's  Soldier's  Fortune. 

Eetain  all  sorts  of  witnesses 

That  ply  i'  th'  Temple  under  trees. 

Or  walk  the  Round  A\dth  knights  of  the  Post. 

Butler. — Hudibras. 

The  lawyers  made  appointments  with  their  clients  in  the  Bound, 
where  they  discussed  their  business,  the  posts  being  the  points  of 
established  rendezvous. — See  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham's  Hand-boolc  oj 
London. 

t  The  horse-market  in  Smithfield  was  notorious  for  the  cheats  prac- 
tised on  purchasers.  Pepys,  going  thither  to  buy  horses  for  his  coach, 
records  his  opinion  of  the  place.  '  Here  I  do  see  instances  of  a  piece 
of  craft  and  cunning  that  I  never  dreamed  of,  concerning  the  buying 
and  choosing  of  horses.' 


182  THE   THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF 

With  greater  outrages  to  others  done, 

Which  daily  happen,  and  alarm  the  town. 

Compare  the  villains  who  cut  throats  for  bread, 

Or  houses  fire,  of  late  a  gainful  trade, 

By  which  our  city  was  in  ashes  laid ; 

Compare  the  sacrilegious  burglary, 

From  which  no  place  can  sanctuary  be, 

That  rifles  churches  of  communion-plate, 

Which  good  King  Edward's  days  did  dedicate; 

Think,  who  durst  steal  St.  Alban's  font  of  brass, 

That  christened  half  the  royal  Scottish  race ; 

Who  stole  the  chalices  at  Chichester, 

In  which  themselves  received  the  day  before ; 

Or  that  bold  daring  hand,  of  fresh  renown, 

Who,  scorning  common  booty,  stole  a  crown  ; 

Compare  too,  if  you  please,  the  horrid  plot. 

With  all  the  perjuries  to  make  it  out. 

Or  make  it  nothing,  for  these  last  three  years ; 

Add  to  it  Thynne's*  and  Godfrey's  murderers; 

And  if  these  seem  but  slight  and  trivial  things. 

Add  those,  that  have,  and  would  have  murdered  kings. 

And  yet  how  little's  this  of  villany 
To  what  our  judges  oft  in  one  day  try? 
This  to  convince  you,  do  but  travel  down. 
When  the  next  Circuit  comes,  with  Pemberton, 
Or  any  of  the  Twelve,  and  there  but  mind. 
How  many  rogues  there  are  of  human  kind. 
And  let  me  hear  you,  when  you're  back  again. 
Say  you  are  wronged,  and,  if  you  dare,  complain. 

None  wonder,  who  in  Essex  hundreds  live, 
Or  Sheppy  Island,  to  have  agues  rife ; 


*  Thomas  Thynne,  of  Longleat,  in  Wiltshire,  murdered  in  his  coach, 
close  to  Pall  Mall,  at  the  bottom  of  the  Haymarket,  by  assassins  hired 
by  Count  Koningsmark,  on  the  night  of  the  12th  February,  i58i-a. 
Thynne  was  engaged  in  marriage  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth  Percy,  and 
Koningsmark  was  instigated  to  this  atrocious  act  either  by  jealousy, 
or  his  desire  to  possess  himself  of  the  lady's  wealth.  He  was  tried  for 
the  murder,  and  acquitted  ,-  but  the  assassins  he  employed  were  exe- 
cuted on  the  spot  where  it  took  place. 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  183 

Nor  would  you  think  it  mucli  in  Africa, 

If  you  great  lips  and  short  flat  noses  saw. 

Because  'tis  so  by  nature  of  each  place, 

And,  therefore,  there  for  no  strange  things  they  pass. 

In  lands  where  pigmies  are,  to  see  a  crane 

(As  kites  do  chickens  here)  swoop  up  a  man 

In  armour  clad,  with  us  would  make  a  show, 

And  serve  to  entertain  at  Bartholomew ; 

Yet  there  it  goes  for  no  great  prodigy, 

Where  the  whole  nation  is  but  one  foot  high. 

Then  why,  fond  man,  should  you  so  much  admire, 

Since  knave  is  of  our  growth,  and  common  here  1 

'  But  must  such  perjury  escape,'  say  you, 
'  And  shall  it  ever  thus  unpunished  go  V 
Grant  he  were  dragged  to  jail  this  very  hour. 
To  starve,  and  rot ;  suppose  it  in  your  power 
To  rack  and  torture  him  all  kinds  of  ways. 
To  hang,  or  burn,  or  kill  him,  as  you  please ; 
(And  what  would  your  revenge  itself  have  more?) 
Yet  this,  all  this  would  not  your  cash  restore ; 
And  where  would  be  the  comfort,  where  the  good. 
If  you  could  wash  your  hands  in's  reeking  blood? 
'  But,  oh,  revenge  more  sweet  than  life  !'     'Tis  true, 
So  the  unthinking  say,  and  the  mad  crew 
Of  hectoring  blades,  who  for  slight  cause,  or  none, 
At  every  turn  are  into  passion  blown. 
Whom  the  least  trifles  with  revenge  inspire. 
And  at  each  spark,  like  gunpowder,  take  fire; 
These  unprovoked  kill  the  next  man  they  meet. 
For  being  so  saucy  as  to  walk  the  street; 
And  at  the  summons  of  each  tiny  drab. 
Cry,  '  Damme !  Satisfaction !'  draw,  and  stab. 

Not  so  of  old,  the  mild  good  Socrates, 
(Who  showed  how  high  without  the  help  of  grace, 
Well  cultivated  nature  might  be  wrought) 
He  a  more  noble  way  of  sufi'ering  taught, 
And,  though  he  guiltless  drank  the  poisonous  dose, 
Ne'er  wished  a  drop  to  his  accusing  foes. 


184  THE   THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF 

Not  SO  our  great,  good  martyred  king  of  late, 

(Could  we  his  blessed  example  imitate.) 

Who,  though  the  great' st  of  mortal  sufferers, 

Yet  kind  to  his  rebellious  murderers, 

Forgave,  and  blessed  them  with  his  dying  prayers. 

Thus  we,  by  sound  divinity  and  sense. 
May  purge  our  minds,  and  weed  all  errors  thence ; 
These  lead  us  into  right,  nor  shall  we  need 
Other  than  them  through  life  to  be  our  guide. 
Kevenge  is  but  a  frailty,  incident 
To  crazed  and  sickly  minds,  the  poor  content 
Of  little  souls,  unable  to  surmount 
An  injury,  too  weak  to  bear  affront; 
And  this  you  may  infer,  because  we  find, 
'Tis  most  in  poor  unthinking  womankind, 
Who  wreak  their  feeble  spite  on  all  they  can, 
And  are  more  kin  to  brute  than  braver  man. 

But  why  should  you  imagine,  sir,  that  those 
Escape  unpunished,  who  still  feel  the  throes 
And  pangs  of  a  racked  soul,  and  (which  is  worse 
Than  all  the  pains  which  can  the  body  curse) 
The  secret  gnawings  of  unseen  remorse? 
Believe' t,  they  suffer  greater  punishment 
Than  Rome's  inquisitors  could  e'er  invent; 
Nor  all  the  tortures,  racks,  and  cruelties, 
Which  ancient  persecutors  could  devise, 
Nor  all,  that  Fox's*  bloody  records  tell. 
Can  match  what  Bradsliaw,  and  Bavaillac  feel. 
Who  in  their  breasts  carry  about  their  hell. 


*  John  Fox,  a  divine  of  the  English  Church,  and  author  of  the 
Book  of  Martyrs.  He  was  brought  up  in  the  Roman  Catholic  religion, 
and  reduced  to  great  distress  in  consequence  of  having  embraced  the 
doctrines  of  the  Reformation.  In  this  extremity,  while  he  was  one 
day  sitting  in  St.  Paul's  Church,  exhausted  by  long  fasting,  a  person 
unknown  to  him  came  up,  and,  putting  a  sum  of  money  in  his  hands, 
told  him  that  new  means  of  subsistence  would  shortly  be  disclosed  to 
him.  The  prediction  was  fulfilled  within  three  days,  when  he  was 
taken  into  the  family  of  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  as  tutor  to  the 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  185 

TVe  read  this  story,  but  I  know  not  where, 
"Whether  in  Hakewill,*  or  Beard's  Theatre  ;t 
*  A  certain  Spartan,  whom  a  friend,  like  yon. 
Had  trusted  with  a  hundred  pound  or  two, 
Went  to  the  Oracle,  to  know  if  he 
With  safety  might  the  sum  in  trust  deny. 
'Twas  answered,  '  No,  that  if  he  durst  forswear, 
He  should  ere  long  for's  knavery  pay  dear ;' 
Hence  fear,  not  honesty,  made  him  refund; 
Yet  to  his  cost  the  sentence  true  he  found : 
Himself,  his  children,  all  his  family, 
Even  the  remotest  of  his  whole  pedigree, 
Perished,'  as  there  'tis  told,  '  in  misery.' 
JSTow  to  apply :  if  such  be  the  sad  end 
Of  perjury,  though  but  in  thought  designed. 
Think,  sir,  what  fate  awaits  your  treacherous  friend. 
Who  has  not  only  thought,  but  done  to  you 
All  this,  and  more;  think,  what  he  suffers  now, 
And  think,  what  every  villain  suffers  else, 
That  dares,  like  him,  be  faithless,  base,  and  false. 


children  of  her  nephew,  the  famous  Earl  of  Surrey.  He  never  was 
able  to  discover  the  person  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  this  season- 
able assistance.  During  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Mary, 
he  was  obliged  to  fly  the  kingdom,  to  escape  the  persecutions  of 
Gardner,  Bishop  of  "Winchester  ;  and,  settling  at  Basle,  on  the  Rhine, 
he  supported  himself  and  his  family  by  correcting  the  press  for 
Oporinus,  the  printer.  Here  he  planned  his  great  work.  The  History  of 
the  Acts  and  Monumeiits  of  the  Church,  better  known  as  The  Book  of 
Martyrs.  It  occupied  him  eleven  years,  and  amongst  those  who  con- 
tributed to  his  assistance  in  the  collection  of  materials  was  Grindal, 
afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  On  the  death  of  Queen  Mary 
(which  he  is  said  to  have  predicted).  Fox  returned  to  England,  where 
he  had  many  powerful  friends.  Cecil  procured  for  him  a  prebend 
in  the  Church  of  Salisbury  ;  but  he  refused  to  subscribe  to  the  Articles 
of  Conformity.  So  great  was  the  respect,  however,  entertained  for  his 
character  and  his  labours,  that  he  was  allowed  to  hold  his  prebend  till 
his  death,  which  occurred  in  1 58 7,  in  his  7oth  year.  Fox  wrote  other 
works ;  but  his  reputation  rests  exclusively  on  The  Acts  and  Momiments, 

*  Dr.  George  Hakewill.     His  works  are  enumerated  by  Wood. 

f  The  Theatre  of  God's  Judgments  (i597)  written,  or  compiled,  by 
Dr.  Thomas  Beard,  a  puritan  minister  at  Huntingdon,  assisted  by  Dr. 
Thomas  Taylor.    Beard  was  Oliver  Cromwell's  schoolmaster. 


186  THE   THIRTEENTH    SATIRE    OF 

Pale  horror,  ghastly  fear,  and  black  despair 
Pursue  his  steps,  and  dog  him  wheresoe'er 
He  goes,  and  if  from  his  loathed  self  he  fly, 
To  herd,  like  wounded  deer,  in  company. 
These  straight  creep  in  and  pall  his  mirth  and  joy. 
The  choicest  dainties,  even  by  Lumly  dressed, 
Afford  no  relish  to  his  sickly  taste, 
Insipid  all  as  Damocles'  feast. 
Even  wine,  the  greatest  blessing  of  mankind, 
The  best  support  of  the  dejected  mind. 
Applied  to  his  dull  spirits,  warms  no  more 
Than  to  his  corpse  it  could  past  life  restore. 
Darkness  he  fears,  nor  dares  he  trust  his  bed 
Without  a  candle  watching  by  his  side ; 
And,  if  the  wakeful  troubles  of  his  breast 
To  his  tossed  limbs  allow  one  moment's  rest, 
Straightways  the  groans  of  ghosts,  and  hideous  screams 
Of  tortured  spirits,  haunt  his  frightful  dreams ; 
Straight  then  returns  to  his  tormented  mind 
His  perjui'ed  act,  his  injured  God,  and  friend ; 
Straight  he  imagines  you  before  his  eyes, 
Ghastly  of  shape,  and  of  prodigious  size. 
With  glaring  eyes,  cleft  foot,  and  monstrous  tail, 
And  bigger  than  the  giants  at  Guildhall, 
Stalking  with  horrid  strides  across  the  room, 
And  guards  of  fiends  to  drag  him  to  his  doom ; 
Hereat  he  falls  in  dreadful  agonies, 
And  dead  cold  sweats  his  trembling  members  seize; 
Then  starting  wakes,  and  with  a  dismal  cry, 
Calls  to  his  aid  his  frighted  family ; 
There  owns  the  crime,  and  vows  upon  his  knees 
The  sacred  pledge  next  morning  to  release. 

These  are  the  men  whom  the  least  terrors  daunt, 
Who  at  the  sight  of  their  own  shadows  faint;  ^ 
These,  if  it  chance  to  lighten,  are  aghast. 
And  quake  for  fear,  lest  every  flash  should  blast ; 
These  swoon  away  at  the  first  thunderclap, 
As  if  'twere  not  what  usually  does  hap. 


JUVENAL,    IMITATED.  187 

The  casual  cracking  of  a  cloud,  but  sent 
By  angry  Heaven  for  tlieir  punishment ; 
A.nd  if  unhurt  they  'scape  the  tempest  now, 
Still  dread  the  greater  vengeance  to  ensue. 
These  the  least  symptoms  of  a  fever  fright, 
Water  high-coloured,  want  of  rest  at  night, 
Or  a  disordered  pulse  straight  makes  them  shrink, 
And  presently  for  fear  they're  ready  to  sink 
Into  their  graves ;  their  time,  they  think,  is  come. 
And  Heaven  in  judgment  now  has  sent  their  doom. 
Nor  dare  they,  though  in  whisper,  waft  a  prayer, 
Lest  it  by  chance  should  reach  the  Almighty's  ear. 
And  wake  his  sleeping  vengeance,  which  before 
So  long  has  their  impieties  forbore. 

These  are  the  thoughts  which  guilty  wretches  haunt, 
Yet  entered,  they  still  grow  more  impudent ; 
After  a  crime,  perhaps,  they  now  and  then 
Feel  pangs  and  strugglings  of  remorse  within. 
But  straight  return  to  their  old  course  again ; 
They  who  have  once  thrown  shame  and  conscience  by, 
Ne'er  after  make  a  stop  in  villany ; 
Hurried  along,  down  the  vast  steep  they  go. 
And  find  'tis  all  a  precipice  below. 

Even  this  perfidious  friend  of  yours,  no  doubt. 
Will  not  with  single  wickedness  give  out; 
Have  patience  but  a  while,  you'll  shortly  see 
His  hand  held  up  at  bar  for  felony ; 
You'll  see  the  sentenced  wretch  for  punishment 
To  Scilly  Isles,  or  the  Caribbees  sent ; 
Or,  if  I  may  his  surer  fate  divine. 
Hung  like  Boroski,*  for  a  gibbet-sign; 
Then  may  you  glut  revenge,  and  feast  your  eyes 
With  the  dear  object  of  his  miseries; 
And  then,  at  length  convinced,  with  joy  you'll  find 
That  the  just  God  is  neither  deaf  nor  blind. 


*  Executed  for  the  murder  of  Mr.  Thynne. 


188 


A  SATIRE,   IN   IMITATION   OF   THE   THIRD 
OF   JUVENAL.* 

The  Poet  brings  in  a  friend  of  his,  giving  him  an 
account  why  he  removes  from  London  to  live  in 
the  country. 

'T^HOUGH  much  concerned   to  lose   my   dear   old 

-■-    I  must  however  his  design  commend  [friend,t 

Of  fixing  in  the  country ;  for  were  I 

As  free  to  chose  my  residence  as  he, 

The  Peak,  the  Fens,  the  Hundreds,  or  Land's-end, 

I  would  prefer  to  Fleet-street,  or  the  Strand.;]; 

What  place  so  desert,  and  so  wild  is  there, 

Whose  inconveniences  one  would  not  bear, 

E-ather  than  the  alarms  of  midnight  fire, 

The  fall  of  houses,  §  knavery  of  cits. 

The  plots  of  factions,  and  the  noise  of  wits, 

And  thousand  other  plagues,  which  up  and  down 

Each  day  and  hour  infest  the  cursed  town? 

As  fate  would  have  it,  on  the  appointed  day 
Of  parting  hence,  I  met  him  on  the  way, 

*  Written  in  May,  1682.  ' 

t  In  the  original  this  line  stands 

'  Though  much  concerned  to  leave  my  dear  old  friend.* 
This  was  evidently  a  blunder  (for  which  no  doubt  the  printer  was 
solely  responsible),  as  it  was  plain  that  Oldham  was  not  going  to  leave 
his  friend,  but  that  his  friend  was  going  to  leave  him.  Boswell  sup- 
plies the  emendation  adopted  in  the  text,  which  was  suggested  to  him 
by  a  lady.  The  third  satire  of  Juvenal,  here  imitated  and  applied  to 
London  by  Oldham,  had  been  previously  applied  to  Paris  by  Boileau, 
and  was  afterwards  adopted  by  Dr.  Johnson  as  the  groimdwork  of  his 
poem  of  London. 

X  Or  change  the  rocks  of  Scotland  for  the  Strand. 

Johnson's  London. 
•  Whether  Johnson,'  says  Boswell,  •  had  previously  read  Oldham's  imi- 
tation I  do  not  know  ;  but  it  is  not  a  little  remarkable  that  there  is 
scarcely  any  coincidence  found  between  the  two  performances  though 
upon  the  very  same  subject.'  This  judgment  is  hasty.  The  parallel 
passages  are  numerous,  and  generally  there  is  more  strength,  though 
less  finish,  in  Oldham. 

§  Here  falling  houses  thunder  on  your  head. — London. 


IMITATION   OF  THE  THIRD   OF  JUVENAL.  189 

Hard  by  Mile-end,  the  place  so  famed  of  late, 
In  prose  and  verse,  for  tlie  great  faction's  treat ; 
Here  we  stood  still,  and  after  compliments 
Of  course,  and  wishing  his  good  jom^ney  hence, 
I  asked  what  sudden  causes  made  him  fly 
The  once  loved  town,  and  his  dear  company; 
When,  on  the  hated  prospect  looking  back, 
Thus  with  just  rage  the  good  old  Timon  spake. 

'  Since  virtue  here  in  no  repute  is  had. 
Since  worth  is  scorned,  learning  and  sense  unpaid, 
And  knavery  the  only  thriving  trade ; 
Finding  my  slender  fortune  every  day 
Dwindle,  and  waste  insensibly  away, 
I,  like  a  losing  gamester,  thus  retreat. 
To  manage  wiselier  my  last  stake  of  fate ; 
While  I  have  strength,  and  want  no  staff  to  prop 
My  tottering  limbs,  ere  age  has  made  me  stoop 
Beneath  its  weight,  ere  all  my  thread  be  spun. 
And  life  has  yet  in  store  some  sands  to  run, 
'Tis  my  resolve  to  quit  the  nauseous  town. 

'  Let  thriving  Morecraft*  choose  his  dwelling  there, 
Kich  with  the  spoils  of  some  young  spendthrift  heir ; 
Let  the  plot-mongers  stay  behind,  whose  art 
Can  truth  to  sham,  and  sham  to  truth  convert; 
Whoever  has  a  house  to  build,  or  set. 
His  wife,  his  conscience,  or  his  oath  to  let ; 
Whoever  has,  or  hopes  for  offices, 
A  navy,  guard,  or  custom-house's  place; 
Let  sharping  courtiers  stay,  who  there  are  great 
By  putting  the  false  dice  on  king  and  state ; 
Where  they,  who  once  were  grooms  and  footboys  known, 
Are  now  to  fair  estates  and  honours  grown; 
Nor  need  we  envy  them,  or  wonder  much 
At  their  fantastic  greatness,  since  they're  such, 
Whom  fortune  oft  in  her  capricious  freaks 
Is  pleased  to  raise  from  kennels,  and  the  jakes, 


*  A  fashionable  head-dresser. 


190  A    SATIRE, 

To  wealtli,  and  dignity  above  the  rest, 
When  she  is  frolic,  and  disposed  to  jest. 

'  I  live  in  London  !     What  should  I  do  there  ? 
I  cannot  lie,  nor  flatter,  nor  forswear; 
T  can't  commend  a  book,  or  piece  of  wit, 
Though  a  lord  were  the  author,  dully  writ; 
I'm  no  Sir  SidrojDhel*  to  read  the  stars. 
And  cast  nativities  for  longing  heirs. 
When  fathers  shall  drop  off;  no  Gadburyt 
To  tell  the  minute  when  the  king  shall  die, 
And  you  know  what — come  in;  nor  can  I  steer, 
And  tack  about  my  conscience,  whensoe'er, 
To  a  new  point,  I  see  religion  veer. 
Let  others  pimp  to  courtier's  lechery, 
I'll  draw  no  city  cuckold's  curse  on  me; 
Nor  would  I  do  it,  though  to  be  made  great, 
And  raised  to  be  chief  minister  of  state. 
Therefore  I  think  it  fit  to  rid  the  town 
Of  one,  that  is  an  useless  member  grown. 

'  Besides,  who  has  pretence  to  favour  now. 
But  he,  who  hidden  villany  does  know. 
Whose  breast  does  with  some  burning  secret  glow? 
By  none  thou  shalt  preferred  or  valued  be. 
That  trusts  thee  with  an  honest  secrecy; 
He  only  may  to  great  men's  friendship  reach. 
Who  great  men,  when  he  pleases,  can  impeach. 
Let  others  thus  aspire  to  dignity; 
For  me,  I'd  not  their  envied  grandeur  buy 
For  all  the  Exchange  is  worth,  that  Paul's  will  cost, 
Or  was  of  late  in  the  Scotch  voyage  lost.:}; 

*  Hudibras,  P.  ii.  Can.  3.  The  character  of  Sidrophel  is  supposed 
by  some  to  have  been  intended  for  Sir  Paul  Neal,  but  by  others,  with 
greater  probability,  for  William  Lilly. 

•f  John  (ladbury,  originally  apprenticed  to  a  tailor  at  Oxford,  was 
a  puijil  of  Lilly's,  and  afterwards  set  up  in  opposition  to  him  as 
almanac-maker  and  astrologer. 

X  The  Duke  of  York,  making  a  voyage  to  Edinburgh  for  the  pur- 
pose of  accompanying  the  Duchess  back  to  London,  was  ncarlv  sliip- 
wrecked.  An  account  of  the  disaster  is  given  in  a  letter  from'Pepys 
to  Mr.  Hewer,  8th  May,  i68z. — Diary,  v.  3i4- 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIRD  OF  JUVENAL.  191 

What  would  it  boot,  if  I,  to  gain  my  end, 

Forego  my  quiet,  and  my  ease  of  mind, 

Still  feared,  at  last  betrayed  by  my  great  friend"? 

'  Another  cause,  which  I  must  boldly  own, 
And  not  the  least,  for  which  I  quit  the  town, 
Is  to  behold  it  made  the  common-sewer,* 
Where  France  does  all  her  filth  and  ordure  pour; 
What  spark  of  true  old  English  rage  can  bear 
Those,  who  were  slaves  at  home,  to  lord  it  here? 
We've  all  our  fashions,  language,  compliments, 
Our  music,  dances,  curing,  cooking  thence ; 
And  we  shall  have  their  poisoning  too  ere  long,t 
If  still  in  the  improvement  we  go  on.  [view 

What  would'st  thou  say,  great  Harry,  should' st  thou 
Thy  gaudy  fluttering  race  of  English  now, 
Their  tawdry  clothes,  pulvilios,  essences; 
Their  Chedreux;}:  perruques,  and  those  vanities. 
Which  thou,  and  they  of  old  did  so  despise  1 
What  would'st  thou  say  to  see  the  infected  town 
With  the  foul  spawn  of  foreigners  o'er  run? 
Hither  from  Paris,  and  all  parts  they  come, 
The  spew  and  vomit  of  their  gaols  at  home ; 
To  court  they  flock,  and  to  St.  James's-square,  . 
And  wriggle  into  great  men's  service  there ; 
Footboys  at  first,  till  they,  from  wiping  shoes, 
Grow  by  degrees  the  masters  of  the  house ; 


*  The  common-sewer  of  Paris  and  of  Rome. — London. 

+  The  recent  death  of  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  who  was  poisoned  by 
her  husband  immediately  after  her  return  from  her  mission  to  Eng- 
land, is  here  pointed  at.  It  was  a  current  subject  at  the  time,  and  is 
more  than  once  alluded  to  by  Dryden  in  his  prologues  ;  as  in  the  pro- 
logue to  the  Spanish  Friar: 

♦  When  murder's  out  what  vice  can  we  advance, 
Unless  the  new-found  poisoning  trick  of  France  ?' 

X  So  called  from  Chedreux,  a  celebrated  maker  of  perruques  in 
Paris.  In  Etherege's  comedy  of  JTie  Man  of  Mode,  Sir  Fopling  Flutter 
boasts  of  his  Chedreux  periwig,  of  which  Dryden  gives  a  description 
in  the  epilogue.  Dryden  himself  wore  a  Chedreux  and  a  sword  when 
he  ate  tarts  with  Mrs.  Keeve  in  the  Mulberry-garden. 


192  A   SATIRE, 

Ready  of  wit,  hardened  of  impudence, 

Able  with  ease  to  put  down  either  Haines, 

Both  the  King's  player,*  and  King's  evidence ; 

Flippant  of  talk,  and  voluble  of  tongue, 

With  words  at  will,  no  lawyer  better  hung; 

Softer  than  flattering  court-parasite, 

Or  city  trader,  when  he  means  to  cheat, 

No  calling  or  profession  comes  amiss ; 

A  needy  monsieur  can  be  what  he  please,+ 

Groom,  page,  valet,  quack,  operator,  fencer. 

Perfumer,  pimp,  Jack-pudding,  juggler,  dancer : 

Give  but  the  word,  the  cur  will  fetch  and  bring, 

Come  over  to  the  Emperor,  or  King; 

Or,  if  you  please,  fly  o'er  the  pyramid. 

Which  Johnston  and  the  rest  in  vain  have  tried. 

'  Can  I  have  patience,  and  endure  to  see 
The  paltry  foreign  wi^etch  take  place  of  me, 
Whom  the  same  wind  and  vessel  brought  ashore, 
That  brought  prohibited  goods,  and  vices  o'er? 
Then,  pray,  what  mighty  privilege  is  there 
For  me,  that  at  my  birth  drew  English  air? 
And  where's  the  benefit  to  have  my  veins 
Run  British  blood,  if  there's  no  difference 
'Twixt  me  and  him,  the  statute  freedom  gave, 
And  made  a  subject  of  a  true-born  slave? 

'  But  nothing  shocks,  and  is  more  loathed  by  me, 
Than  the  vile  rascal's  fulsome  flattery; 
By  help  of  this  false  magnifying  glass, 
A  louse  or  flea  shall  for  a  camel  pass ; 
Produce  a  hideous  wight,  more  ugly  far 
Than  those  ill  shapes  which  in  old  hangings  are. 
He'll  make  him  straight  a  beau  gargon  appear; 


*  Joe  Haines,  the  actor,  who  went  over  to  the  church  of  Rome,  and 
afterwards  made  his  recantation  in  a  white  sheet  on  the  staore. 

t  Obsequious,  artful,  voluble,  and  gay, 

On  Britain's  fond  credulity  they  prey 

All  sciences  a  fasting  monsieur  knows. 

And  bid  him  go  to  hell  to  hell  he  goes. — London, 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIKD  OF  JUVENAL.         193 

Commend  his  voice  and  singing,  though  he  bray 
Worse  than  Sir  Martin  Marr-all  in  the  play : 
And,  it  he  rhjrme,  shall  praise  for  standard  wit, 
More  scurvy  sense  than  Prynne,  and  Yicars  writ.* 

'And  here's  the  mischief,  though  we  say  the  same, 
He  is  believed,  and  we  are  thought  to  sham; 
Do  you  but  smile,  immediately  the  beast 
Laughs  out  aloud,  though  he  ne'er  heard  the  jest; 
Pretend  you're  sad,  he's  presently  in  tears. 
Yet  grieves  no  more  than  marble,  when  it  wears 
Sorrow  in  metaphor ;  but  speak  of  heat, 
'  0  God !  how  sultry  'tis !'  he'll  cry,  and  sweat 
In  depth  of  winter ;  straight,  if  you  complain 
Of  cold,  the  weather-glass  is  sunk  again  : 
Then  he'll  call  for  his  frieze  campaign,  and  swear 
'Tis  beyond  eighty,  he's  in  Greenland  here. 
Thus  he  shifts  scenes,  and  oftener  in  a  day 
Can  change  his  face  than  actors  at  a  play ; 
There's    nought   so   mean   can   'scape   the   flattering 

sot, 
Not  his  lord's  snuff-box,  nor  his  powder-spot ; 
If  he  but  spit,  or  pick  his  teeth,  he'll  ciy, 
'  How  everything  becomes  you !  let  me  die, 
Your  lordship  does  it  most  judiciously!' 
And  swear  'tis  fashionable  if  he  sneeze. 
Extremely  taking,  and  it  needs  must  please. 

'  Besides,  there's  nothing  sacred,  nothing  free 
From  the  hot  satyr's  rampant  lechery; 
Nor  wifie,  nor  virgin-daughter  can  escape. 
Scarce  thou  thyself,  or  son  avoid  a  rape ; 
All  must  go  pad-locked ;  if  nought  else  there  be, 
Suspect  thy  very  stables'  chastity. 
By  this  the  vermin  into  secrets  creep. 
Thus  families  in  awe  they  strive  to  keep. 

*  The  '  voluminous '  "William  Prynne,  who  is  said  to  have  wTitten  a 
sheet  for  every  day  of  his  life  ;  and  John  Vicars,  an  enthusiastic  con- 
troversialist, whose  writings  abound  in  scurrility. 

OLDHAM.  13 


194  A    SATIRE, 

Wliat  living  for  an  Englishman  is  there, 
Where  such  as  these  get  head,  and  domineer, 
Whose  use  and  custom  'tis,  never  to  share 
A  friend,  but  love  to  reign  without  dispute, 
Without  a  rival,  full  and  absolute? 
Soon  as  the  insect  gets  his  honour's  ear. 
And  flyblows  some  ofs  pois'nons  malice  there, 
Straight    I'm  turned    off,   kicked    out    of  doors,   dis- 
carded. 
And  all  my  former  service  disregarded. 

'  But  leaving  these  messieurs,  for  fear  that  I 
Be  thought  of  the  silk- weaver's  mutiny. 
From  the  loathed  subject  let  us  hasten  on. 
To  mention  other  grievances  in  town : 
And  further,  what  respect  at  all  is  had 
Of  poor  men  here  1  and  how's  their  service  paid. 
Though  they  be  ne'er  so  diligent  to  wait. 
To  sneak,  and  dance  attendance  on  the  great? 
No  mark  of  favour  is  to  be  obtained 
By  one  that  sues,  and  brings  an  empty  hand; 
And  all  his  merit  is  but  made  a  sport. 
Unless  he  glut  some  cormorant  at  court. 

'  'Tis  now  a  common  thing,  and  usual  here. 
To  see  the  son  of  some  rich  usurer 
Take  place  of  nobles,  keep  his  first-rate  whore. 
And,  for  a  vaulting  bout  or  two,  give  more 
Than  a  guard-captain's  pay;  meanwhile  the  breed 
Of  peers,  reduced  to  poverty  and  need. 
Are  fain  to  trudge  to  the  Bankside,  and  there 
Take  up  with  porters'  leavings,  suburb  ware, 
There  spend  that  blood,  which  their  great  ancestor 
So  nobly  shed  at  Cressy  heretofore, 
At  brothel-fights,  in  some  foul  common-sewer. 

'  Produce  an  evidence,  though  just  he  be. 
As  righteous  Job,  or  Abraham,  or  he 
Whom  Heaven,  when  whole  nature  shipwrecked  was. 
Thought  worth  the  saving,  of  all  human  race ; 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIRD  OF  JUVENAL.         195 

Or  t'other,  who  the  flaming  deluge  'scaped, 

AYhen  Sodom's  lechers  angels  would  have  raped; 

'  How  rich  he  is  V  must  the  first  question  be; 

Next  for  his  manners  and  integrity : 

They'll  ask,  '  What  equipage  he  keeps,  and  what 

He's  reckoned  worth  in  money  and  estate. 

Whether  for  shrieve  he  has  been  known  to  fine, 

And  with  how  many  dishes  he  does  dine?' 

For  look  what  cash  a  person  has  in  store, 

Just  so  much  credit  has  he,  and  no  more. 

Should  I  upon  a  thousand  Bibles  swear, 

And  call  each  saint  throughout  the  calendar 

To  vouch  my  oath,  it  wont  be  taken  here; 

The  poor  slight  heaven  and  thunderbolts,  they  think, 

And  heaven  itself  does  at  such  trifles  wink. 

'  Besides,  what  store  of  gibing  scoffs  are  thrown 
On  one  that's  poor  and  meanly  clad  in  town ; 
If  his  apparel  seem  but  overworn, 
His  stocking  out  at  heel,  or  breeches  torn. 
One  takes  occasion  his  ripped  shoe  to  flout, 
And  swears  't  has  been  at  prison-gates  hung  out ; 
Another  shrewdly  jeers  his  coarse  cravat, 
Because  himself  wears  point ;  a  third  his  hat, 
And  most  unmercifully  shows  his  wit. 
If  it  be  old,  or  does  not  cock  aright. 
Nothing  in  poverty  so  ill  is  borne. 
As  its  exposing  men  to  grinning  scorn, 
To  be  by  tawdry  coxcombs  jeered  upon, 
And  made  the  jesting  stock  of  each  buffoon. 
'  Turn  out  there,  friend !'  cries  one  at  church,  '  the  pew 
Is  not  for  such  mean  scoundrel  curs  as  you ; 
'Tis  for  your  betters  kept;'  belike  some  sot 
That  knew  no  father,  was  on  bulks  begot, 
But  now  is  raised  to  an  estate  and  pride. 
By  having  the  kind  proverb  on  his  side ; 
Let  Gripe  and  Cheatwell  take  their  places  there, 
And  Dash,  the  scrivener's  gaudy  sparkish  heir, 

13—2 


196  A   SATIRE, 

That  wears  three  ruined  orphans  on  his  hack ; 
Meanwhile,  you  in  the  alley  stand,  and  sneak : 
And  you  therewith  must  rest  contented,  since 
Almighty  wealth  does  put  such  difference. 
What  citizen  a  son-in-law  will  take. 
Bred  ne'er  so  well,  that  can't  a  jointure  make? 
What  man  of  sense,  that's  poor,  e'er  summoned  is 
Amongst  the  common  council  to  advise? 
At  vestry-consults  when  does  he  appear, 
For  choosing  of  some  parish  officer, 
Or  making  leather  buckets  for  the  choir?* 
'  'Tis  hard  for  any  man  to  rise,  that  feels 
His  virtue  clogged  with  poverty  at  heels ;+ 
But  harder  'tis  by  much  in  London,  where 
A  sorry  lodging,  coarse  and  slender  fare, 
Fire,  water,  breathing,  everything  is  dear; 
Yet  such  as  these  an  earthen  dish  disdain. 
With  which  their  ancestors,  in  Edgar's  reign, 
Were  served,  and  thought  it  no  disgrace  to  dine, 
Though  they  were  rich,  had  store  of  leather  coin. 
Low  as  their  fortune  is,  yet  they  despise 
A  man  that  walks  the  streets  in  homely  frieze ; 
To  speak  the  truth,  great  part  of  England  now, 
In  their  own  cloth  will  scarce  vouchsafe  to  go; 
Only,  the  statute's  penalty  to  save. 
Some  few  perhaps  wear  woollen  in  the  grave. 

*  After  the  fire  of  1 666,  the  Common  Council  passed  an  act  obliging 
the  wards  of  the  city  to  keep  in  readiness  a  certain  number  of  leathern 
buckets,  ladders,  hand-squirts,  pickaxe  sledges,  and  shod-shovels.  By 
the  same  act  every  alderman  was  compelled  to  furnish  his  quota  of 
buckets  and  hand-squirts. 

t  Johnson's  noble  line — 

'  Slow  rises  worth  by  poverty  depressed,' 
casts  Oldham's  version  into  shadow.  The  picture  given  by  Oldham 
of  the  condition  of  poverty  in  London  in  the  seventeenth  century,  con- 
trasted with  the  ostentatious  expenditure  of  the  upper  and  middle 
classes,  throws  a  curious  light  on  the  miseries  that  lay  under  the 
sensualities  and  dissipation  of  the  time.  The  whole  poem  is  interest- 
ing from  its  details  of  contemporary  characteristics,  and  in  this  point 
of  view  more  cuiious  than  the  London  of  Johnson. 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIRD  OF  JUVENAL.         19' 

Here  all  go  daily  dressed,  although  it  be 

Above  their  means,  their  rank,  and  quality; 

The  most  in  borrowed  gallantry  are  clad, 

For  which  the  tradesmen's  books  are  still  unpaid; 

This  fault  is  common  in  the  meaner  sort, 

That  they  must  needs  affect  to  bear  the  port 

Of  gentlemen,  though  they  want  income  for't. 

'  Sir,  to  be  short,  in  this  expensive  town 
There's  nothing  without  money  to  be  done; 
What  will  you  give  to  be  admitted  there, 
And  brought  to  speech  of  some  court  minister? 
What  will  you  give  to  have  the  quarter-face, 
The  squint  and  nodding  go-by  of  his  Grace? 
His  porter,  groom,  and  steward  must  have  fees, 
And  you  may  see  the  Tombs,  and  Tower  for  less. 
Hard  fate  of  suitors !  who  must  pay,  and  pray 
To  livery-slaves,  yet  oft  go  scorned  away. 

*  Whoe'er  at  Barnet,  or  St.  Albans,  fears 
To  have  his  lodging  drop  about  his  ears, 
Unless  a  sudden  hurricane  befal. 
Or  such  a  wind  as  blew  old  Noll  to  hell? 
Here  we  build  slight,  what  scarce  outlasts  the  lease, 
Without  the  help  of  props  and  buttresses ; 
And  houses  now-a-days  as  much  require 
To  be  ensured  from  falling,  as  from  fire. 
There,  buildings  are  substantial,  though  less  neat, 
And  kept  with  care  both  mnd  and  water  tight ; 
There,  you  in  safe  security  are  blessed. 
And  nought,  but  conscience,  to  disturb  your  rest.*     , 

'  I  am  for  living  where  no  fires  affright. 
No  bells  rung  backward  break  my  sleep  at  night; 


*  It  appears  from  this  passage  that,  although  London  was  consider- 
ably improved  by  the  widening  of  the  streets  when  it  was  rebuilt  after 
th^fire,  the  new  houses  were  slight  and  unsubstantial.  They  had  the 
advantage,  however,  of  being  built  of  more  durable  materials  than 
those  they  displaced.  Stone  and  brick  were  first  introduced  by  Alfred 
the  Great,  but  were  not  generally  adopted  for  many  ages  after. 


198  A   SATIRE, 

I  scarce  lie  do-wn,  and  draw  my  curtains  here, 

But  straight  I'm  roused  by  the  next  house  on  fire; 

Pale,  and  half  dead  with  fear,  myself  I  raise, 

And  find  my  room  all  over  in  a  blaze; 

By  this  't  has  seized  on  the  third  stairs,  and  T 

Can  now  discern  no  other  remedy. 

But  leaping  out  at  window  to  get  free ; 

For  if  the  mischief  from  the  cellar  came, 

Be  sure  the  garret  is  the  last  takes  flame.'" 

'  The  moveables  of  Pordage  were  a  bed 
For  him  and  's  wife,  a  basin  by  its  side, 
A  looking-glass  upon  the  cupboard's  head, 
A  comb-case,  candlestick,  and  pewter  spoon 
For  want  of  plate,  a  desk  to  write  upon ; 
A  box  without  a  lid  served  to  contain 
Few  authors,  which  made  up  his  Vatican; 
And  there  his  own  immortal  works  were  laid, 
On  which  the  barbarous  mice  for  hunger  preyed; 
Pordage  had  nothing,  all  the  world  does  know, 
And  yet  should  he  have  lost  this  nothing  too, 
No  one  the  wretched  bard  would  have  supplied 
With  lodging,  house-room,  or  a  crust  of  bread. 

^  But  if  the  fire  burn  down  some  great  man's  house. 
All  straight  are  interested  in  the  loss ; 
The  court  is  straight  in  mourning  sure  enough, 
The  act,  commencement,  and  the  term  put  off; 
Then  we  mischances  of  the  town  lament. 
And  fasts  are  kept,  like  judgments  to  prevent. 
Out  comes  a  brief  immediately,  with  speed 
To  gather  charity  as  far  as  Tweed. 


*  Fires  were  of  frequent  occurrence,  and  strict  precautions  were 
taken  to  provide  against  them.  The  citizens  were  ordered  to  keep 
their  ashes  in  a  secure  part  of  their  dwellings,  at  a  distance  from  the 
staircases,  and  to  quench  them  with  water  every  night  before  they 
went  to  bed.  Constables  were  appointed  to  inspect  all  houses  twice 
every  year,  and,  upon  a  cry  of  fire,  every  householder  was  required  to 
place  an  armed  man  at  his  door,  and  to  hang  out  a  light  if  the  fire 
happened  at  n-'ght. 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIRD  OF  JUVENAL.  199 

Nay,  while  'tis  burning,  some  will  send  him  in 

Timber,  and  stone  to  build  his  house  again; 

Others  choice  furniture;  some  rare  piece 

Of  RubeDS,  or  Vandyke  presented  is; 

There  a  rich  suit  of  Mortlack  tapestry, 

A  bed  of  damask  or  embroidery ; 

One  gives  a  fine  scrutoire,  or  cabinet. 

Another  a  huge  massy  dish  of  plate, 

Or  bag  of  gold :  thus  he  at  length  gets  more 

By  kind  misfortune  than  he  had  before; 

And  all  suspect  it  for  a  laid  design, 

As  if  he  did  himself  the  fire  begin. 

Could  you  but  be  advised  to  leave  the  town. 

And  from  dear  plays,  and  drinking  friends  be  drawn, 

A  handsome  dwelling  might  be  had  in  Kent, 

Surrey,  or  Essex,  at  a  cheaper  rent 

Than  what  you're  forced  to  give  for  one  half  year 

To  lie,  like  lumber,  in  a  garret  here. 

A  garden  there,  and  well,  that  needs  no  rope, 

Engine,  or  pains  to  crane  its  waters  up ; 

Water  is  there  through  Nature's  pipes  conveyed, 

For  which  no  custom  or  excise  is  paid. 

Had  I  the  smallest  spot  of  ground,  which  scarce 

Would  summer  half  a  dozen  grasshoppers. 

Not  larger  than  my  grave,  though  hence  remote 

Far  as  St.  Michael's  Mount,  I  would  go  to't. 

Dwell  there  content,  and  thank  the  Fates  to  boot. 

'  Here  want  of  rest  a-nights  more  people  kills 
Than  all  the  college,  and  the  weekly  bills ; 
Where  none  have  privilege  to  sleep,  but  those 
Whose  purses  can  compound  for  their  repose. 
In  vain  I  go  to  bed,  or  close  my  eyes, 
Methinks  the  place  the  middle  region  is. 
Where  I  lie  down  in  storms,  in  thunder  rise; 
The  restless  bells  such  din  in  steeples  keejD, 
That  scarce  the  dead  can  in  their  churchyards  sleep ; 
Huzzas  of  drunkards,  bellmen's  midnight  rhymes, 
The  noise  of  shops,  with  hawker's  early  screams, 


200  A   SATIRE, 

Besides  the  brawls  of  coachmen,  when  they  meet, 
And  stop  in  turnings  of  a  narrow  street. 
Such  a  loud,  medley  of  confusion  make. 
As  drowsy  Archer  on  the  bench  would  wake. 

*  If  you  walk  out  in  business  ne'er  so  great, 
Ten  thousand  stops  you  must  expect  to  meet ; 
Thick  crowds  in  every  place  you  must  charge  through, 
And  storm  your  passage  wheresoe'er  you  go ; 
While  tides  of  followers  behind  you  throng, 
And,  pressing  on  your  heels,  shove  you  along; 
One  with  a  board,  or  rafter,  hits  your  head, 
Another  with  his  elbow  bores  your  side; 
Some  tread  upon  your  corns,  perhaps  in  sport. 
Meanwhile  your  legs  are  cased  all  o'er  with  dirt ; 
Here,  you  the  march  of  a  slow  funeral  wait. 
Advancing  to  the  church  with  solemn  state; 
There,  a  sedan  and  lacquies  stop  your  way. 
That  bears  some  punk  o  '  honour  to  the  play ; 
Now,  you  some  mighty  piece  of  timber  meet, 
Which  tottering  threatens  ruin  to  the  street; 
Next,  a  huge  Portland  stone,  for  building  Paul's, 
Itself  almost  a  rock,  on  carriage  rolls; 
Which,  if  it  fall,  would  cause  a  massacre, 
And  serve  at  once  to  murder,  and  inter. 

'  If  what  I've  said  can't  from  the  town  affright, 
Consider  other  dangers  of  the  night : 
When  brickbats  are  from  upper  stories  thrown, 
And  empty  chamber-pots  come  pouring  down 
From  garret  windows ;  you  have  cause  to  bless 
The  gentle  stars,  if  you  come  off  with  piss ; 
So  many  fates  attend,  a  man  had  need. 
Ne'er  walk  without  a  surgeon  by  his  side ; 
And  he  can  hardly  now  discreet  be  thought. 
That  does  not  make  his  will  ere  he  go  out.* 


*  '  Prepare  for  death,  if  here  at  night  you  roam, 

And  sign  your  will  before  you  sup  from  home.' — London. 
The  parallel  passages  are  both  imitated  from  Juvenal ;  but  in  Oldham's 
time  the  street  dangers  were  more  imminent. 


IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIED  OF  JUVENAL.         201 

'  If  this  you  'scape,  twenty  to  one  you  meet 
Some  of  the  drunken  scourers*  of  the  street, 
Flushed  with  success  of  warlike  deeds  performed, 
Of  constables  subdued,  and  brothels  stormed, 
These,  if  a  quarrel  or  a  fray  be  missed, 
Are  ill  at  ease  a-nights,  and  want  their  rest ; 
For  mischief  is  a  lechery  to  some, 
And  serves  to  make  them  sleep  like  laudanum. 
Yet  heated,  as  they  are,  with  youth  and  wine, 
If  they  discern  a  train  of  flambeaux  shine. 
If  a  great  man  with  his  gilt  coach  appear. 
And  a  strong  guard  of  footboys  in  the  rear. 
The  rascals  sneak  and  shrink  their  heads  for  fear. 
Poor  me,  who  use  no  light  to  walk  about. 
Save  what  the  parish,  or  the  skies  hang  out, 
They  value  not ;  'tis  worth  your  while  to  hear 
The  scuffle,  if  that  be  a  scuffle,  where 
Another  gives  the  blows  I  only  bear; 
He  bids  me  stand ;  of  force  I  must  give  way. 
For  'twere  a  senseless  thing  to  disobey, 
And  struggle  here,  where  I'd  as  good  oppose 
Myself  to  Prestont  and  his  mastiffs  loose. 
'  Who's  there  V  he  cries,  and  takes  you  by  the  throat ; 
'  Dog !  are  you  dumb  ?  Speak  quickly,  else  my  foot 
Shall  march  about  your  buttocks ;  whence  d'ye  come  ] 
From  what  bulk-ridden  strumpet  reeking  home? 
Saving  your  reverend  pimpship,  where  d'ye  ply*? 
How  may  one  have  a  job  of  lechery?' 
If  you  say  anything,  or  hold  your  peace. 
And  silently  go  off,  'tis  all  a  case ; 
Still  he  lays  on ;  nay  well,  if  you  'scape  so ; 
Perhaps  he'll  clap  an  action  on  you  too 
Of  battery,  nor  need  he  fear  to  meet 
A  jury  to  his  turn,  shall  do  him  right. 
And  bring  him  in  large  damage  for  a  shoe 
Worn  out,  besides  the  pains  in  kicking  you. 


*  These  disturbers  of  the  peace  furnished  Shadwell  with  the  subject 
of  a  comedy.  t  Keeper  of  the  Bear-Garden  in  Hockley-Hole. 


202         IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  THIRD  OP  JUVENAL. 

A  poor  man  must  expect  nought  of  redress, 
But  patience;  his  best  course  in  such  a  case 
Is  to  be  thankful  for  the  drubs,  and  beg 
That  they  would  mercifully  spare  one  leg, 
Or  arm  unbroke,  and  let  him  go  away 
With  teeth  enough  to  eat  his  meat  next  day. 

*  Nor  is  this  all  which  you  have  cause  to  fear ; 
Oft  we  enco^^nter  midnight  padders  here, 
When  the  exchanges  and  the  shops  are  close, 
And  the  rich  tradesman  in  his  counting-house 
To  view  the  profits  of  the  day  withdraws. 
Hither  in  flocks  from  Shooter's  Hill  they  come, 
To  seek  their  prize  and  booty  nearer  home : 
^  Your  purse!'  they  cry;  'tis  madness  to  resist, 
Or  strive,  with  a  cocked  pistol  at  your  breast. 
And  these  each  day  so  strong  and  numerous  grow. 
The  town  can  scarce  afford  them  jail-room  now. 
Happy  the  times  of  the  old  Heptarchy, 
Ere  London  knew  so  much  of  villany ; 
Then  fatal  carts  through  Holborn  seldom  went. 
And  Tyburn  with  few  pilgrims  was  content; 
A  less,  and  single  prison  then  would  do, 
And  served  the  City  and  the  County  too. 

'  These  are  the  reasons,  sir,  which  drive  me  hence, 
To  which  I  might  add  more,  would  time  dispense 
To  hold  you  longer;  but  the  sun  draws  low. 
The  coach  is  hard  at  hand,  and  I  must  go ; 
Therefore,  dear  sir,  farewell;  and  when  the  town 
From  better  company  can  spare  you  down. 
To  make  the  country  with  your  presence  blessed. 
Then  visit  your  old  friend  amongst  the  rest; 
There  I'll  find  leisure  to  tmlade  my  mind 
Of  what  remarks  I  now  must  leave  behind ; 
The  fruits  of  dear  experience,  which,  with  these 
Improved,  will  serve  for  hints  and  notices ; 
And  when  you  write  again,  may  be  of  use 
To  furnish  satire  for  your  daring  muse.' 


203 


THE   EIGHTH    SATIRE    OE    MONSIEUR   BOILEAU, 
IMITATED.* 

The   Poet   brings  himself  in,    as   discoursing  with   a 
Doctor  of  the  University  upon  the  subject  ensuing. 

f\F  all  tlie  creatures  in  the  world  that  be, 
^  Beast,  fish,  or  fowl,  that  go,  or  swim,  or  fly 
Throughout  the  globe  from  London  to  Japan^ 
The  arrantest  fool  in  my  opinion's  man. 

'  What"?'  straight  I'm  taken  up,  '  an  ant,  a  fly, 
A  tiny  mite,  which  we  can  hardly  see 
Without  a  perspective,  a  silly  ass. 
Or  freakish  ape?     Dare  you  affirm,  that  these 
Have  greater  sense  than  man*?'     Ay,  questionless;  ' 
Doctor,  I  find  you're  shocked  at  this  discourse. 

'  Man  is,'  you  cry,  '  Lord  of  the  Universe ; 
For  him  was  this  fair  frame  of  nature  made, 
And  all  the  creatures  for  his  use  and  aid ; 
To  him  alone,  of  all  the  living  kind. 
Has  bounteous  Heaven  the  reasoning  gift  assigned.' 
True,  sir,  that  reason  ever  was  his  lot, 
But  thence  I  argue  man  the  greater  sot. 

'This  idle  talk,'  you  say,  '  and  rambling  stuff 
May  pass  in  satire,  and  take  well  enough 
With  sceptic  fools,  who  are  disposed  to  jeer 
At  serious  things ;  but  you  must  make't  appear 
By  solid  proof.'     Believe  me,  sir,  I'll  do't : 
Take  you  the  desk,  and  let's  dispute  it  out. 

Then  by  your  favour,  tell  me  first  of  all. 
What  'tis  which  you  grave  doctors  wisdom  call  ? 
You  answer :  '  'Tis  an  evenness  of  soul, 
A  steady  temper,  which  no  cares  control, 
No  passions  ruffle,  nor  desires  inflame. 
Still  constant  to  itself,  and  still  the  same; 


*  Written  in  October,  i68i. 


204  THE   EIGHTH   SATIRE    OF 

That  does  in  all  its  slow  resolves  advance, 
With  graver  steps  than  benchers  when  they  dance.' 
Most  true;  yet  is  not  this,  I  dare  maintain, 
Less  used  by  any,  than  the  fool,  called  man. 

The  wiser  emmet,  quoted  just  before. 
In  summer  time  ranges  the  fallows  o'er, 
With  pains  and  labour,  to  lay  in  his  store ; 
But  when  the  blustering  north  with  rufEing  blasts 
Saddens  the  year,  and  nature  overcasts, 
The  prudent  insect,  hid  in  privacy. 
Enjoys  the  fruits  of  his  past  industry. 
No  ant  of  sense  was  e'er  so  awkward  seen, 
To  drudge  in  winter,  loiter  in  the  spring. 

But  sillier  man,  in  his  mistaken  way. 
By  reason,  his  false  guide,  is  led  astray; 
Tossed  by  a  thousand  gusts  of  wavering  doubt. 
His  restless  mind  still  rolls  from  thought  to  thought; 
In  each  resolve  unsteady  and  unfixed. 
And  what  he  one  day  loathes,  desires  the  next. 

*  Shall  I,  so  famed  for  many  a  truant  jest 
On  wiving,  now  go  take  a  jilt  at  last? 
Shall  I  turn  husband,  and  my  station  choose 
Amongst  the  reverend  martyrs  of  the  noose? 
No,  there  are  fools  enough  besides  in  town, 
To  furnish  work  for  satire  and  lampoon !' 
Few  months  before,  cried  the  unthinking  sot, 
Who  quickly  after,  hampered  in  the  knot. 
Was  quoted  for  an  instance  by  the  rest. 
And  bore  his  fate  as  tamely  as  the  best. 
And    thought    that   Heaven   from   some   miraculous 

side, 
Por  him  alone  had  drawn  a  faithful  bride. 

This  is  our  image  just:  such  is  that  vain, 
That  foolish,  fickle,  motley  creature,  man: 
More  changing  than  a  weathercock,  his  head 
Ne'er  wakes  with  the  same  thoughts  he  went  to  bed ; 
Irksome  to  all  beside,  and  ill  at  ease. 
He  neither  others,  nor  himself,  can  please; 


MONSIEUR   BOILEAU,    IMITATED.  205 

Each  minute  round  his  whirling  humours  run, 
Now  he's  a  trooj)er,  and.  a  priest  anon, 
To-day  in  buff,  to-morrow  in  a  gown.* 

Yet,  pleased  with  idle  whimsies  of  his  brain. 
And  puffed  with  pride,  this  haughty  thing  would  fain 
Be  thought  himself  the  only  stay  and  prop, 
That  holds  the  mighty  frame  of  nature  up ; 
The  skies  and  stars  his  properties  must  seem, 
And  turnspit  angels  tread  the  spheres  for  him;t 
Of  all  the  creatures  he's  the  lord,  he  cries. 
More  absolute  than  the  French  King  of  his. 

*  And  who  is  there,'  say  you,  ^  that  dares  deny 
So  owned  a  truth?'     That  may  be,  sir,  do  I. 

But  to  omit  the  controversy  here. 
Whether,  if  met,  the  passenger  and  bear. 
This  or  the  other  stands  in  greater  fear; 
Or,  if  an  act  of  parliament  should  pass 
That  all  the  Irish  wolves  should  quit  the  place. 
They'd  straight  obey  the  statute's  high  command, 
And  at  a  minute's  warning  rid  the  land; 
This  boasted  monarch  of  the  world,  that  awes 
The  creatures  here,  and  with  his  beck  gives  laws; 
This  titular  King,  who  thus  pretends  to  be 
The  lord  of  all,  how  many  lords  has  he^X 
The  lust  of  money,  and  the  lust  of  power. 
With  love  and  hate,  and  twenty  passions  more, 
Hold  him  their  slave,  and  chain  him  to  the  oar. 

Scarce  has  soft  sleep  in  silence  closed  his  eyes, 

*  Up !'  straight  says  Avarice,  '  'tis  time  to  rise.' 
Not  yet :  one  minute  longer.  '  Up !'  she  cries. 
The  Exchange  and  shops  are  hardly  open  yet. 

'  No  matter :  Bise !'     But  after  all,  for  whaf? 


*  This  hour  a  slave,  the  next  a  deity. — Pope. 

t  In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  lies ; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  skies. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes. 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. — lb. 

t  The  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all. — lb. 


206  THE    EIGHTH    SATIRE    OP 

*  D'ye  ask?  go,  cut  tlie  Line,  double  the  Caf)e, 
Traverse  from  end  to  end  the  spacious  deep ; 
Search  both  the  Indies,  Bantam,  and  Japan; 
Fetch  sugars  from  Barbadoes,  wines  from  Spain.' 
What  need  all  this  ?     I've  wealth  enough  in  store, 
I  thank  the  Fates,  nor  care  for  adding  more. 

*  You  cannot  have  too  much ;  this  point  to  gain, 
You  must  no  crime,  no  perjury  refrain. 
Hunger  you  must  endure,  hardship,  and  want, 
Amidst  full  barns  keep  an  eternal  Lent, 

And  though  you've  more  than  Buckingham  has  spent, 

Or  Cuddon  got,  like  stingy  Bethel  save,* 

And  grudge  yourself  the  charges  of  a  grave, 

And  the  small  ransom  of  a  single  groat. 

From  sword  or  halter  to  redeem  your  throat.' 

And  pray,  why  all  this  sparing?     '  Don't  you  know? 

Only  to  enrich  a  spendthrift  heir,  or  so. 

Who  shall,  when  you  are  timely  dead  and  gone, 

With  his  gilt  coach  and  six  amuse  the  town, 

Keep  his  gay  brace  of  punks,  and  vainly  give 

More  for  a  night,  than  you  to  fine  for  shrieve. 

But  you  lose  time ;  the  wind  and  vessel  waits. 

Quick,  let's  aboard !    Hey  for  the  Downs  and  Straits.' 

Or,  if  all-powerful  money  fail  of  charms 
To  tempt  the  wretch,  and  push  him  on  to  harms, 
With  a  strong  hand  does  fierce  ambition  seize, 
And  drag  him  forth  from  soft  repose  and  ease; 
Amidst  ten  thousand  dangers  spurs  him  on. 
With  loss  of  blood  and  limbs  to  hunt  renown ; 
Who  for  reward  of  many  a  wound  and  maim, 
Is  paid  with  nought  but  wooden  legs  and  fame. 
And  the  poor  comfort  of  a  grinning  fate. 
To  stand  recorded  in  the  next  Gazette. 

'  But  hold,'  cries  one,  *  your  paltry  gibing  wit. 
Or  learn,  henceforth,  to  aim  it  more  aright; 
If  this  be  any,  'tis  a  glorious  fault. 
Which  through  all  ages  has  been  ever  thought 

*  Alderman  Cuddon  and  Sheriff  Slingsby  Bethel. 


MONSIEUR   BOILEAU,    IMITATED.  207 

The  hero's  virtue  and  chief  excellence ; 

Pray,  what  was  Alexander  in  your  sense  1 

A  fool  belike.'     Y  es,  faith,  sir,  much  the  same ; 

A  crack-brained  huff  that  set  the  world  on  flame ; 

A  lunatic  broke  loose,  who  in  his  fit 

Fell  foul  on  all,  invaded  all,  he  met ; 

Who,  lord  of  the  whole  globe,  yet  not  content. 

Lacked  elbow-room,  and  seemed  too  closely  pent. 

What  madness  was't,  that,  born  to  a  fair  throne, 

Where  he  might  rule  with  justice  and  renown, 

Like  a  wild  robber,  he  should  choose  to  roam, 

A  pitied  wretch,  with  neither  house  nor  home. 

And  hurling  war  and  slaughter  up  and  down. 

Through  the  wide  world  make  his  vast  folly  known? 

Happy  for  ten  good  reasons  had  it  been, 

If  Macedon  had  had  a  Bedlam  then ; 

That  there  with  keepers  under  close  restraint, 

He  might  have  been  from  frantic  mischief  pent. 

But  that  we  mayn't  in  long  digressions  now 
Discourse  all  Reynolds,*  and  the  Passions  through, 
And  ranging  them  in  method  stiff  and  grave, 
Khyme  on  by  chapter  and  by  paragraph; 
Let's  quit  the  present  topic  of  dispute. 
For  More  and  Cudworth  to  enlarge  about; 
And  take  a  view  of  man  in  his  best  light. 
Wherein  he  seems  to  most  advantage  set. 

'  'Tis  he  alone,'  you'll  say,  '  'tis  happy  he, 
That's  framed  by  nature  for  society; 
He  only  dwells  in  towns,  is  only  seen 
With  manners  and  civility  to  shine ; 
Does  only  magistrates  and  rulers  choose. 
And  live  secured  by  government  and  laws.' 

*  Dr.  Keynolds,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  author,  amongst  numerous 
works,  of  a  treatise  Of  the  Passions  and  Faculties  of  tJie  Soul  of  Man, 
1640.  In  1548,  he  was  appointed  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  in 
the  room  of  Dr.  Fell,  who  was  ejected;  and  in  i65i  was  himself  ejected 
for  refusing  the  engagement  to  be  faithful  to  the  Commonwealth.  At 
the  Restoration  he  was  replaced  in  his  deanery,  made  one  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's chaplains,  and  consecrated  Bishop  of  Norwich. 


208  THE   EIGHTH   SATIRE   OP 

'Tis  gi-anted,  sir ;  but  yet  without  all  tliese, 
Without  your  boasted  laws  and  policies, 
Or  fear  of  judges,  or  of  justices; 
Whoever  saw  the  wolves,  that  he  can  say, 
Like  more  inhuman  us,  so  bent  on  prey, 
To  rob  their  fellow  wolves  upon  the  way  1 
Whoever  saw  church  and  fanatic  bear. 
Like  savage  mankind  one  another  tear? 
What  tiger  e'er,  aspiring  to  be  great. 
In  plots  and  factions  did  embroil  the  State? 
Or  when  was't  heard  upon  the  Libyan  j)lains, 
Where  the  stern  monarch  of  the  desert  reigns. 
That  Whig  and  Tory  lions  in  wild  jars 
Madly  engaged  f6r  choice  of  shrieves  and  mayors? 
The  fiercest  creatures  we  in  nature  find. 
Respect  their  figure  still  in  the  same  kind; 
To  others  rough,  to  these  they  gentle  be. 
And  live  from  noise,  from  feuds,  from  factions  frea 

No  eagle  does  upon  his  peerage  sue. 
And  strive  some  meaner  eagle  to  undo; 
No  fox  was  e'er  suborned  by  spite  or  hire, 
Against  his  brother  fox  his  life  to  swear; 
Nor  any  hind,  for  impotence  at  rut. 
Did  e'er  the  stag  into  the  Arches  put, 
Where  a  grave  dean  the  weighty  case  might  state, 
What  makes  in  law  a  carnal  job  complete; 
They  fear  no  dreadful  quo  warranto  writ. 
To  shake  their  ancient  privilege  and  right ; 
No  courts  of  sessions,  or  assize  are  there, 
No  Common-Pleas,  King's-Bench,  or  Chancery-Bar; 
But  happier  they,  by  nature's  charter  free. 
Secure  and  safe  in  mutual  peace  agree, 
And  know  no  other  law  but  equity. 

'Tis  man,  'tis  man  alone,  that  worst  of  brutes. 
Who  first  brought  up  the  trade  of  cutting  throats. 
Did  honour  first,  that  barbarous  term,  devise, 
Unknown  to  aU  the  gentler  savages ; 
And,  as  'twere  not  enough  t'  have  fetched  from  hell, 
Powder  and  guns,  with  all  the  arts  to  kill, 


MONSIEUR  BOILEAU,    IMITATED.  209 

Farther  to  plague  the  world,  he  must  engross 

Huge  codes  and  bulky  pandects  of  the  laws, 

With  doctors'  glosses  to  perplex  the  cause, 

Where  darkened  equity  is  kept  from  light, 

Under  vast  reams  of  nonsense  buried  quite. 

'  Gently,  good  sir !'  cry  you,  '  why  all  this  rant  ] 

Man  has  his  freaks  and  passions,  that  we  gi'ant ; 

He  has  his  frailties  and  blind  sides,  who  doubts'? 

But  his  least  virtues  balance  all  his  faults. 

Pray,  was  it  not  this  bold,  this  thinking  man. 

That   measured    Heaven,    and    taught    the    stars    to 

scan; 
Whose  boundless  wit,  with  soaring  wings,  durst  fly 
Beyond  the  flaming  borders  of  the  sky ; 
Turned  nature  o'er,  and  with  a  piercing  view 
Each  cranny  searched,  and   looked  her  through  and 

through? 
Which  of  the  brutes  have  Universities  ? 
When  was  it  heard  that  they  e'er  took  degrees. 
Or  were  professors  of  the  faculties? 
By  law  or  physic  were  they  ever  known 
To  merit  velvet,  or  a  scarlet  gown?' 

No,  questionless;  nor  did  we  ever  read 
Of  quacks  with  them,  that  were  licentiates  made, 
By  patent  to  profess  the  poisoning  trade ; 
No  doctors  in  the  desk  there  hold  dispute 
About  black  pudding,  while  the  wondering  rout* 
Listen  to  hear  the  knotty  truth  come  out; 
Nor  virtuosos  teach  deep  mysteries 
Of  arts  for  pumping  air,  and  smothering  flies. 

But,  not  to  urge  the  matter  farther  now. 
Nor  search  it  to  the  depth,  what  'tis  to  know, 
And  whether  we  know  anything  or  no ; 
Answer  me  only  this,  what  man  is  there 
In  this  vile  thankless  age,  wherein  we  are. 
Who  does  by  sense  and  learning  value  bear? 
'Wouldst  thou  get  honour,  and  a  fair  estate, 
And  have  the  looks  and  favours  of  the  great?' 

OLDHAM.  14 


210  THE   EIGHTH    SATIRE   OP 

Cries  an  old  father  to  his  blooming  son ; 

'  Take  the  right  course,  be  ruled  by  me,  'tis  done. 

Leave  mouldy  authors  to  the  reading  fools, 

The  poring  crowds  in  colleges  and  schools : 

How  much  is  threescore  nobles'?'     Twenty  pound. 

'  Well  said,  my  son,  the  answer's  most  profound : 

Go,  thou  knowest  all  that's  requisite  to  know; 

What  wealth  on  thee,  what  honours  haste  to  flow ! 

In  these  high  sciences  thyself  employ, 

Instead  of  Plato,  take  thy  Hodder,  boy ; 

Learn  there  the  art  to  audit  an  account, 

To  what  the  King's  revenue  does  amount ; 

How  much  the  Customs  and  Excise  bring  in, 

And  what  the  managers  each  year  purloin. 

Get  a  case-hardened  conscience,  Irish  proof, 

Which  nought  of  pity,  sense,  or  shame  can  move; 

Turn  Algerine,  Barbarian,  Turk,  or  Jew, 

Unjust,  inhuman,  treacherous,  base,  untrue ; 

Ne'er  stick  at  wrong;  hang  widows'  sighs  and  tears, 

The  cant  of  priests  to  frighten  usurers ; 

Boggle  at  nothing  to  increase  thy  store, 

ISTor  orphans'  spoils,  nor  plunder  of  the  poor ; 

And  scorning  paltry  rules  of  honesty, 

By  surer  methods  raise  thy  fortune  high. 

'  Then,  shoals  of  poets,  pedants,  orators, 
Doctors,  divines,  astrologers,  and  lawyers, 
Authors  of  every  sort,  and  every  size. 
To  thee  their  works,  and  labours  shall  address, 
With  pompous  lines  their  dedications  fill. 
And  learnedly  in  Greek  and  Latin  tell 
Lies  to  thy  face,  that  thou  hast  deep  insight, 
And  art  a  mighty  judge  of  what  they  write. 
He  that  is  rich,  is  everything  that  is, 
Without  one  grain  of  wisdom  he  is  wise, 
And  knowing  nought,  knows  all  the  sciences ; 
He's  witty,  gallant,  virtuous,  generous,  stout. 
Well-born,  well-bred,  well-shaped,  well-dressed,  what 
not? 


MONSIEUR   BOILEAU,    IMITATED.  211 

Loved  by  tlie  great,  and  courted  by  the  fair, 
For  none  that  e'er  had  riches  found  desjDair; 
Gold  to  the  loathsomest  object  gives  a  grace, 
And  sets  it  off,  and  makes  even  Bovey  please ; 
But  tattered  poverty  they  all  despise, 
Love  stands  aloof,  and  from  the  scarecrow  flies.* 

Thus  a  staunch  miser  to  his  hopeful  brat 
Chalks  out  the  way  that  leads  to  an  estate; 
Whose  knowledge  oft  with  utmost  stretch  of  brain 
No  higher  than  this  vast  secret  can  attain. 
Five  and  four  's  nine,  take  two,  and  seven  remain. 

Go,  doctor,  after  this,  and  rack  your  brains, 
Unravel  Scripture  with  industrious  pains ; 
On  musty  fathers  waste  your  fruitless  hours, 
Correct  the  critics  and  expositors; 
Outvie  great  Stillingfleet  in  some  vast  tome, 
And  there  confound  both  Bellarmine  and  Bome; 
Or  glean  the  rabbles  of  their  learned  store, 
To  find  what  Father  Simeon  has  passed  o'er; 
Then  at  the  last  some  bulky  piece  compile. 
There  lay  out  all  your  time,  and  pains,  and  skill; 
Arid  when  'tis  done  and  finished  for  the  press, 
To  some  great  name  the  mighty  work  address, 
Who,  for  a  full  reward  of  all  your  toil. 
Shall  pay  you  with  a  gracious  nod  or  smile : 
Just  recompense  of  life  too  vainly  spent ! 
An  empty  '  Thank  you,  sir !'  and  compliment. 

But,  if  to  higher  honours  you  pretend. 
Take  the  advice  and  counsel  of  a  friend ; 
Here  quit  the  desk,  and  throw  your  scarlet  by. 
And  to  some  gainful  course  yourself  apply ; 
Go,  practise  with  some  banker  how  to  cheat. 
There's  choice  in  town,  enquire  in  Lombard-street; 
Let  Scot  and  Ockam  wrangle  as  they  please; 
And  thus  in  short  with  me  conclude  the  oase, 
A  doctor  is  no  better  than  an  ass. 

'A  doctor,  sir,  yourself!  Pray  have  a  care, 
This  is  to  push  your  raillery  too  far. 

14- a 


212  THE   EIGHTH   SATIRE   OF 

But  not  to  lose  the  time  in  trifling  thus 

Beside  the  point,  come  now  more  home  and  close. 

That  man  has  reason  is  beyond  debate, 

Nor  will  yourself,  I  think,  deny  me  that ; 

And  was  not  this  fair  pilot  given  to  steer 

His  tottering  bark  through  life's  rough  ocean  here  V 

All  this  I  grant ;  but  if  in  spite  of  it 
The  wretch  on  every  rock  he  sees  will  split, 
To  what  great  purpose  does  his  reason  serve. 
But  to  misguide  his  course,  and  make  him  swerve? 
What  boots  it  Howard,  when  it  says,  "  Give  o'er 
Thy  scribbling  itch,  and  play  the  fool  no  more,' 
If  her  vain  counsels,  purposed  to  reclaim, 
Only  avail  to  harden  him  in  shame  1 
Lampooned  and  hissed,  and  damned  the  thousandth 

time, 
Still  he  writes  on,  is  obstinate  in  rhyme; 
His  verse,  which  he  does  everywhere  recite, 
Put  all  his  neighbours  and  his  friends  to  flight ; 
Scared  by  the  rhyming  fiend,  they  haste  away, 
Nor  will  his  very  groom  be  hired  to  stay. 

The  ass,  whom  nature  reason  has  denied, 
Content  with  instinct  for  his  surer  guide, 
Still  follows  that,  and  wiselier  does  proceed : 
He  ne'er  aspires  with  his  harsh  braying  note 
The  songsters  of  the  wood  to  challenge  out ; 
Nor,  like  this  awkward  smatterer  in  arts. 
Sets  up  himself  for  a  vain  ass  of  parts ; 
Of  reason  void,  he  sees,  and  gains  his  end. 
While  man,  who  does  to  that  false  light  pretend. 
Wildly  gropes  on,  and  in  broad  day  is  blind. 
By  whimsey  led  he  does  all  things  by  chance, 
And  acts  in  each  against  all  common  sense. 
Pleased  and  displeased  with  everything  at  once, 
He  knows  not  what  he  seeks,  nor  what  he  shuns; 
Unable  to  distinguish  good  or  bad, 
For  nothing  he  is  gay,  for  nothing  sad ; 


MONSIEUR   BOILEAU,    IMITATED.  213 

At  random  loves  and  loathes,  avoids,  pursues, 
Enacts,  repeals,  makes,  alters,  does,  undoes."^ 

Did  we,  like  him,  e'er  see  the  dog,  or  bear, 
Chimeras  of  their  own  devising  fear  1 
Frame  needless  doubts,  and  for  those  doubts  forego 
The  joys  which  prompting  nature  calls  them  to? 
And,  with  their  pleasures  awkwardly  at  vStrife, 
With  scaring  phantoms  pall  the  sweets  of  life? 
Tell  me,  grave  sir,  did  ever  man  see  beast 
So  much  below  himself,  and  sense  debased, 
To  worship  man  with  superstitious  fear, 
And  fondly  to  his  idol  temples  rear? 
Was  he  e'er  seen  with  prayers  and  sacrifice 
Approach  to  him,  as  ruler  of  the  skies. 
To  beg  for  rain  or  sunshine  on  his  knees? 
No,  never;  but  a  thousand  times  has  beast 
Seen  man,  beneath  the  meanest  brute  debased. 
Fall  low  to  wood  and  metal  heretofore, 
And  madly  his  own  workmanship  adore; 
In  Egypt  oft  has  seen  the  sot  bow  down, 
And  reverence  some  deified  baboon; 
Has  often  seen  him  on  the  banks  of  Nile 
Say  prayers  to  the  almighty  crocodile ; 
And  now  each  day,  in  every  street  abroad. 
Sees  prostrate  fools  adore  a  breaden-god. 

*  But  why,'  say  you,  '  these  spiteful  instances 
Of  Egypt  and  its  gross  idolatries  ? 
Of  Rome  and  hers,  as  much  ridiculous? 
What  are  these  lewd  bufiboneries  to  us? 
How  gather  you  from  such  wild  proofs  as  these. 
That  man,  a  doctor,  is  beneath  an  ass? 
An  ass !  that  heavy,  stupid,  lumpish  beast. 
The  sport  and  mocking-stock  of  all  the  rest? 


*  Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confused, 
Still  by  himself  abused,  and  disabused — 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurled, 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world. — Pope. 


214         EIGHTH  SATIRE  OF  M.  BOILEAU,  IMITATED. 

"Whom  they  all  spurn,  and  whom  they  all  despise, 
Whose  very  name  all  satire  does  comprise?' 

An  ass,  sir?    Yes :  pray  what  should  make  us  laugh? 
Now  he  unjustly  is  our  jeer  and  scoff. 
But,  if  one  day  he  should  occasion  find 
Upon  our  follies  to  express  his  mind; 
Tf  Heaven,  as  once  of  old,  to  check  proud  man. 
By  miracle  should  give  him  speech  again; 
What  would  he  say,  d'ye  think,  could  he  speak  out, 
Nay,  sir,  betwixt  us  two,  what  would  he  not? 

What  would  he  say,  were  he  condemned  to  stand 
!For  one  long  hour  in  Fleet-street,  or  the  Strand, 
To  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  motley  throng. 
The  two-legged  herd,  that  daily  pass  along; 
To  see  their  old  disguises,  furs,  and  gowns, 
Their  cassocks,  cloaks,  lawn  sleeves,  and  pantaloons  ? 
What  would  he  say  to  see  a  velvet  quack 
Walk  with  the  price  of  forty  killed  on's  back? 
Or  mounted  on  a  stage,  and  gaping  loud, 
Commend  his  drugs  and  ratsbane  to  the  crowd? 
What  would  he  think  on  a  Lord  Mayor's  day. 
Should  he  the  pomp  and  pageantry  survey? 
Or  view  the  judges,  and  their  solemn  train, 
March  with  grave  decency  to  kill  a  man? 
What  would  he  think  of  us,  should  he  appear 
In  Term  amongst  the  crowds  at  Westminster, 
And  there  the  hellish  din  and  jargon  hear. 
Where  Jeffreys*  and  his  pack,  with  deep-mouthed  notes, 
Drown  Billingsgate  and  all  its  oyster-boats? 
There  see  the  judges,  sergeants,  barristers. 
Attorneys,  counsellors,  solicitors, 


*  Judge  Jeffreys,  who  is  clearly  indicated  here,  (the  name,  in  common 
with  several  others,  being  left  blank  in  the  early  editions)  had  not 
attained  his  ultimate  infamy  when  this  poem  was  written ;  but  he  was 
sufficiently  notorious  even  then  to  justify  the  distinction  conferred  upon 
him  by  the  satirist.  Shortly  before,  he  had  made  himself  very  active  in  the 
Duke  of  York's  interest,  and  had  succeeded  in  a  cause  respecting  the 
Post-office,  of  considerable  importance  to  his  Royal  Highness's  revenues. 
He  was  knighted  in  1680, and  made  chief  justice  and  a  baronet  in  1681. 


A   SATIRE   TOUCHING   NOBILITY.  215 

Criers  and  clerks,  and  all  the  savage  crew 
Which  wretched  man  at  his  own  charge  undo? 
If  after  prospect  of  all  this,  the  ass 
Should  find  the  voice  he  had  in  -r^Esop's  days ; 
Then,  doctor,  then,  casting  his  eyes  around 
On  human  fools,  which  everywhere  abound, 
Content  with  thistles,  from  all  envy  free. 
And  shaking  his  grave  head,  no  doubt  he'd  cry, 
'  Good  faith,  man  is  a  beast  as  much  as  we  1' 


A   SATIRE    TOUCHING   NOBILITY. 

OUT  OF   MONSIEUR  BOIIiEAU.* 

"T^IS  granted,  that  nobility  in  man 

-*-    Is  no  wild  fluttering  notion  of  the  brain, 
"Where  he,  descended  of  an  ancient  race, 
Which  a  long  train  of  numerous  worthies  grace, 
By  virtue's  rules  guiding  his  steady  course. 
Traces  the  steps  of  his  bright  ancestors. 

But  yet  I  can't  endure  an  haughty  ass, 
Debauched  with  luxury  and  slothful  ease, 
Who,  besides  empty  titles  of  high  birth. 
Has  no  pretence  to  anything  of  worth, 
Should  proudly  wear  the  fame  which  others  sought. 
And  boast  of  honour  which  himself  ne'er  got. 
I  grant,  the  acts  which  his  forefathers  did 
Have  furnished  matter  for  old  Hollinshed, 
For  which  their  scutcheon,  by  the  conqueror  graced, 
Still  bears  a  lion  rampant  for  its  crest ; 
But  what  does  this  vain  mass  of  glory  boot 
To  be  the  branch  of  such  a  noble  root. 


*  Pope's  obligations  to  Boileau  have  been  to  some  extent  traced  by 
his  critics.  That  he  was  also  indebted  to  Oldham,  may  be  easily  de- 
termined by  a  comparison  between  this  fluent  and  spirited  version  of 
one  of  Boileau's  Satires,  and  the  Fourth  Epistle  of  the  Essay  on  Man. 


216  A   SATIRE   TOUCHING   NOBILITY. 

If  he,  of  all  the  heroes  of  his  line 

Which  in  the  register  of  story  shine, 

Can  offer  nothing  to  the  world's  regard, 

But  mouldy  parchments  which  the  worms  have  spared  1 

If  sprung,  as  he  pretends,  of  noble  race, 

He  does  his  own  original  disgrace. 

And  swollen  with  selfish  vanity  and  pride. 

To  greatness  has  no  other  claim  beside. 

But  squanders  life,  and  sleeps  away  his  days. 

Dissolved  in  sloth,  and  steeped  in  sensual  ease? 

Meanwhile,  to  see  how  much  the  arrogant 
Boasts  the  false  lustre  of  his  high  descent, 
You'd  fancy  him  comptroller  of  the  sky, 
And  framed  by  Heaven  of  other  clay  than  I. 

Tell  me,  great  hero,  you  that  would  be  thought 
So  much  above  the  mean  and  humble  rout. 
Of  all  the  creatures  which  do  men  esteem  1 
And  which  would  you  yourself  the  noblest  deem  ? 
Put  case  of  horse  :     No  doubt,  you'll  answer  straight, 
The  racer  which  has  oftenest  won  the  plate; 
Who  full  of  mettle,  and  of  sprightly  fire. 
Is  never  distanced  in  the  fleet  career ; 
Him  all  the  rivals  of  Newmarket  dread. 
And  crowds  of  venturers  stake  upon  his  head. 
But  if  the  breed  of  Dragon,  often  cast, 
Degenerate,  and  prove  a  jade  at  last, 
Nothing  of  honour,  or  respect,  we  see. 
Is  had  of  his  high  birth,  and  pedigree; 
But,  maugre  all  his  great  progenitors. 
The  worthless  brute  is  banished  from  the  course, 
Condemned  for  life  to  ply  the  dirty  road. 
To  drag  some  cart,  or  bear  some  carrier's  load. 

Then  how  can  you,  with  any  sense,  expect 
That  I  should  be  so  silly  to  respect 
The  ghost  of  honour  perished  long  ago. 
That's  quite  extinct,  and  lives  no  more  in  you? 
Such  gaudy  trifles  with  the  fools  may  pass. 
Caught  with  mere  show,  and  vain  appearances; 


A   SATIRE   TOUCHING   NOBILITY.  217 

Yirtue's  the  certain  mark,  by  Heaven  designed, 
That's  always  stamped  upon  a  noble  mind. 
If  you  from  such  illustrious  worthies  came, 
By  copying  them  your  high  extract  proclaim; 
Show  us  those  generous  heats  of  gallantry. 
Which  ages  past  did  in  those  worthies  see, 
That  zeal  for  honour,  and  that  brave  disdain. 
Which  scorned  to  do  an  action  base  or  mean : 
Do  you  apply  your  interest  aright, 
Not  to  oppress  the  poor  with  wrongful  might? 
Would  you  make  conscience  to  pervert  the  laws. 
Though  bribed  to  do't,  or  urged  by  your  own  cause  ? 
Dare  you,  when  justly  called,  expend  your  blood 
In  service  for  your  king's  and  country's  good? 
Can  you  in  open  field  in  armour  sleep. 
And  there  meet  danger  in  the  ghastliest  shape? 

By  such  illustrious  marks  as  these,  I  find. 
You're  truly  issued  of  a  noble  kind : 
Then  fetch  your  line  from  Albanact,  or  Knute, 
Or,  if  these  are  too  fresh,  from  older  Brute ; 
At  leisure  search  all  history  to  find 
Some  great  and  glorious  warrior  to  your  mind ; 
Take  Caesar,  Alexander,  which  you  please, 
To  be  the  mighty  founder  of  your  race : 
In  vain  the  world  your  parentage  belie, 
That  was,  or  should  have  been,  your  pedigree. 

But,  though  you  could  with  ease  derive  your  kin 
From  Hercules  himself  in  a  right  line. 
If  yet  there  nothing  in  your  actions  be, 
Worthy  the  name  of  your  high  progeny. 
All  these  great  ancestors,  whom  you  disgrace, 
Against  you  are  a  cloud  of  witnesses ; 
And  all  the  lustre  of  their  tarnished  fame 
Serves  but  to  light  and  manifest  your  shame. 
In  vain  you  urge  the  merits  of  your  race. 
And  boast  that  blood,  which  you  yourself  debase ; 
In  vain  you  borrow,  to  adorn  your  name, 
The  spoils  and  plunder  of  another's  fame, 


218  A    SATIRE   TOUCHING    NOBILITY. 

If,  where  I  looked  for  something  great  and  brave, 

I  meet  with  nothing  but  a  fool  or  knave, 

A  traitor,  villain,  sycophant,  or  slave, 

A  freakish  madman,  fit  to  be  confined. 

Whom  Bedlam  only  can  to  order  bind. 

Or,  to  speak  all  at  once,  a  barren  limb. 

And  rotten  branch  of  an  illustrious  stem. 

But  I  am  too  severe,  perhaps  you'll  think,  | 

And  mix  too  much  of  satire  with  my  ink ;  t 

We  speak  to  men  of  birth  and  honour  here. 
And  those  nice  subjects  must  be  touched  with  care. 
Cry  mercy,  sirs !     Your  race,  we  grant,  is  known : 
But  how  far  backwards  can  you  trace  it  down  1 
You  answer :     For  at  least  a  thousand  year. 
And  some  odd  hundreds,  you  can  make't  appear. 
'Tis  much.     But  yet,  in  short,  the  proofs  are  clear; 
All  books  with  your  forefathers'  titles  shine. 
Whose  names  have  'scaped  the  general  wreck  of  time; 
But  who  is  there  so  bold,  that  dares  engage 
His  honour,  that,  in  this  long  tract  of  age. 
No  one  of  all  his  ancestors  deceased 
Had  e'er  the  fate  to  find  a  bride  unchaste  ? 
That  they  have  all  along  Lucretias  been, 
And  nothing  e'er  of  spurious  blood  crept  in, 
To  mingle  and  defile  the  sacred  line? 

Cursed  be  the  day,  when  first  this  vanity 
Did  primitive  simplicity  destroy. 
In  the  blessed  state  of  infant  time,  unknown. 
When  glory  sprung  from  innocence  alone ; 
Each  from  his  merit  only  title  drew, 
And  that  alone  made  kings,  and  nobles  too ; 
Then,  scorning  borrowed  helps  to  prop  his  name, 
The  hero  from  himself  derived  his  fame ; 
But  merit,  by  degenerate  time  at  last, 
Saw  vice  ennobled,  and  herself  debased ; 
And  haughty  pride  false  pompous  titles  feigned, 
To  amuse  the  world,  and  lord  it  o'er  mankind. 


A   SATIRE   TOUCHING   NOBILITY.  219 

Thence  the  vast  herd  of  earls  and  barons  came, 

For  virtue  each  brought  nothing  but  a  name ; 

Soon  after,  man,  fruitful  in  vanities, 

Did  blazoning  and  armory  devise, 

Founded  a  college  for  the  herald's  art. 

And  made  a  language  of  their  terms  apart. 

Composed  of  frightful  words,  of  Chief,  and  Base, 

Of  Chevron,  Saltier,  Canton,  Bend,  and  Fesse, 

And  whatsoe'er  of  hideous  jargon  else 

Mad  Guilliam  and  his  barbarous  volume  fills. 

Then,  farther  the  wild  folly  to  pursue, 
Plain  downright  honour  out  of  fashion  grew  ; 
But  to  keep  up  its  dignity  and  birth. 
Expense  and  luxury  must  set  it  forth : 
It  must  inhabit  stately  palaces. 
Distinguish  servants  by  their  liveries, 
And,  carrying  vast  retinues  up  and  down. 
The  duke  and  earl  be  by  their  pages  known. 

Thus  honour  to  support  itself  is  brought 
To  its  last  shifts,  and  thence  the  art  has  got 
Of  borrowing  everywhere,  and  paying  nought. 
'Tis  now  thought  mean,  and  much  beneath  a  lord, 
To  be  an  honest  man,  and  keep  his  word. 
Who,  by  his  peerage  and  protection  safe. 
Can  plead  the  privilege  to  be  a  knave ; 
While  daily  crowds  of  starving  creditors 
Are  forced  to  dance  attendance  at  his  doors; 
Till  he,  at  length,  with  all  his  mortgaged  lands 
Are  forfeited  into  the  banker's  hands. 
Then,  to  redress  his  wants,  the  bankrupt  peer 
To  some  rich  trading  sot  turns  pensioner ; 
And  the  next  news  you're  sure  to  hear,  that  he 
Is  nobly  wed  into  the  company. 
Where  for  a  portion  of  ill  gotten  gold. 
Himself  and  all  his  ancestors  are  sold; 
And  thus  repairs  his  broken  family. 
At  the  expense  of  his  own  infamy. 


220  A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND. 

For  if  yon  want  estate  to  set  it  forth, 
In  vain  you  boast  the  splendour  of  your  birtli ; 
Your  prized  gentility  for  madness  goes, 
And  each  your  kindred  shuns  and  disavows. 
But  he  that's  rich  is  praised  at  his  full  rate, 
And  though  he  once  cried  '  Small-coal !'  in  the  street, 
Though  he,  nor  one  of  his  e'er  mentioned  were, 
But  in  the  parish-book  or  register, 
Dugdale,*  by  help  of  chronicle,  shall  trace 
An  hundred  barons  of  his  ancient  race. 


A    SATIRE. 

ADDRESSED  TO   A   FRIEND  THAT  IS   ABOUT  TO   LEAVE   THE 
UNIVERSITY,  AND   COME   ABROAD   IN   THE   WORLD. 

TF  you're  so  out  of  love  with  happiness, 
-*-  To  quit  a  college  life  and  learned  ease, 
Convince  me  first,  and  some  good  reasons  give, 
What  methods  and  designs  you'll  take  to  live ; 
For  such  resolves  are  needful  in  the  case. 
Before  you  tread  the  world's  mysterious  maze. 
Without  the  premises,  in  vain  you'll  try 
To  live  by  systems  of  philosophy ; 
Your  Aristotle,  Cartes,  and  Le  Grand, 
And  Euclid  too,  in  little  stead  will  stand. 

How  many  men  of  choice  and  noted  parts, 
Well  fraught  with  learning,  languages,  and  arts, 
Designing  high  preferment  in  their  mind. 
And  little  doubting  good  success  to  find, 
With  vast  and  towering  thoughts  have  flocked  to  town, 
But  to  their  cost  soon  found  themselves  undone. 


»  Sir  William  Dugdale,  joint  author  with  Dodsworth  of  the  Moruisti- 
con  Anglicanum,  the  first  volume  of  which  was  published  in  i655,  and 
the  second  in  1 66 1.  Oldham's  allusion  to  him  more  especially  refers 
to  his  Baronage  of  England,  published  in  1675  and  1676. 


A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND.  221 

Now  to  repent,  and  starve  at  leisure  left, 
Of  misery's  last  comfort,  hope,  bereft ! 

'  These  failed  for  want  of  good  advice,'  you  cry, 
*  Because  at  first  they  fixed  on  no  employ.' 
Well  then,  let's  draw  the  prospect,  and  the  scene 
To  all  advantage  possibly  we  can. 
The  world  lies  now  before  you,  let  me  hear 
What  course  your  judgment  counsels  you  to  steer; 
Always  considered,  that  your  whole  estate. 
And  all  your  fortune  lies  beneath  your  hat. 
Were  you  the  son  of  some  rich  usurer. 
That  starved  and  damned  himself  to  make  his  heir, 
Left  nought  to  do,  but  to  inter  the  sot, 
And  spend  with  ease  what  he  with  pains  had  got; 
'Twere  easy  to  advise  how  you  might  live, 
Nor  would  there  need  instruction  then  to  give. 
But  you,  that  boast  of  no  inheritance. 
Save  that  small  stock  which  lies  within  your  brains. 
Learning  must  be  your  trade,  and,  therefore,  weigh 
With  heed  how  you  your  game  the  best  may  play ; 
Bethink  yourself  awhile,  and  then  j)ropose 
What  way  of  life  is  fitt'st  for  you  to  choose. 

If  you  for  orders  and  a  gown  design, 
Consider  only  this,  dear  friend  of  mine. 
The  church  is  grown  so  overstocked  of  late, 
That  if  you  walk  abroad,  you'll  hardly  meet 
More  porters  now  than  parsons  in  the  street. 
At  every  corner  they  are  forced  to  ply 
For  jobs  of  hawkering  divinity; 
And  half  the  nimiber  of  the  sacred  herd 
Are  fain  to  stroll  and  wander  unpreferred. 

If  this,  or  thoughts  of  such  a  weighty  charge, 
Make  you  resolve  to  keep  yourself  at  large, 
For  want  of  better  opportunity, 
A  school  must  your  next  sanctuary  be. 
Go,  wed  some  gTammar-bridewell,  and  a  wife. 
And  there  beat  Greek  and  Latin  for  your  life ; 


222  A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND. 

With  birchen  sceptre  there  command  at  will, 
Greater  than  Busby's  self,  or  Doctor  Gill ;  * 
But  who  would  be  to  the  vile  drudgery  bound 
Where  there  so  small  encouragement  is  found  ? 
Where  you,  for  recompense  of  all  your  pains, 
Shall  hardly  reach  a  common  fiddler's  gains? 
For  when  you've  toiled,  and  laboured  all  you  can, 
To  dung  and  cultivate  a  barren  brain, 
A  dancing  master  shall  be  better  paid, 
Though  he  instructs  the  heels,  and  you  the  head.+ 


*  Dr.  Busby,  the  master  of  Westminster  School,  equally  cele- 
brated for  his  learning  and  his  severity.  He  was  living  when  this 
poem  was  written.  Dr.  Gill,  the  son  of  the  head  master  of  St.  Paul's 
School,  was  at  first  usher  under  his  father,  and  afterwards  succeeded 
him,  but  was  dismissed  at  the  end  of  five  years,  it  is  supposed  for  his 
excessive  use  of  corporal  punishments.  He  subsequently  set  up  a 
school  in  Aldersgate-street,  where  he  died  in  164Z.  The  most  memo- 
rable incident  connected  with  the  career  of  Gill  was  that  Milton,  who 
entertained  high  esteem  and  respect  for  him,  was  one  of  his  scholars 
at  St.  Paul's. 

t  Lloyd,  who  had  passed  with  equal  disgust  through  these  ill-paid 
drudgeries,  describes  the  situation  of  the  usher  in  nearly  similar 
terms : — 

•  Were  I  at  once  empowered  to  show 

My  utmost  vengeance  on  my  foe, 

To  punish  with  extremest  rigor, 

I  could  inflict  no  penance  bigger 

Than  using  him  as  learning's  tool, 

To  make  him  usher  of  a  school. 

For,  not  to  dwell  upon  the  toil 

Of  working  on  a  barren  soil. 

And  labouring  ^^^th  incessant  pains 

To  cultivate  a  blockhead's  brains. 

The  duties  there  but  ill  befit 

The  love  of  letters,  arts,  or  wt 

Oh  !  'tis  a  service  irksome  more 

Than  tugging  at  the  slavish  oar. 

Yet  such  his  task,  a  dismal  truth. 

Who  watches  o'er  the  bent  of  youth  ; 

And  while,  a  paltry  stipend  earning. 

He  sows  the  richest  seeds  of  learning. 

And  tills  tlieir  minds  with  proper  care, 

And  sees  them  their  due  produce  bear, 

No  joys,  alas!  his  toil  beguile, 

His  ovm  lies  fallow  all  the  while.' 

The  AutJior's  Apology. 


A    SATIRE   ADDRESSED    TO   A    FRIEND.  223 

To  such  indulgence  are  kind  parents  grown, 
That  nought  costs  less  in  breeding  than  a  son ; 
Nor  is  it  hard  to  find  a  father  now, 
Shall  more  upon  a  setting-dog  allow, 
And  with  a  freer  hand  reward  the  care 
Of  training  up  his  spaniel,  than  his  heir. 

Some  think  themselves  exalted  to  the  sky, 
If  they  light  in  some  noble  family ; 
Diet,  a  horse,  and  thirty  pounds  a  year, 
Besides  the  advantage  of  his  lordship's  ear, 
The  credit  of  the  business,  and  the  state, 
Are  things  that  in  a  youngster's  sense  sound  great. 
Little  the  inexperienced  wi-etch  does  know, 
What  slavery  he  oft  must  undergo. 
Who,  though  in  silken  scarf  and  cassock  dressed, 
Wears  but  a  gayer  livery  at  best ; 
When  dinner  calls,  the  implement  must  wait. 
With  holy  words  to  consecrate  the  meat, 
But  hold  it  for  a  favour  seldom  known. 
If  he  be  deigned  the  honour  to  sit  down. 
Soon  as  the  tarts  appear.  Sir  Crape,  withdraw ! 
Those  dainties  are  not  for  a  spiritual  maw; 
Observe  your  distance,  and  be  sure  to  stand 
Hard  by  the  cistern  with  your  cap  in  hand; 
There  for  diversion  you  may  pick  your  teeth, 
Till  the  kind  voider*  comes  for  your  relief. 
For  mere  board  wages  such  their  freedom  sell, 
Slaves  to  an  hour,  and  vassals  to  a  bell ; 
And  if  the  enjoyment  of  one  day  be  stole, 
They  are  but  prisoners  out  upon  parole; 
Always  the  marks  of  slavery  remain, 
And  they,  though  loose,  still  drag  about  their  chain. 

And  where's  the  mighty  prospect  after  all, 
A  chaplainship  served  up,  and  seven  years'  thrall'? 


*  The  basket,  or  tray,  used  for  carrying  away  the  relics  of  the 
dinner.  Dekker,  observes  Mr.  Halliwell,  applies  the  term  to  a  person 
who  clears  the  table  ;  the  sense  in  which  it  here  seems  to  be  employed 
by  Oldham. 


224:  A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND. 

The  menial  thing,  perhaps,  for  a  reward, 
Is  to  some  slender  benefice  preferred. 
With  this  proviso  bound,  that  he  must  wed 
My  lady's  antiquated  waiting  maid, 
In  dressing  only  skilled,  and  marmalade.* 

Let  others,  who  such  meannesses  can  brook^ 
Strike  countenance  to  every  great  man's  look ; 
Let  those  that  have  a  mind,  turn  slaves  to  eat, 
And  live  contented  by  another's  plate ; 
I  rate  my  freedom  higher,  nor  will  I 
For  food  and  raiment  truck  my  liberty. 
But,  if  I  must  to  my  last  shifts  be  put, 
To  fill  a  bladder,  and  twelve  yards  of  gut, 
Rather  with  counterfeited  wooden  leg, 
And  my  right  arm  tied  up,  I'll  choose  to  beg; 
I'll  rather  choose  to  starve  at  large,  than  be 
The  gaudiest  vassal  to  dependency. 


*  This  picture  of  the  condition  of  the  domestic  chaplain  is  referred 
to  by  Mr.  Macaulay  as  one  of  the  authorities  upon  which  he  has  founded 
a  still  more  elaborate  sketch  of  that  class  of  the  clergy.  The  case  was 
sometimes  even  worse  than  it  is  represented  by  Oldham,  who  pensions 
oiF  the  young  Levite,  and  marries  him  to  an  '  antiquated  waiting-maid.' 
'  With  his  cure,'  says  3Ir.  Macaulay, '  he  was  expected  to  take  a  wife. 
The  wife  had  ordinarily  been  in  the  patron's  service;  and  it  was  well 
if  she  had  not  been  suspected  of  standing  too  high  in  the  patron's 
favour.' — Hist.  ofEng.,  i.  3z8.  Selden  assigns  a  reason  for  the  contumely 
with  which  the  Protestant  clergy  were  treated.  '  Ministers  Avith  the 
Papists  [that  is  their  priests]  have  much  respect ;  with  the  Puritans 
they  have  much,  and  that  upon  the  same  ground,  they  pretend  both  of 
'em  to  come  immediately  from  Christ ;  but  with  the  Protestants  they 
have  very  little,  the  reason  whereof  is,  in  the  beginning  of  the  Refor- 
mation they  were  glad  to  get  such  to  take  livings  as  they  could  procure 
by  any  invitations,  things  of  pitiful  condition.  The  nobility  or  gentry 
would  not  suffer  their  sons  or  kindred  to  meddle  with  the  church,  and 
therefore  at  this  day,  when  they  see  a  parson,  they  think  him  to  be 
such  a  thing  still,  and  there  they  will  keep  him,  and  use  him  accord- 
ingly.'— lahh  Talk.     Ar.     Minister  Divine. 

These  young  house-priests  were  very  appropriately  called  '  trencher- 
chaplains,'  and  are  frequently  alluded  to  imder  that  name  by  the 
writers  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Burton,  in  his  Anatomy  of  Melan- 
choly, thus  speaks  of  them,  confirming  the  scandal  referred  to  by  Mr. 
IMacaulay.  '  If  he  be  a  trencher-chaplain  in  a  gentleman's  house,  after 
some  seven  years'  service  he  may  perchance  have  a  living  to  the  halves, 
or  some  small  rectory,  with  the  mother  of  the  maids  at  length,  a  poor 


A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO    A    FRIEXD.  225 

'T  has  ever  been  the  top  of  my  desires, 
The  utmost  height  to  which  my  wish  aspires, 
That  Heaven  would  bless  me  with  a  small  estate, 
Where  I  might  find  a  close  obscure  retreat; 
There,  free  from  noise  and  all  ambitious  ends. 
Enjoy  a  few  choice  books,  and  fewer  friends. 
Lord  of  myself,  accountable  to  none, 
But  to  my  conscience,  and  my  God  alone : 
There  live  unthought  of,  and  unheard  of  die, 
And  grudge  mankind  my  very  memory. 
But  since  the  blessing  is,  I  find,  too  great 
For  me  to  wish  for,  or  expect  of  fate ; 
Yet,  maugre  all  the  spite  of  destiny, 
My  thoughts  and  actions  are,  and  shall  be,  free. 
A  certain  author,  very  grave  and  sage, 
This  story  tells ;  no  matter  what  the  page. 

One  time,  as  they  walked  forth  ere  break  of  day, 
The  wolf  and  dog  encountered  on  the  way : 


kinswoman,  or  a  crackt  chambermaid  to  have  and  to  hold  during  the 
time  of  his  life.'  A  writer  in  Xotes  and  Queries  explains  the  term  '  to 
the  halves'  as  meaning  inadequate,  as  we  should  say  '  half  and  half 
measures.'  Bishop  Hall  gives  a  very  curious  sketch  in  his  Satires  of 
these  trencher  chaplains : — 

'  A  gentle  squire  would  gladly  entertaine 
Into  his  house  some  trencher-chapelaine, 
Some  willing  man,  that  might  instruct  his  sons, 
And  that  would  stand  to  good  conditions. 
First,  that  he  he  upon  the  truckle-bed, 
While  his  young  master  lieth  o'er  his  head  ; 
Second,  that  he  do,  upon  no  default, 
Never  to  sit  above  the  salt ; 
Third,  that  he  never  change  his  trencher  twice  ; 
Fourth,  that  he  use  all  common  courtesies. 
Sit  bare  at  meals,  and  one  half  rise  and  wait ; 
Last,  that  he  never  his  young  master  beat 
But  he  must  ask  his  mother  to  define 
How  many  jerks  she  would  his  breech  should  line ; 
All  these  observed,  he  could  contented  be, 
To  give  five  markes,  and  winter  liverie.' 

The  custom  of  marrying  oflf  the  domestic  chaplain  to  the  lady's 
waiting-woman  is  alluded  to  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  in  the  Woman 
Hater,  Act  iii.,  sc.  3. 

OLDHAil.  15 


226  A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A    FRIEND. 

Famished  the  one,  meagre,  and  lean  of  plight, 
As  a  cast  poet,  who  for  bread  does  write ; 
The  other  fat,  and  plump,  as  prebend  was, 
Pampered  with  luxury  and  holy  ease. 

Thus  met,  with  compliments,  too  long  to  tell, 
Of  being  glad  to  see  each  other  well : 
'  How  now.  Sir  Towzer  V  said  the  wolf,  '  I  pray, 
Whence  comes  it  that  you  look  so  sleek  and  gay. 
While  I,  who  do  as  well,  I  am  sure,  deserve. 
For  want  of  livelihood  am  like  to  starve  ? ' 

'  Troth,  sir,'  replied  the  dog,  '  't  has  been  my  fate, 
I  thank  the  friendly  stars,  to  hap  of  late 
On  a  kind  master,  to  whose  care  I  owe 
All  this  good  flesh  wherewith  you  see  me  now. 
From  his  rich  voider  every  day  I'm  fed 
With  bones  of  fowls,  and  crusts  of  finest  bread; 
With  fricassee,  ragout,  and  whatsoe'er 
Of  costly  kickshaws  now  in  fashion  are. 
And  more  variety  of  boiled  and  roast. 
Than  a  Lord  Mayor's  waiter  e'er  could  boast. 
Then,  sir,  'tis  hardly  credible  to  tell. 
How  I'm  respected  and  beloved  by  all ; 
I'm  the  delight  of  the  whole  family. 
Not  darling  Shock  more  favourite  than  I ; 
I  never  sleep  abroad,  to  air  exposed. 
But  in  my  warm  apartment  am  inclosed; 
There  on  fresh  bed  of  straw,  with  canopy 
Of  hutch  above,  like  dog  of  state  I  lie. 
Besides,  when  with  high  fare  and  nature  fired. 
To  generous  sports  of  youth  I  am  inspired. 
All  the  proud  shes  are  soft  to  my  embrace. 
From  bitch  of  quality  down  to  turnspit  race ; 
Each  day  I  try  new  mistresses  and  loves. 
Nor  envy  sovereign  dogs  in  their  alcoves. 
Thus  happy  I  of  all  enjoy  the  best. 
No  mortal  cur  on  earth  yet  half  so  blessed ; 
And  farther  to  enhance  the  kappiness, 
All  this  I  get  by  idleness  and  ease.' 


A   SATIRE   ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND.  227 

'  Troth/  said  the  wolf,  '  I  envy  your  estate; 
Would  to  the  gods  it  were  but  my  good  fate, 
That  I  might  happily  admitted  be 
A  member  of  your  blessed  society ! 
I  would  with  faithfulness  discharge  my  place 
In  any  thing  that  I  might  serve  his  grace. 
But,  think  you,  sir,  it  would  be  feasible, 
And  that  my  application  might  prevail  ? ' 

^Do  but  endeavour,  sir,  you  need  not  doubt; 
I  make  no  question  but  to  bring  't  about ; 
Only  rely  on  me,  and  rest  secure, 
I'll  serve  you  to  the  utmost  of  my  power, 
*  As  I  am  a  dog  of  honour,  sir : — but  this 
I  only  take  the  freedom  to  advise. 
That  you'd  a  little  lay  your  roughness  by, 
And  learn  to  practise  complaisance,  like  me.' 

*  For  that  let  me  alone,  I'll  have  a  care, 
And  top  my  part,  I  warrant,  to  a  hair; 
There's  not  a  courtier  of  them  all  shall  vie 
For  fawning  and  for  suppleness  with  me.' 

And  thus  resolved  at  last,  the  travellers 
Towards  the  house  together  shape  their  course. 
The  dog,  who  breeding  well  did  understand, 
In  walking  gives  his  guest  the  upper  hand; 
And  as  they  walk  along,  they  all  the  while 
With  mirth  and  pleasant  raillery  beguile 
The  tedious  time  and  way,  till  day  di^ew  near. 
And  light  came  on ;  by  which  did  soon  appear 
The  mastiff's  neck  to  view  all  worn  and  bare. 

This  when  his  comrade  spied,  '  What  means,'  said  he, 
'  This  circle  bare,  which  round  your  neck  I  see  1 
If  I  may  be  so  bold  ;' — '  Sir,  you  must  know. 
That  I  at  first  was  rough  and  fierce  like  you. 
Of  nature  cursed,  and  often  apt  to  bite 
Strangers,  and  else,  whoever  came  in  sight; 
For  this  I  was  tied  up,  and  underwent 
The  whip  sometimes,  and  such  light  chastisement ; 

15—2 


228  A   SATIRE. 

Till  I  at  lengtli  by  discipline  grew  tame, 

Gentle,  and  tractable,  as  now  I  am. 

'Twas  by  this  short,  and  slight  severity 

I  gained  these  marks  and  badges  which  you  see. 

But  what  are  they?  Allons,  monsieur!  let's  go.' 

'  Not  one  step  farther,  sir ;  excuse  me  now. 
Much  joy  t'ye  of  your  envied,  blessed  estate, 
I  will  not  buy  preferment  at  that  rate ; 
In  God's  name,  take  your  golden  chains  for  me  j 
Faith,  I'd  not  be  a  king,  not  to  be  free. 
Sir  dog,  your  humble  servant,  so  good  bye  1 ' 


A    SATIRE. 

The  person  of  Spenser  is  brought  in,  dissuading  the 
author  from  the  study  of  Poetry,  and  showing  how 
little  it  is  esteemed  and  encouraged  in  this  present 
age. 

ONE  night,  as  I  was  pondering  of  late 
On  all  the  miseries  of  my  hapless  fate. 
Cursing  my  rhyming  stars,  raving  in  vain 
At  all  the  powers  which  over  poets  reign, 
In  came  a  ghastly  shape,  all  pale  and  thin. 
As  some  poor  sinner  who  by  priest  had  been, 
Under  a  long  Lent's  penance,  starved  and  whipped, 
Or  parboiled  lecher,  late  from  hothouse  cre23t. 
Famished  his  looks  appeared,  his  eyes  sunk  in, 
Like  morning  gown  about  him  hung  his  skin, 
A  wreath  of  laurel  on  his  head  he  wore, 
A  book,  inscribed  the  Fairy  Queen,  he  bore. 

By  this  I  knew  him,  rose,  and  bowed,  and  said, 
*  Hail  reverend  ghost!  all  hail  most  sacred  shade! 
Why  this  great  visit?  why  vouchsafed  to  me. 
The  meanest  of  thy  British  progeny  ? 
Comest  thou,  in  my  uncalled,  unhallowed  muse, 
Some  of  thy  mighty  spirit  to  infuse? 


A   SATIRE.  229 

If  SO,  lay  on  thy  hands,  ordain  me  fit 
For  the  high  cure  and  ministry  of  wit ; 
Let  me,  I  beg,  thy  great  instructions  claim, 
Teach  me  to  tread  the  glorious  paths  of  fame ; 
Teach  me,  for  none  does  better  know  than  thou, 
How,  like  thyself,  I  may  immortal  grow.' 

Thus  did  I  speak,  and  spoke  it  in  a  strain 
Above  my  common  rate  and  usual  vein, 
As  if  inspired  by  presence  of  the  bard, 
Who,  with  a  frown,  thus  to  reply  was  heard 
In  style  of  satire,  such  wherein  of  old 
He  the  famed  tale  of  Mother  Hubbard  told. 

'  I  come,  fond  idiot,  ere  it  be  too  late. 
Kindly  to  warn  thee  of  thy  wretched  fate ; 
Take  heed  betimes,  repent,  and  learn  of  me 
To  shun  the  dangerous  rocks  of  poetry ; 
Had  I  the  choice  of  flesh  and  blood  again, 
To  act  once  more  in  life's  tumultuous  scene, 
I'd  be  a  porter,  or  a  scavenger, 
A  groom,  or  anything,  but  poet  here. 
Hast  thou  observed  some  hawker  of  the  town, 
Who   through   the  streets  with   dismal    scream   and 

tone. 
Cries  matches,  small-coal,  brooms^  old  shoes  and  boots. 
Socks,  sermons,  ballads,  lies,  gazettes,  and  votes  1 
So  unrecorded  to  the  grave  I'd  go, 
And  nothing  but  the  register  tell  who ; 
Rather  that  poor  unheard-of  wretch  I'd  be. 
Than  the  most  glorious  name  in  poetry. 
With  all  its  boasted  immortality; 
Rather  than  he,  who  sung  on  Phrygia's  shore, 
The  Grecian  bullies  fighting  for  a  whore; 
Or  he  of  Thebes,  whom  fame  so  much  extols 
For  praising  jockeys  and  Newmarket  fools. 

'  So  many  now,  and  bad,  the  scribblers  be, 
'Tis  scandal  to  be  of  the  company; 
The  foul  disease  is  so  prevailing  grown, 
So  much  the  fashion  of  the  court  and  town, 


230 


A   SATIRE. 


That  scarce  a  man  well-bred  in  either's  deemed, 
But  wlio  has  killed,  been  drunk,  and  often  rhymed. 
The  fools  are  troubled  with  a  flux  of  brains, 
And  each  on  paper  squirts  his  filthy  sense; 
A  leash  of  sonnets  and  a  dull  lampoon 
Set  up  an  author_,  who  forth  with  is  grown 
A  man  of  parts,  of  rhyming,  and  renown. 
Even  that  vile  wretch,  who  in  lewd  verse  each  year 
Describes  the  pageants  and  the  good  Lord  Mayor, 
Whose  works  must  serve  the  next  election  day 
For  making  squibs,  and  under  pies  to  lay, 
Yet  counts  himself  of  the  inspired  train. 
And  dares  in  thought  the  sacred  name  profane.* 
*  But    is    it    nought,'     thou'lt    say,     '  in   front    to 
stand, 
With  laurel  crowned  by  White,  or  Loggan's  handH 
Is  it  not  great  and  glorious  to  be  known. 
Marked   out,    and  gazed  at  through  the  wondering 

town, 
By  all  the  rabble  passing  up  and  down?' 
So  Gates  and  Bedloe  have  been  pointed  at, 
And  every  busy  coxcomb  of  the  state ; 


*  Jordan,  who,  in  1671,  succeeded  Tatham  as  '  city  poet,'  and  con- 
tinued to  produce  the  annual  pageants  till  i68z,  when  the  usual  show 
was  dropped,  and  not  resumed  till  1684,  in  consequence  of  the  suspen- 
sion of  the  charter  of  the  city  by  Charles  II.  This  Satire  was  published 
in  1 68  3.  Notwithstanding  the  severity  ■nith  which  he  is,  justly  upon 
the  main,  treated  by  Oldham,  Jordan  had  some  merit  as  a  writer  of 
pageants,  especially  in  the  after-dinner  glorification,  a  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment in  which  he  excelled  all  his  predecessors.  '  He  is  the  most 
humorous  of  city  poets,'  says  Mr.  Fairholt, '  and  his  songs,  in  some  of 
the  pageants,  are  extremely  good.'  See  Lord  Mayors'  Pageants,  pub- 
lished by  the  Percy  Society. 

t  '  And  in  the  front  of  all  his  senseless  plays, 

Makes  David  Loggan  crown  his  head  wdth  bays.* 

Dryden. 
David  Loggan,  a  native  of  Dantzic,  who  settled  in  England  before 
the  Restoration,  was  an  engraver  in  high  repute  at  this  period.  Robert 
White  was  one  of  his  pupils;  and  '  no  man,'  says  Walpole,  'perhaps 
exceeded  him  in  the  multiplicity  of  English  heads.'  Lists  of  the  por- 
traits they  executed,  collected  by  Yertue,  will  be  found  in  Walpole's 
Catalogue  of  Engravers. 


A    SATIRE.  231 

The  meanest  felons  wlio  througli  Holborn  go, 

More  eyes  and  looks  than  twenty  poets  draw. 

If  this  be  all,  go,  have  thy  posted  name 

Fixed  up  with  bills  of  quack,  and  public  shame. 

To  be  the  stop  of  gaping  'prentices. 

And  read  by  reeling  drunkards,  when  they  pass  j 

Or  else  to  lie  exposed  on  trading  stall. 

While  the  bilked  owner  hires  Gazettes  to  tell, 

'Mongst  spaniels  lost,  that  author  does  not  sell. 

'  Perhaps,  fond  fool,  thou  soothest  thyself  in  dream, 
With  hopes  of  purchasing  a  lasting  name  ? 
Thou  think'st,  perhaps,  thy  trifles  shall  remain, 
Like  sacred  Cowley,  or  immortal  Ben ; 
But  who  of  all  the  bold  adventurers. 
Who  now  drive  on  the  trade  of  fame  in  verse, 
Can  be  ensured  in  this  uniaithfiil  sea. 
Where  there  so  many  lost  and  shipwrecked  be? 
How  many  poems  writ  in  ancient  time. 
Which  thy  forefathers  had  in  great  esteem, 
Which  in  the  crowded  shops  bore  any  rate. 
And  sold  like  news-books,  and  afiairs  of  state. 
Have  grown  contemptible,  and  slighted  since. 
As  Pordage,*  Flecknoe,t  or  the  British  Prince  2% 
Quarles,  Chapman,  Heywood,  Wither  had  applause, 
And  Wild,  and  Ogilby  in  former  days ; 
But  now  are  damned  to  wrapping  drugs  and  wares, 
And  cursed  by  all  their  broken  stationers.  § 
And  so  mayst  thou,  perchance,  pass  up  and  down, 
And  please  awhile  the  admiring  court  and  town, 
Who  after  shalt  in  Duck-lane  ||  shops  be  thrown. 


*  Samuel  Pordage,  a  "WTiter  of  wretched  doggrel,  and  one  of  the 
swarm  of  verse-mongers  that  attacked  the  Absalom  and  Achitopliel  ol 
Dryden. — See  ante,  p.  1 8  3. 

f  The  Irish  priest  immortalized  by  Dryden  in  his  Satire  on  Shadwell. 

X  An  epic  poem  by  the  Hon.  Edward  Howard. 

§  The  term  by  which  booksellers  and  publishers  were  designated. 

li  Duck-lane,  lying  between  Little  Britain  and  Smithfield,  and  now 
called  Duke-street,  was  as  celebrated  for  book-stalls  and  second-hand 
book  shops  as  Grub-street  for  starving  authors. 


232  A   SATIKE. 

To  mould  with  Silvester,*  and  Shirley  +  there, 
And  truck  for  pots  of  ale  next  Stourbridge  fair. 
Then  who'd  not  laugh  to  see  the  immortal  name 
To  vile  Mundungus  made  a  martyr  flame? 
And  all  thy  deathless  monuments  of  wit, 
Wipe  porters'  tails,  or  mount  in  jDaper  kite? 

'  But,  grant  thy  poetry  should  find  success, 
And,  which  is  rare,  the  squeamish  critics  please; 
Admit  it  read,  and  praised,  and  courted  be 
By  this  nice  age,  and  all  posterity; 
If  thou  expectest  aught  but  empty  fame, 
Condemn  thy  hopes  and  labours  to  the  flame. 
The  rich  have  now  learned  only  to  admire ; 
He,  who  to  greater  favours  does  ^«pire, 
Is  mercenary  thought,  and  writes  for  hire. 
Wouldst  thou  to  raise  thine,  and  thy  country's  fame, 
Choose  some  old  English  hero  for  thy  theme, 
Bold  Arthur,  or  great  Edward's  greater  son, 
Or  our  fifth  Harry,  matchless  in  renown ; 
Make  Agincourt  and  Cressy  fields  outvie 
The  famed  Lavinian  shores,  and  walls  of  Troy ; 
What  Scipio,  what  Maecenas  wouldst  thou  find, 
What  Sidney  now  to  thy  great  project  kind? 
*  Bless  me !  how  great  his  genius !  how  each  line 
Is  big  with  sense !  how  glorious  a  design 
Does  thi'ough  the  whole,  and  each  proportion  shine ! 
How  lofty  all  his  thoughts,  and  how  inspired ! 
Pity,  such  wondrous  thoughts  are  not  preferred;' 
Cries  a  gay  wealthy  sot,  who  would  not  bail, 
For  bare  five  pounds,  the  author  out  of  jail. 
Should  he  starve  there,  and  rot ;  who,  if  a  brief 
Came  out  the  needy  poets  to  relieve. 
To  the  whole  tribe  would  scarce  a  tester  give. 

*  Joshua  Silvester,  the  translator  of  Du  Bartas. 
t  James  Shirley,  the  dramatist.  These  allusions  are  curious,  as 
showing  the  popular  opinion  entertained  at  this  time  of  several  writers 
who  had  enjoyed  celebrity  in  their  own  day,  but  wore  treated,  under 
the  Restoration,  Avith  contempt,  from  which  some  of  them  have  since 
been  rescued. 


A    SATIRE.  233 

Eut  fifty  guineas  for  a  punk — good  hap ! 

The  peer's  well  used,  and  comes  off  wondrous  cheap ; 

A  poet  would  be  dear,  and  out  o'  th'  way, 

Should  he  expect  above  a  coachman's  payl 

For  this  will  any  dedicate,  and  lie, 

And  daub  the  gaudy  ass  with  flattery? 

For  this  will  any  prostitute  his  sense 

To  coxcombs  void  of  bounty  as  of  brains? 

Yet  such  is  the  hard  fate  of  writers  now. 

They're  forced  for  alms  to  each  great  name  to  bow ; 

Fawn,  like  her  lap-dog,  on  her  tawdry  Grace, 

Commend  her  beauty,  and  belie  her  glass, 

By  which  she  every  morning  primes  her  face ; 

Sneak  to  his  Honour,  call  him  witty,  brave, 

And  just,  though  a  known  coward,  fool,  or  knave; 

And  praise  his  lineage  and  nobility. 

Whose  arms  at  first  came  from  the  Company. 

''Tis  so,  'twas  ever  so,  since  heretofore 
The  blind  old  bard,  with  dog  and  bell  before. 
Was  fain  to  sing  for  bread  from  door  to  door : 
The  needy  muses  all  turned  gipsies  then. 
And  of  the  begging  trade  e'er  since  have  been. 
Should  mighty  Sappho  in  these  days  revive. 
And  hope  upon  her  stock  of  wit  to  live, 
She  must  to  Creswell's*  trudge  to  mend  her  gains. 
And  let  her  tail  to  hire,  as  well  as  brains. 
What  poet  ever  fined  for  sheriff?  or  who 
By  wit  and  sense  did  ever  Lord  Mayor  grow? 

*  My  own  hard  usage  here  I  need  not  press, 
Where  you  have  every  day  before  your  face 
Plenty  of  fresh  resembling  instances. 
Great  Cowley's  muse  the  same  ill  treatment  had. 
Whose  verse  shall  live  for  ever  to  upbraid 
The  ungrateful  world,  that  left  such  worth  impaid. 
Waller  himself  may  thank  inheritance 
For  what  he  else  had  never  got  by  sense. 


*  Mother  Creswell,  a  notorious  personage. 


284  A   SATIRE. 

Ou  Butler  who  can  think  without  just  rage, 
The  glory,  and  the  scandal  of  the  age? 
Fair  stood  his  hopes,  when  first  he  came  to  town, 
Met  everywhere  with  welcomes  of  renown, 
Courted,  and  loved  by  all,  with  wonder  read, 
And  promises  of  j)rincely  favour  fed ; 
But  what  reward  for  all  had  he  at  last, 
After  a  life  in  dull  expectance  passed? 
The  wretch  at  summing  uj)  his  misspent  days 
Found  nothing  left,  but  poverty  and  praise; 
Of  all  his  gains  by  verse  he  could  not  save 
Enough  to  purchase  flannel  and  a  grave ; 
Keduced  to  want,  he  in  due  time  fell  sick. 
Was  fain  to  die,  and  be  interred  on  tick; 
And  well  might  bless  the  fever  that  was  sent, 
To  rid  him  hence,  and  his  worse  fate  prevent. 

'  You've  seen  what  fortune  other  poets  share; 
"View  next  the  factors  of  the  theatre, 
That  constant  mart,  which  all  the  year  does  hold. 
Where  staple  wit  is  bartered,  bought,  and  sold; 
Here  trading  scribblers  for  their  maintenance 
And  livelihood  trust  to  a  lottery-chance ; 
But  who  his  parts  would  in  the  service  spend. 
Where  all  his  hopes  on  vulgar  breath  depend? 
Where  every  sot,  for  paying  half-a- crown,* 
Has  the  prerogative  to  cry  him  down  ? 
Sedley  indeed  may  be  content  with  fame. 
Nor  care  should  an  ill-judging  audience  damn; 
But  Settle,  and  the  rest,  that  write  for  jDcnce, 
Whose  whole  estate's  an  ounce  or  two  of  brains. 
Should  a  thin  house  on  the  third  day  appear. 
Must  starve,  or  live  in  tatters  all  the  year. 
And  what  can  we  expect  that's  brave  and  great. 
From  a  poor  needy  wretch,  that  writes  to  eat? 
Who  the  success  of  the  next  play  must  wait 
For  lodging,  food,  and  clothes,  and  whose  chief  care 
Is  how  to  spunge  for  the  next  meal,  and  where? 

*  The  price  to  the  pit  of  the  theatre. 


A    SATIRE.  2Z.y 

*  Haclst  thou  of  old  in  flourishing  Athens  lived, 
"When  all  the  learned  arts  in  glory  thrived, 
When  mighty  Sophocles  the  stage  did  sway, 
And  poets  by  the  state  were  held  in  pay; 
'Twere  worth  thy  pains  to  cultivate  thy  muse, 
And  daily  wonders  then  it  might  produce ; 

But  who  would  now  write  hackney  to  a  stage. 
That's  only  thought  the  nuisance  of  the  age  1 
Go,  after  this,  and  beat  thy  wretched  brains, 
And  toil  to  bring  in  thankless  idiots'  means; 
Turn  o'er  dull  Horace,  and  the  classic  fools. 
To  poach  for  sense,  and  hunt  for  idle  rules ; 
Be  free  of  tickets,  and  the  playhouses, 
And  spend  thy  gains  on  tawdry  actresses. 

*  All  trades  and  all  professions  here  abound. 
And  yet  encouragement  for  all  is  found; 
Here  a  vile  empiric,  who  by  licence  kills. 
Who  every  week  helps  to  increase  the  bills. 
Wears  velvet,  keeps  his  coach,  and  jade  beside, 
For  what  less  villains  must  to  Tyburn  ride. 
There  a  dull  trading  sot,  in  wealth  o'ergrown 
By  thriving  knavery,  can  call  his  own 

A  dozen  manors,  and,  if  fate  still  bless, 

Expects  as  many  counties  to  possess. 

Punks,  panders,  bawds,  all  their  due  pensions  gain, 

And  every  day  the  great  men's  bounty  drain ; 

Lavish  expense  on  wit,  has  never  yet 

Been  taxed  amongst  the  grievances  of  state. 

The  Turkey,  Guinea,  India  gainers  be, 

And  all  but  the  poetic  company ; 

Each  place  of  traffic.  Bantam,  Smyrna,  Zante, 

Greenland,  Virginia,  Seville,  Alicant, 

And  France,  that  sends  us  vices,  lace,  and  wine, 

"Vast  profit  all,  and  large  returns  bring  in ; 

Parnassus  only  is  that  barren  coast. 

Where  the  whole  voyage  and  adventure's  lost. 

'  Then  be  advised,  the  slighted  muse  forsake, 
And  Coke  and  Dalton  for  thy  study  take ; 


23v3  .  A   SATIRE. 

For  fees  each  term  sweat  in  the  crowded  hall, 

And  there  for  charters,  and  cracked  titles  bawl ; 

Where  Maynard  *  thrives,  and  pockets  more  each  year 

Than  forty  laureats  of  the  theatre. 

Or  else  to  orders,  and  the  church  betake 

Thyself,  and  that  thy  future  refuge  make ; 

There  fawn  on  some  proud  patron  to  engage 

The  advowson  of  cast  punk  and  parsonage. 

Or  soothe  the  court,  and  preach  up  kingly  right, 

To  gain  a  prebend  or  a  mitre  by't. 

In  fine,  turn  pettifogger,  canonist, 

Civilian,  pedant,  mountebank,  or  priest. 

Soldier  or  merchant,  fiddler,  painter,  fencer, 

Jack-pudding,  juggler,  player,  or  rope-dancer ;+ 

Preach,  plead,  cure,  fight,  game,  pimp,  beg,  cheat,  or 

thieve ; 
Be  all  but  poet,  and  there's  way  to  live. 

'  But  why  do  I  in  vain  my  counsel  spend 
On  one  whom  there's  so  little  hope  to  mend? 
Where  I  perhaps  as  fruitlessly  exhort. 
As  Lenten  doctors,  when  they  preach  at  court ; 
Not  gamesters  from  the  snares  they  once  have  tried. 
Not  fops  and  women  from  conceit  and  pride, 
Not  bawds  from  impudence,  cowards  from  fear. 
Nor  seared  unfeeling  sinners  past  despair, 
Are  half  so  hard  and  stubborn  to  reduce. 
As  a  poor  wretch  when  once  possessed  with  muse. 

'  If,  therefore,  what  I've  said  cannot  avail, 
Nor  from  the  rhyming  folly  thee  recall. 
But,  spite  of  all,  thou  wilt  be  obstinate. 
And  run  thyself  upon  avoidless  fate ; 


*  Sir  John  Maynard,  King's  Sergeant,  who  is  said  to  have  made  a 
larger  income  at  the  bar  than  any  of  his  contemporaries. 

t  Such  people  were  lavishly  patronized  by  the  nobility.  Ladies  of 
rank  were  in  the  habit  of  inviting  jugglers  and  conjurers  to  their 
houses  to  amuse  their  company.  Richardson,  the  fire-eater,  was  one 
of  the  most  popular  of  these  performers ;  and  Jacob  Hall,  the  rope- 
dancer,  occupies  so  conspicuous  a  position  in  the  social  annals  of  the 
time,  that  he  may  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  spurious  historical  character. 


COUNTERPAET  TO  SATIRE  AGAINST  VIRTUE.        237 

Mayst  thou  go  on  unpitied,  till  thou  be 
Brought  to  the  parish,  bridge,  and  beggary; 
Till  lu-ged  by  want,  like  broken  scribblers,  thoiv 
Turn  poet  to  a  booth,  a  Smithfield  show, 
And  write  heroic  verse  for  Bartholomew ; 
Then  slighted  by  the  very  Nursery,* 
j^Jayst  thou  at  last  be  forced  to  starve,  like  me.' 


COUNTERPAET   TO    THE    SATIEE    AGAINST 
VIRTUE. 

IN   PERSON   OF   THE   AUTHOR.! 


"TDABDON  me.  Virtue,  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 
J-  (For  sure  thou  of  the  godhead  art  a  part, 
And  all  that  is  of  him  must  be 


The  very  deity) 


*  The  Nursery  stood  in  Barbican.  It  was  a  theatre  established 
under  letters  patent  for  training  boys  and  girls  in  the  art  of  acting. 
See  Drfden's  Poems,  Ann.  Ed.  ii.  z8, 7wte. 

t  Amongst  the  pieces  published  with  the  Satires  on  the  Jesuits  was 
a  Pindaric  ode,  entitled  A  Satire  against  Virtue,  followed  by  some 
verses  designed  as  an  apology  for  what  might  otherwise  have  appeared 
to  imply  a  serious  attack  on  moraUty  and  religion.  In  these  verses, 
which  he  calls  an  epilogue,  Oldham  declares  that  he  has  been  merely 
acting  in  masquerade,  and  that  the  true  aim  of  his  satire  is  to  expose 
the  vices  of  the  age.  He  avows  that  his  muse  on  this  occasion  had 
intentionally  spoken  like  one  who,  by  converse  with  bullies,  had  gro^vTi 
■wicked,  and  '  learned  the  mode  to  cry  all  virtue  down ; '  but  that  in 
future,  should  he  continue  to  write,  he  will  adopt  a  more  direct  and 
open  course : — 

'  Though  against  virtue  once  he  drew  his  pen. 

He'll  ne'er  for  aught,  but  her  defence  again. 

Had  he  a  genius  and  poetic  rage. 

Great  as  the  vices  of  this  guilty  age. 

Were  he  all  gall,  and  armed  with  store  of  spite, 

'Twere  worth  his  gains  to  undertake  to  write ; 

To  noble  satire  he'd  direct  his  aim. 

And  by't  mankind  and  poetry  reclaim  ; 

He'd  shoot  his  quills,  just  like  a  porcupine. 

At  vice,  and  make  them  stab  in  every  line ; 

The  world  should  learn  to  blush.' 
It  must  be  confessed  that  the  Satire  against  Virttie  required,  not  an 


238  COUNTERPART   TO 

Pardon,  if  I  in  auglit  did  tliee  blaspheme, 

Or  injure  thy  pure  sacred  name : 
Accept  unfeigned  repentance,  prayers,  and  vows, 
The  best  atonement  of  my  penitent  humble  muse. 
The    best    that    heaven    requires,    or    mankind    can 

produce. 
All  my  attempts  hereafter  shall  at  thy  devotion  be, 
Ready  to  consecrate  my  ink  and  very  blood  to  thee. 
Forgive  me,  ye  blest  souls  that  dwell  above, 
Where  you  by  its  reward  the  worth  of  virtue  prove ; 
Forgive,  if  you  can  do't,  who  know  no  passion  now 

but  love. 
And  you  unhappy,  happy  few. 
Who  strive  with  life,  and  human  miseries  below, 

Forgive  me  too. 
If  I  in  aught  disparaged  them,  or  else  discouraged  you. 


Blessed  Virtue !  whose  almighty  power 

Does  to  our  fallen  race  restore 
All  that  in  Paradise  we  lost,  and  more; 

Lifts  us  to  heaven,  and  makes  us  be 

The  heirs  and  image  of  the  deity. 
Soft  gentle  yoke !  which  none  but  resty  fools  refuse. 

Which  before  freedom  I  would  ever  choose. 


explanation,  for  its  purpose  is  obvious  enough,  but  an  apology,  such  as 
Oldham  had  the  good  sense  to  publish  along  with  it.  In  that  apology 
there  is  a  sufficient  justification  for  the  exclusion  of  the  piece  from  this 
volume.  If  Oldham  found  it  necessary  to  deprecate  its  coarseness  at  a 
time  when  no  language  was  considered  too  gross  for  satire,  there  is  still 
greater  reason  for  rejecting  it  altogether  in  the  present  age.  It  may  be 
inferred  from  the  above  Counterpart,  published  amongst  his  Remauw, 
that  had  he  lived  to  revise  and  collect  his  works,  he  would  himself 
have  cast  out  a  foolish  poem  which  he  earnestly  regretted  having 
written.  The  satire  itself  comes  strictly  within  Pope's  censure.  It 
is  mere  bald  Billingsgate,  and  falls  flat  from  the  dead  weight  of 
its  gratuitous  extravagance.  Oldham  mistook  his  powers  when  he 
attempted  a  masquerade  of  this  kind,  which  requires  to  be  sustained 
by  the  play  of  covert  wit.  His  strength  was  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion ;  and  he  always  succeeded  best  when  he  went  straight  to  hii 
object. 


THE   SATIRE   AGAINST    VIRTUE.  239 

Easy  are  all  the  bonds  that  are  imposed  by  thee ; 
Easy  as  those  of  lovers  are, 
(If  I  with  aught  less  pure  may  thee  compare) 
Nor  do  they  force,  but  only  guide  our  liberty. 
By  such  soft  ties  are  spirits  above  confined ; 
So  gentle  is  the  chain  which  them  to  good  does  bind. 
Sure  card,  whereby  this   frail  and  tottering  bark  we 
Through  life's  tempestuous  ocean  here ;  [steer 

Through  all  the  tossing  waves  of  fear. 
And  dangerous  rocks  of  black  despair. 
Safe  in  thy  conduct,  unconcerned  we  move, 

Secure  from  all  the  threatening  storms  that  blow, 
From  all  attacks  of  chance  below, 
And  reach  the  certain  haven  of  felicity  above. 

3 

Best  mistress  of  our  souls !  whose  charms  and  beautfes 
And  are  by  very  age  increased,  [last. 

By  which  all  other  glories  are  defaced. 
Thou'rt  thy  own  dowry,  and  a  greater  far 
Than  all  the  race  of  womankind  e'er  brought, 
Though  each  of  them  like  the  first  wife  were  fraught, 
And  half  the  universe  did  for  her  portion  share. 
That  tawdry  sex,  which  giddy  senseless  we 

Through  ignorance  so  vainly  deify. 
Are  all  but  glorious  brutes  when  unendowed  with  thee. 
'Tis  vice  alone,  the  truer  jilt,  and  worse, 
In  whose  enjoyment  though  we  find 
A  flitting  pleasure,  yet  it  leaves  behind 

A  pain  and  torture  in  the  mind,  [remorse, 

And   claps    the  wounded    conscience   with    incurable 
Or  else  betrays  us  to  the  great  trepans  of  human  kind. 

4 
'Tis  vice,  the  greater  thraldom,  harder  drudgery, 
Whereby  deposing  reason  from  its  gentle  sway. 
That  rightful  sovereign  which  we  should  obey. 
We  undergo  a  various  tyranny. 
And  to  unnumbered  servile  passions  homage  pay. 


240  COUNTERPART  TO 

These  with  Egyptian  rigour  us  enslave, 
And  govern  with  unlimited  command; 
They  make  us  endless  toil  pursue, 
And  still  their  doubled  tasks  renew, 
To  push  on  our  too  hasty  fate,  and  build  our  grave, 
Or   which  is  worse,   to   keep  us  from  the  promised 
land. 
Nor  may  we  think  our  freedom  to  retrieve, 
We  struggle  with  our  heavy  yoke  in  vain : 
In  vain  we  strive  to  break  that  chain. 
Unless  a  miracle  relieve; 
Unless  the  Almighty  wand  enlargement  give. 
We  never  must  expect  delivery. 
Till  death,  the  universal  writ  of  ease,  does  set  us  free. 

5 

Some,  sordid  avarice  in  vassalage  confines. 

Like  Roman  slaves  condemned  to  th'  mines; 
These  are  in  its  harsh  Bridewell  lashed  and  punished. 
And  with  harsh  labour  scarce  can  earn  their  bread. 
Others,  ambition,  that  imperious  dame, 
Exposes  cruelly,  like  gladiators,  here 
Upon  the  world's  great  theatre. 
Through  dangers  and  through  blood  they  wade  to  fame^ 
To  pui^chase  grinning  honour  and  an  empty  name. 
And  some  by  tyrant  lust  are  captive  led, 
And  with  false  hopes  of  pleasure  fed ; 
'Till,  tired  with  slavery  to  their  own  desires. 
Life's  o'ercharg'd  lamp  goes  out,  and  in  a  snujff  expires. 

6 

Consider  we  the  little  arts  of  vice. 

The  stratagems  and  artifice 
Whereby  she  does  attract  her  votaries : 

AJl  those  allurements,  and  those  charms. 
Which  pimp  transgressors  to  her  arms, 

Are  but  foul  paint,  and  counterfeit  disguise, 

To  palliate  her  own  concealed  deformities, 
And  for  false  empty  joys  betray  us  to  true  solid  harms. 


THE    SATIRE   AGAINST   VIRTUE.  241 

In  vaiD  she  would  her  dowry  boast, 
Which  clogged,  with  legacies,  we  never  gain, 
But  with  invaluable  cost; 
Which  got,  we  never  can  retain. 
But  must  the  greatest  part  be  lost. 
To  the  great  bubbles,  age  or  chance,  again. 
'Tis  vastly  over-balanced  by  the  jointure  which  we  make, 
In  which  our  lives,  our  souls,  our  all  is  set  at  stake. 

Like  silly  Indians,  foolish  we 
With  a  known  cheat  a  losing  traffic  hold; 
Whilst  led  by  an  ill-judging  eye. 
We  admire  a  trifling  pageantry. 
And  merchandize  our  jewels  and  our  gold,  [p^^J- 

For  worthless  glass  and  beads,  or  an  exchange's  frip- 
If  we  a  while  maintain  the  expensive  trade, 
Such  mighty  impost  on  the  cargo's  laid, 

Such  a  vast  custom  to  be  paid,  [out. 

We're  forced  at  last  like  wretched  bankrupts  to  give 
Clapped  up  by  death,  and  in  eternal  durance  shut. 

7 
What  art  thou.  Fame,  for  which  so  eagerly  we  strive? 
What  art  thou,  but  an  empty  shade 
By  the  reflection  of  our  actions  made? 
Thou,  unlike  others,  never  followest  us  alive ; 
But,  like  a  ghost,  walkest  only  after  we  are  dead. 
Posthumous  toy !  vain  after-legacy ! 

Which  only  ours  can  be, 
When  we  oiu^selves  no  more  are  we ! 
Fickle  as  vain !  who  dost  on  vulgar  breath  depend, 

Which  we  by  dear  experience  find 
More  changeable,  more  veering  than  the  inconstant 

wind. 
What  art  thou,  gold,  that  cheat' st  the  miser's  eyes  ? 

Which  he  does  so  devoutly  idolize ; 
For  whom  he  all  his  rest  and  ease  does  sacrifice? 

'Tis  use  alone  can  all  thy  value  give. 
And  he  from  that  no  benefit  can  e'er  receive. 

OLDHAM.  16 


242  COUNTEKPAKT   TO 

Cursed  mineral !  near  neighbouring  hell  begot, 
WMch  all  the  infection  of  thy  damned  neighbourhood 
hast  brought; 
Thou  bawd  to  murders,  rapes,  and  treachery, 
And  every  greater  name  of  villany; 
From  thee  they  all  derive  their  stock  and  pedigree ; 
Thou  the  lewd  world  with  all  its  crying  crimes  dost 

store, 
And  hardly  wilt  allow  the  devil  the  cause  of  more. 
And  what  is  pleasure,  which  does  most  beguile, 
That    syren   which   betrays   us   with    a    flattering 
smile  1 
We  listen  to  the  treacherous  harmony, 
Which  sings  but  our  own  obsequy, 
The  danger  unperceived  till  death  draws  nigh; 
Till,  disowning,  we  want  power  to  'scape  the  fatal  enemy. 

8 

How  frantic  is  the  wanton  epicure, 
Who  a  perpetual  surfeit  will  endure, 
Who  places  all  his  chiefest  happiness 

In  the  extravagancies  of  excess. 
Which  wdse  sobriety  esteems  but  a  disease ! 
O  mighty  envied  happiness  to  eat ! 
Which  fond  mistaken  sots  call  great ! 
Poor  frailty  of  our  flesh !  which  we  each  day 
Must  thus  repair  for  fear  of  ruinous  decay ! 

Degrading  of  our  nature,  where  vile  brutes  are  fain 

To  make  and  keep  up  man ! 
Which,  when  the  paradise  above  we  gain, 
Heaven  thinks  too  great  an  imperfection  to  retain ! 
By  each  disease  the  sickly  joy's  destroyed; 

At  every  meal  it's  nauseous,  and  is  cloyed, 
Empty  at  best,  as  when  in  dream  enjoyed; 
When,  cheated  by  a  slumbering  imposture,  we 
Fancy  a  feast,  and  great  regalios  by; 

And  think  we  taste,  and  think  we  see, 
And  riot  on  imaginary  luxury. 


THE    SATIRE   AGAINST   VIRTUE.  •  243 

9 

Grant  me,  0  Virtue,  thy  most  solid  lasting  joy; 

Grant  me  tlie  better  pleasures  of  the  mind, 
Pleasures,  which  only  in  pursuit  of  thee  we  find. 
Which  fortune  cannot  mar,  nor  chance  destroy. 
One  moment  in  thy  blessed  enjoyment  is 
Worth  an  eternity  of  that  tumultuous  bliss. 

Which  we  derive  from  sense. 
Which  often  cloys,  and  must  resign  to  impotence. 
Grant  me  but  this,  how  will  I  triumph  in  my  happy 
Above  the  chances  and  reverse  of  fate ;  [state, 

Above  her  favours  and  her  hate. 
I'll  scorn  the  worthless  treasures  of  Peru, 
And  those  of  the  other  Indies  too ; 
I'll  pity  Csesar's  self,  with  all  his  trophies  and  his  fame, 
And  the  vile  brutish  herd  of  epicures  contemn. 
And  all  the  under-shrievalties  of  life  not  worth  a  name ; 
Nor  will  I  only  owe  my  bliss, 
Like  others,  to  a  multitude, 
Where  company  keeps  up  a  forced  happiness ; 
Should  all  mankind  surcease  to  live. 
And  none  but  individual  I  survive, 
Alone  I  would  be  happy,  and  enjoy  my  solitude. 
Thus  shall  my  life  in  pleasant  minutes  wear, 
Calm  as  the  minutes  of  the  evening  are, 
And  gentle  as  the  motions  of  the  upper  air ; 
Soft  as  my  muse,  and  unconfined  as  she, 
When  flowing  in  the  numbers  of  Pindaric  liberty. 

And  when  1  see  pale  ghastly  death  appear, 
That  grand  inevitable  test  which  all  must  bear, 

Which  best  distinguishes  the  blessed  and  wretched 
here, 
I'll  smile  at  all  its  horrors,  court  my  welcome  destiny. 
And  yield  my  willing  soul  up  in  an  easy  sigh ; 
And  epicures  that  see  shall  envy  and  confess 
That  I,  and  those  who  dare  like  me  be  good,  the 
chiefest  good  possess. 

16—2 


244 


UPON"   THE   MAKRIAGE    OE    THE    PRINCE    OE 
ORANGE    WITH    THE    LADY   MARY. 


A  S  when  of  old,  some  bright  and  heavenly  dame 
-^  A  god  of  equal  majesty  did  wed; 
Straight  through  the  court  above  the  tidings  spread, 
Straight  at  the  news  the  immortal  offspring  came, 
And  all  the  deities  did  the  high  nuptials  grace ; 
With  no  less  pomp,  no  less  of  grandeur,  we 
Behold  this  glad  solemnity, 
And  all  confess  an  equal  joy, 
And  all  expect  as  godlike  and  as  great  a  race. 
Hark  how  united  shouts  our  joys  proclaim, 
Which  rise  in  gratitude  to  Heaven,  from  whence  they 

came; 
Gladsome,  next  those  which  brought  our  royal  exile  home, 
When  he  resumed  his  long  usurped  throne. 
Hark  how  the  mighty  vollies  rend  the  air, 
And  shake  at  once  the  earth  and  utmost  sphere ! 
Hark  how  the  bells'  harmonious  noise 
Bear  concert  too  with  human  joys! 
Behold  those  numerous  fires,  which  up  and  down 
Threaten  almost  new  conflagration  to  the  town. 
Well  do  these  emblems,   mighty  Orange,   speak  thy 

fame, 
Whose  loudness,  music,  brightness,  all  express  the  same; 
'Twas  thus  great  Jove  his  Semele  did  wed. 
In  thunder  and  in  lightning  so  approached  her  bed. 

2 

Hail  happy  pair !  kind  Heaven's  great  hostages ! 
Sure  pledges  of  a  firm  and  lasting  peace ! 
Cairt  not  a  match,  we  that  low  style  disdain, 
Nor  will  degrade  it  with  a  term  so  mean ; 

A  leagTie  it  must  be  said. 
Where  countries  thus  espouse,  and  nations  wed. 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE.   245 

Our  thanks,  propitious  Destiny ! 

Never  did  yet  thy  power  dispense 

A  more  plenipotentiary  influence, 

Nor  heaven  more  sure  a  treaty  ratify. 
To  you,  our  great  and  gracious  monarch,  too, 

An  equal  share  of  thanks  is  due,  [and  you. 

Kought  could  this  mighty  work  produce,  but  heaven 
Let  others  boast 

Of  leagues,  which  wars  and  slaughter  cost ; 

This  union  by  no  blood  cemented  is, 
Nor  did  its  harmony  from  jars  and  discords  rise. 

Not  more  to  your  great  ancestor  we  owe. 

By  whom  two  realms  into  one  kingdom  grow; 

He  joined  but  what  nature  had  joined  before, 

Lands  disunited  by  no  parting  shore : 

By  you  to  foreign  countries  we're  allied. 
You  make  us  continent,  whom  seas  and  waves  divide. 

3 

How  well,  brave  prince,  do  you  by  prudent  conduct 
What  was  denied  to  mighty  Jove,  [prove 

Together  to  be  wise  and  love ! 
In  this  you  highest  skill  of  choice  and  judgment  show, 

'Tis  here  displayed,  and  here  rewarded  too ; 
Others  move  only  by  unbridled  guideless  heat. 
But  you  mix  love  with  policy,  passion  with  state ; 
You  scorned  the  painter's  hands  your  hearts  should 
tie. 
Which  oft  (and  here  they  must)  the  original  belie; 
For  how  should  art  that  beauty  undertake, 
Which  Heaven  would  strive  in  vain  asjain  to  make  ? 
Taught  by  religion  you  did  better  methods  try, 
And  worshipped  not  the  image,  but  the  Deity. 
Go,  envied  prince,  your  glorious  bride  receive, 
Too  great  for  aught  but  mighty  York  to  give  : 
She,  whom  if  none  must  wed  but  those  who  merit  her, 
Monarchs  might   cease   pretence,    and    slighted   gods 
despaii'; 


246   THE  MARRIAGE  OF  TEE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE. 

Think  you  in  her  far  greater  conquests  gain, 

Than  all  the  powers  of  France  have  from  your^  country 

ta'en ; 
In  her  fair  arms  let  your  ambition  bounded  lie, 
And  fancy  there  an  universal  monarchy ! 

4 

And  you,  fair  princess,  who  could  thus  subdue 
What  France  with  all  its  forces  could  not  do, 

Enjoy  your  glorious  prize, 
Enjoy  the  triumphs  of  your  conquering  eyes: 
From  him,  and  the  height  of  your  great  mind,  look  down, 

And  with  neglect  despise  a  throne. 
And  think't  as  great  to  merit,  as  to  wear  a  crown. 
Nassau  is  all  which  your  desires  or  thoughts  can  frame, 

All  titles  lodge  within  that  single  name; 
A  name  which  Mars  himself  would  with  ambition  bear, 
Prouder  in  that,  than  to  be  called  the  God  of  War. 
To  you,  great  madam,  (if  your  joys  admit  increase, 
If  Heaven  has  not  already  set  yom^  happiness 
Above  its  power  to  raise) 
To  you  the  zealous  humble  muse 
These  solemn  wishes  consecrates  and  vows, 
And  begs  you'll  not  her  offering  refuse. 
Which  not  your  want,  but  her  devotion  shows. 

5 

May  your  great  consort  still  successful  prove, 
In  all  his  high  attempts,  as  in  your  love; 

May  he  through  all  attacks  of  chance  appear 

As  free  from  danger,  as  he  is  from  fear ; 

May  neither  sense  of  grief,  nor  trouble  know, 

But  what  in  pity  you  to  others  show; 
May  you  be  fruitful  in  as  nutoerous  store 
Of  princely  births,  as  she  who  your  great  father  bore; 

May  Heaven,  to  your  just  merits  kind, 
Repeal  the  ancient  curse  on  womankind; 

Easy  and  gentle,  as  the  labours  of  the  brain, 

May  yours  all  prove,  and  just  so  free  from  pain; 


AN  ODE  ON  ST.  Cecilia's  day.  247 

May  no  rude  noise  of  war  approach  your  bed, 
But  peace  her  downy  wings  about  you  spread, 
Calm  as  the  season,  when  fair  halcyons  breed; 
May  you,  and  the  just  owner  of  your  breast, 

Both  in  as  full  content  and  happiness  be  blessed, 
As  the  first  sinless  pair  of  old  enjoyed. 
Ere  guilt  their  innocence  and  that  destroyed ; 

Till  nothing  but  continuance  to  your  bliss  can  add, 
And  you,  by  Heaven  alone,  be  happier  made; 
Till  future  poets,  who  your  lives  review, 
When  they'd  their  utmost  pitch  of  flattery  show, 
Shall  pray  their  patrons  may  become  like  you ; 
Nor  know  to  frame  a  skilful  wish  more  great, 

Nor  think  a  higher  blessing  in  the  gift  of  fate. 


AN    ODE   rOR   AN   ANNIVERSARY    OF   MUSIC 

ON  ST.  Cecilia's  day.* 
I 

BEGIN  the  song,  your  instruments  advance, 
Tune  the  voice,  and  tune  the  flute, 

Touch  the  silent  sleeping  lute, 
And  make  the  strings  to  their  own  measures  dance. 
Bring  gentlest  thoughts,  that  into  language  glide, 
Bring  softest  words,  that  into  numbers  slide; 

Let  every  hand,  and  every  tongue. 

To  make  the  noble  concert  throng. 
Let  all  in  one  harmonious  note  agree 

To  frame  the  mighty  song. 
For  this  is  music's  sacred  jubilee. 

2 

Hark  how  th^  wakened  strings  resound. 

And  break  the  yielding  air. 
The  ravished  sense  how  pleasingly  they  wound, 
And  call  the  listening  soul  into  the  ear; 

*  Set  to  music  by  Dr.  Blow. 


248  AN   ODE   ON   ST.    CECILIA's   DAY. 

Each  pulse  beats  time,  and  every  heart 
With  tongue  and  lingers  bears  a  part. 

By  harmony's  entrancing  power, 
When  we  are  thus  wound  up  to  ecstasy, 

Methinks  we  mount,  methinks  we  tower, 
And  seem  to  antedate  our  future  bliss  on  high. 

3 

How  dull  were  life,  how  hardly  worth  our  care, 
But  for  the  charm  that  music  lends ! 
How  faint  its  pleasures  would  appear, 

But  for  the  pleasure  which  our  art  attends ! 
Without  the  sweets  of  melody. 
To  tune  our  vital  breath, 
Who  would  not  give  it  up  to  death, 

And  in  the  silent  grave  contented  lie? 

4 

Music's  the  cordial  of  a  troubled  breast. 

The  softest  remedy  that  grief  can  find ; 

The  gentle  spell  that  charms  our  care  to  rest, 

And  calms  the  rufHed  passions  of  the  mind. 
Music  does  all  our  joy  refine, 
It  gives  the  relish  to  our  wine, 
'Tis  that  gives  rapture  to  our  love, 

And  wings  devotion  to  a  pitch  divine; 

'Tis  our  chief  bliss  on  earth,  and  half  our  heaven  above. 

CHORUS. 

Come  then,  with  tuneful  throat  and  string 
The  praises  of  our  art  let  s  sing ; 

Let's  sing  to  blest  Cecilia's  fame. 
That  graced  this  art,  and  gave  this  day  its  name; 

With  music,  wine,  and  mirth  conspire 
To  bear  a  concert,  and  make  up  the  choir. 


249 


TO   MADAM  L.    E.    UPON   HER   RECOVEBY 
FROM   A   LATE    SICKNESS. 
Madam, 

PARDOIST,  that  with  slow  gladness  we  so  late 
Your  wished  return  of  health  congratulate ; 
Our  joys  at  first  so  thronged  to  get  abroad, 
They  hindered  one  another  in  the  crowd ; 
And  now  such  haste  to  tell  their  message  make, 
They  only  stammer  what  they  meant  to  speak. 

You,  the  fair  subject  which  I  am  to  sing, 
To  whose  kind  hands  this  humble  joy  I  bring. 
Aid  me,  I  beg,  while  I  this  theme  pursue. 
For  I  invoke  no  other  muse  but  you. 
Long  time  had  you  here  brightly  shone  below, 
With  all  the  rays  kind  Heaven  could  bestow; 
No  envious  cloud  e'er  ofi^ered  to  invade 
Your  lustre,  or  compel  it  to  a  shade ; 
Nor  did  it  yet  by  any  sign  appear. 
But  that  you  throughout  immortal  were ; 
Till  Heaven  (if  Heaven  could  prove  so  cruel,)  sent 
To  interrupt  the  growth  of  your  content. 
As  if  it  grudged  those  gifts  you  did  enjoy. 
And  would  that  bounty,  which  it  gave,  destroy. 
'Twas  since  your  excellence  did  envy  move 
In  those  high  powers,  and  made  them  jealous  prove, 
They  thought   these   glories,   should  they  still   have 

shined 
Unsullied,  were  too  much  for  woman-kind; 
Which  might  they  write  as  lasting  as  they're  fair, 
Too  great  for  aught  but  deities  appear. 
But  Heaven,  it  may  be,  was  not  yet  complete. 
And  lacked  you  there  to  fill  your  empty  seat ; 
And  when  it  could  not  fairly  woo  you  hence, 
Turned  ravisher,  and  offered  violence. 

Sickness  did  first  a  formal  siege  begin, 
Ajid  by  sure  slowness  tried  your  life  to  win, 


250  TO    MADAM   L.    E.    UPON    HER   RECOVERY 

As  if  by  lingering  methods  Heaven  meant 

To  chase  you  hence,  and  tire  you  to  consent. 

But,  thus  in  vain,  fate  did  to  force  resort. 

And  next  by  storm  strove  to  attack  the  fort ; 

A  sleep,  dull  as  your  last,  did  you  arrest, 

And  all  the  magazines  of  life  possessed. 

No  more  the  blood  its  circling  course  did  run, 

But  in  the  veins,  like  icicles,  it  hung ; 

No  more  the  heart,  now  void  of  quickening  heat, 

The  tuneful  march  of  vital  motion  beat ; 

Stiffness  did  into  all  the  sinews  climb, 

And  a  short  death  crept  cold  through  every  limb ; 

All  signs  of  life  from  sight  so  far  withdrew, 

'Twas  now  thought  Popery  to  pray  for  you. 

There  might  you  (were  not  that  sense  lost)  have  seen 

How  your  true  death  would  have  resented  been : 

A  lethargy  like  yours  each  breast  did  seize. 

And  all  by  sympathy  caught  your  disease. 

Around  you  silent  imagery  appears. 

And  nought  in  the  spectators  moves,  but  tears ; 

They  pay  what  grief  were  to  your  funeral  due, 

And  yet  dare  hope  Heaven  would  your  life  renew. 

Meanwhile,  all  means,  all  drugs,  prescribed  are, 
"Which  the  decays  of  health  or  streng-th  repair, 
Medicines  so  powerful  they  new  souls  would  save, 
And  life  in  long-dead  carcasses  retrieve. 
But,  these  in  vain,  they  rougher  methods  try, 
And  now  you're  martyred  that  you  may  not  die. 
Sad  scene  of  fate !  when  tortures  were  your  gain. 
And  'twas  a  kindness  thought  to  wish  you  pain! 
As  if  the  slackened  string  of  life  run  down, 
Could  only  by  the  rack  be  screwed  in  tune. 

But  Heaven  at  last,  grown  conscious  that  its  power 
Could  scarce  what  was  to  die  with  you  restore, 
And  loth  to  see  such  glories  overcome. 
Sent  a  post  angel  to  repeal  your  doom; 
Straight  Fate  obeyed  the  charge  which  Heaven  sent, 
And  gave  this  first  dear  proof  it  could  repent. 


FROM  A    LATE    SICKifESS.  251 

Triumpliant  charms !  wliat  may  not  you  subdue, 

Wlieii  Fate's  your  slave,  and  thus  submits  to  you ! 

She  now  again  the  new-broke  thread  does  knit, 

And  for  another  clew  her  spindle  fit ; 

And  life's  hid  spark,  which  did  unquenched  remain, 

Caught  the  fled  light,  and  brought  it  back  again. 

Thus  you  revived,  and  all  our  joys  with  you 

Revived,  and  found  their  resurrection  too. 

Some  only  grieved,  that  what  was  deathless  thought, 

They  saw  so  near  to  fatal  ruin  brought. 

Now  crowds  of  blessings  on  that  happy  hand, 

Whose  skill  could  eager  destiny  withstand ; 

Whose  learned  power  has  rescued  from  the  grave 

That  life,  which  'twas  a  miracle  to  rfave ; 

That  life,  which  were  it  thus  untimely  lost. 

Had  been  the  fairest  spoil  death  e'er  could  boast.    , 

May  he  henceforth  be  god  of  healing  thought, 

By  whom  such  good  to  you  and  us  was  brought ; 

Altars  and  shrines  to  him  are  justly  due. 

Who  showed  himself  a  god  by  raising  you. 

But  say,  fair  saint,  for  you  alone  can  know, 
Whither  your  soul  in  this  short  flight  did  gol 
Went  it  to  antedate  that  happiness, 
You  must  at  last  (though  late  we  hope)  possess? 
Inform  us,  lest  we  should  your  fate  belie. 
And  call  that  death  which  was  but  ecstasy. 
The  Queen  of  Love,  we're  told,  once  let  us  see 
That  goddesses  from  wounds  could  not  be  free ; 
And  you,  by  this  unwished  occasion,  show 
That  they  like  mortal  us  can  sickness  know. 
Pity !  that  Heaven  should  all  its  titles  give, 
And  yet  not  let  you  with  them  ever  live. 
You'd  lack  no  point  that  makes  a  deity. 
If  you  could  like  it  too  immortal  be. 

And  so  you  are;  half  boasts  a  deathless  state. 
Although  your  frailer  part  must  yield  to  fate. 
By  every  breach  in  that  fair  lodging  made, 
Ite  blest  inhabitant  is  more  displayed; 


252  TO    MADAM   L.    E.    UPON    HER   RECOVERY. 

In  that  white  snow  which  overspreads  your  skin, 

We  trace  the  whiter  soul  which  dwells  within; 

Which,  while  you  through  this  shining  hue  display, 

Looks  like  a  star  placed  in  the  milky  way. 

Such  the  bright  bodies  of  the  blessed  are, 

When  they  for  raiment  clothed  with  light  appear; 

And  should  you  visit  now  the  seats  of  bliss, 

You  need  not  wear  another  form  but  this. 

Never  did  sickness  in  such  pomp  appear. 

As  when  it  thus  your  livery  did  wear, 

Disease  itself  looked  amiable  here. 

So  clouds,  which  would  obscure  the  sun,  oft  gilded  be, 

And  shades  are  taught  to  shine  as  bright  as  he. 

Grieve  not,  fair  nymph,  when  in  your  glass  you  trace 
The  marring  footsteps  of  a  pale  disease ; 
Regret  not  that  your  cheeks  their  roses  want, 
Which  a  few  days  shall  in  full  store  replant. 
Which,  whilst  your  blood  withdraws  its  guilty  red, 
Tells  that  you  own  no  faults  that  blushes  need. 
The  sun,  whose  bounty  does  each  spring  restore 
What  winter  from  the  rifled  meadows  tore, 
Which  every  morning  with  an  early  ray 
Paints  the  young  blushing  cheeks  of  instant  day; 
Whose  skill,  inimitable  here  below,  [bow; 

Limns  those  gay  clouds  which  form  heaven's  coloured 
That  sun  shall  soon  with  interest  repay 
All  the  lost  beauty  sickness  snatched  away; 
Your  beams,  like  his,  shall  hourly  now  advance, 
And  every  minute  their  swift  growth  enhance. 

Meanwhile,  that  you  no  helps  of  health  refuse, 
Accept  these  humble  wishes  of  the  muse ; 
Which  shall  not  of  their  just  petition  fail. 
If  she  (and  she's  a  goddess)  aught  prevail. 

May  no,  profane  disease  henceforth  approach 
This  sacred  temple  with  unhallowed  touch, 
Or  with  rude  sacrilege  its  frame  debauch ; 
May  these  fair  members  always  happy  be. 
In  as  full  strength  and  well-set  harmony. 


ON"  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  K.  KINGSCOURT.  253 

As  the  new  foundress  of  your  sex  could  boast, 
Ere  she  by  sin  her  first  perfection  lost ; 
May  destiny,  just  to  your  merits,  twine 
All  your  smooth  fortunes  in  a  silken  line; 
And,  that  yoa  may  at  Heaven  late  arrive, 
May  it  to  you  its  largest  bottom  give ; 
May  Heaven  with  still  repeated  favours  bless, 
Till  it  its  power  below  its  will  confess ; 
Till  wishes  can  no  more  exalt  your  fate, 
Nor  poets  fancy  you  more  fortunate. 


ON   THE    DEATH    OE   MRS.    KATHARINE 
KINGSCOURT, 

A   CHILD   OF   EXCELLENT   PARTS   AND   PIETY. 

CHE  did,  she  did — I  saw  her  mount  the  sky, 
^  And  with  new  whiteness  paint  the  galaxy. 
Heaven  her  methought  with  all  its  eyes  did  view. 
And  yet  acknowledged  all  its  eyes  too  few. 
Methought  I  saw  in  crowds  blessed  spirits  meet, 
And  with  loud  Avelcomes  her  arrival  greet, 
Which,  could  they  grieve,  had  gone  with  grief  away, 
To  see  a  soul  more  white,  more  pure  than  they. 

Earth  was  unworthy  such  a  prize  as  this. 
Only  a  while  Heaven  let  us  share  the  bliss ; 
In  vain  her  stay  with  fruitless  tears  we'd  woo, 
In  vain  we'd  court,  when  that  our  rival  grew. 
Thanks,  ye  kind  powers!  who  did  so  long  dispense 
(Since  you  so  wished  her)  with  her  absence  thence : 
We  now  resign,  to  you  alone  we  grant 
The  sweet  monopoly  of  such  a  saint ; 
So  pure  a  saint,  I  scarce  dare  call  her  so. 
For  fear  to  wrong  her  with  a  name  too  low; 
Such  a  seraphic  brightness  in  her  shined, 
I  hardly  can  believe  her  womankind. 


254  PAEAPHEASE   UPON   THE    I37TH    PSALM. 

'Twas  sure  some  noble  being  left  the  sphere. 

Which  deigned  a  little  to  inhabit  here, 

And  can't  be  said  to  die,  but  disappear. 

Or  if  she  mortal  was,  and  meant  to  show 

The  greater  skill  by  being  made  below. 

Sure  Heaven  preserved  her  by  the  fall  uncursed, 

To  tell  how  all  the  sex  were  formed  at  first. 

Never  did  yet  so  much  divinity 

In  such  a  small  compendium  crowded  lie. 

By  her  we  credit  what  the  learned  tell. 

That  many  angels  on  one  point  can  dwell. 

More  damned  fiends  did  not  in  Mary  rest. 

Than  lodged  of  blessed  spirits  in  her  breast; 

Religion  dawned  so  early  in  her  mind, 

You'd  think  her  saint  whilst  in  the  womb  enshrined; 

Nay,  that  bright  ray  which  did  her  temples  paint, 

Proclaimed  her  clearly,  while  alive,  a  saint. 

Scarce  had  she  learned  to  lisp  religion's  name, 

Ere  she  by  her  example  preached  the  same, 

And  taught  her  cradle  like  the  pulpit  to  reclaim. 

No  action  did  within  her  practice  fall 

Which  for  the  atonement  of  a  blush  could  call ; 

No  words  of  hers  e'er  greeted  any  ear, 

But  what  a  dying  saint,  confessed,  might  hear. 

Her  thoughts  had  scarcely  ever  sullied  been 

By  the  least  footsteps  of  original  sin. 

Her  life  did  still  as  much  devotion  breathe. 

As  others  do  at  their  last  gasp  in  death. 

Hence,  on  her  tomb,  of  her  let  not  be  said. 

So  long  she  lived,  but  thus — So  long  she  prayed  ! 


PAEAPHEASE   UPON   THE    137TH   PSALM. 


I 


Ver.  I  ~r?AE,  fi^om  our  pleasant  native  Palestine, 

-*-     Where  great   Euphrates   with   a  mighty 
current  flows. 


PARAPHRASE   UPON   THE    I37TH    PSALM.  255 

And  does  in  watery  limits  Babylon  confine, 

Cursed  Babylon !  the  cause  and  author  of  our  woes ; 
There,  on  the  river's  side, 
Sat  wi'etched  captive  we. 
And  in  sad  tears  bewailed  our  misery ;  [tide. 

Tears,  whose  vast  store  increased  the  neighbouring 
We  wept,  and  straight  our  grief  before  us  brought 

A  thousand  distant  objects  to  our  thought. 
As  oft  as  we  surveyed  the  gliding  stream. 
Loved  Jordan  did  our  sad  remembrance  claim; 
As  oft  as  we  the  adjoining  city  viewed, 
Dear  Sion's  razed  walls  our  grief  renewed ; 

We  thought  on  all  the  pleasures  of  our  happy  land, 
Late  ravished  by  a  cruel  conqueror's  hand ; 

We  thought  on  every  piteous,  every  mournful  thing. 

That  mi^ht  excess  to  our  enlarged  sorrows  brinoj.    - 

2  Deep  silence  told  the  greatness  of  our  grief, 
Of  grief  too  great  by  vent  to  find  relief; 
Our  harps,  as  mute  and  dumb  as  we, 
Hung  useless  and  neglected  by ; 

And  now  and  then  a  broken  string  woiild  lend  a  sigh, 
As  if  with  us  they  felt  a  sympathy. 
And  mourned  their  own,  and  our  captivity ; 

The  gentle  river,  too,  as  if  compassionate  grown, 
As  'twould  its  natives'  cruelty  atone. 

As  it  passed  by,  in  murmurs  gave  a  pitying  groan. 


3  There  the  proud  conquerors,  who  gave  us  chains, 
Who  all  our  sufferings  and  misfortunes  gave. 
Did  with  rude  insolence  our  sorrows  brave. 
And  with  insulting  raillery  thus  mocked  our  pains : 
'  Play  us,'  said  they,  '  some  brisk  and  airy  strain. 
Such  as  your  ancestors  were  wont  to  hear 
On  Shilo's  pleasant  plain. 
Where  all  the  virgins  met  in  dances  once  a  year; 
Or  one  of  those 
Which  your  illustrious  David  did  compose, 


256  PARAPHEASE   UPON   THE    I37TH    PSALM. 

While  he  filled  Israel's  happy  throne, 
Great  soldier,  poet,  and  musician,  all  in  one : 

Oft,  have  we  heard,  he  went  with  harp  in  hand, 
Captain  of  all  the  harmonious  band. 
And  vanquished  all  the  choir  with  's  single  skill  alone. 
4  Forbid  it,  Heaven !  forbid  it,  thou  great  thrice  hal- 
lowed name. 
We  should  thy  sacred  hymns  defame, 
Or  them,  with  impious  ears,  profane.   • 
No,  no,  inhuman  slaves,  is  this  a  time 
(Oh !  cruel  and  preposterous  demand !) 
When  every  joy,  and  every  smile's  a  crime, 
A  treason  to  our  poor  unhappy  land. 

Is  this  a  time  for  sprightly  airs, 
When  every  look  the  badge  of  sorrow  wears, 
And  livery  of  our  miseries. 
Sad  miseries  that  call  for  all  our  breath  in  sighs, 

And  all  the  tribute  of  our  eyes. 
And  moisture  of  our  veins,  our  very  blood  in  tears  'i 
When  nought  can  claim  our  thoughts,  Jerusalem,  but 
thou,  [throw] 

Nought    but    thy   sad    destruction,   fall,   and.   over- 


5  Oh,  dearest  city!  late  our  nation's  justest  pride! 

Envy  of  all  the  wondering  world  beside ! 
Oh,  sacred  temple,  once  the  Almighty's  blessed  abode. 
Now  quite  forsaken  by  our  angry  God ! 
Shall  ever  distant  time,  or  place, 
Your  firm  ideas  from  my  soul  deface? 

Shall  they  not  still  take  up  my  breast. 
As  long  as  that,  and  life,  and  I  shall  last? 
Grant  Heaven  (nor  shall  my  prayers  the  curse  with- 
stand) 
That  this  my  learned,  skilful  hand,      [mand, 
Which  now  o'er  all  the  tuneful  strings  can  boast  com- 
Which  does  as  quick,  as  ready,  and  unerring  prove. 
As  nature,  when  it  would  its  joints  or  fingers  move, 


PARAPHRASE  UPON  THE    I37TH   PSALM.  257 

Grant,  it  forget  its  art  and  feeling  too, 
When  I  forget  to  tliink,  to  wish,  to  pray  for  you! 

6  For  ever  tied  with  dumbness  be  my  tongue, 
When  it  speaks  aught  that  shall  not  to  your  praise 

belong,  [song, 

If  that  be  not  the  constant  subject  of  my  muse  anf\ 

4 

7  Remember,  Heaven,  remember  Edom  on  that  day, 
And  with  like  sufferings  their  spite  repay. 

Who  made  our  miseries  their  cruel  mirth  and  scorn. 
Who  laughed  to  see  our  flaming  city  burn. 
And  wished  it  might  to  ashes  turn : 

*  Raze,  raze  it,'  was  their  cursed  cry, 

*  Raze  all  its  stately  structures  down. 

And  lay  its  palaces  and  temple  level  with  the  ground, 
Till  Sion  buried  in  its  dismal  ruins  lie, 
Forgot  alike  its  place,  its  name,  and  memory.' 

8  And  thou,  proud  Babylon!  just  object  of  our  hate. 
Thou  too  shalt  feel  the  sad  reverse  of  fate. 

Though  thou  art  now  exalted  high. 
And  with  thy  lofty  head  o'ertop'st  the  sky, 
As  if  thou  wouldst  the  Powers  above  defy ; 
Thou,  if  those  powers  (and  sure  they  will)  prove  just. 
If  my  prophetic  grief  can  aught  foresee. 
Ere  long  shalt  lay  that  lofty  head  in  dust. 

And  blush  in  blood  for  all  thy  present  cruelty; 

How  loudly  then  shall  we  retort  these  bitter  taunts ! 

How  gladly  to  the  music  of  thy  fetters  dance ! 

5 
A  day  will  come  (oh,  might  I  see 't !)  ere  long, 
That  shall  revenge  our  mighty  wrong; 
Then  blessed,  for  ever  blessed,  be  he 
Whoever  shall  return  't  on  thee, 
And  grave  it  deep,  and  pay 't  with  bloody  usury ! 

May  neither  aged  groans,  nor  infant  cries, 
Nor  piteous  mothers'  tears,  nor  ravished  virgins'  sighs, 
Soften  thy  unrelenting  enemies; 

OLDHAil.  17 


258  PARAPHRASE   UPON   THE 

Let  them,  as  thou  to  us,  inexorable  prove, 

Nor  age,  nor  sex,  their  deaf  compassion  move ; 
Rapes,  murders,  slaughters,  funerals, 

And  all  thou  durst  attempt  within  our  Sion's  walls, 
Mayst  thou  endure,  and  more,  till  joyful  we 

Confess  thyself  outdone  in  artful  cruelty. 

9  Blessed,  yea  thrice  blessed,  be  that  barbarous  hand 
(O  grief,  that  I  such  dire  revenge  commend!) 
Who  tears  out  infants  from  their  mothers'  womb, 
And  hurls  them  yet  unborn  unto  their  tomb ; 
Blessed  he  who  plucks  them  from  their  parents'  arms. 
That  sanctuary  from  all  common  harms, 

Who  with  their  skulls  and  bones  shall  pave  thy  streets 
all  o'er,  [brains  and  gore. 

And  fill   thy  glutted   channels  with   their  scattered 


PAEAPHKASE    UPON   THE    HYMN    OF    ST. 
AMBROSE. 

AN    ODE. 


npO  Thee,  O  God,  we  thy  just  praises  sing, 
J-  To  Thee,  we  Thy  great  name  rehearse : 
We  are  Thy  vassals,  and  this  humble  tribute  bring 

To  Thee,  acknowledged  only  Lord  and  King, 
Acknowledged  sole  and  sovereign  monarch  of  the  uni- 
All  parts  of  this  wide  universe  adore,  [verse  1 

Eternal  Father !  Thy  Almighty  power ; 
The  skies,  and  stars,  fire,  air,  and  earth,  and  sea, 
With  all  their  numerous  nameless  progeny, 
Confess,  and  their  due  homage  pay  to  Thee ; 
For  why?   Thou  spak'st  the  word,  and  mad'st  them 
all  from  nothing  be. 
To  Thee  all  angels,  all  Thy  glorious  court  on  high, 
Seraph  and  cherub,  the  nobility. 


HYMN   OP  ST.    AMBROSE.  259 

And  whatsoever  spirits  be 
Of  lesser  honour,  less  degree, 
To  Thee,  in  heavenly  lays, 
They  sing  loud  anthems  of  immortal  praise : 
Still  Holy,  Holy,  Holy  Lord  of  Hosts,  they  cry; 
This  is  their  business,  this  their  sole  employ, 
And  thus  they  spend  their  long  and  blessed  eternity. 


Farther  than  nature's  utmost  shores  and  limits  stretch, 
The  streams  of  Thy  unbounded  glory  reach ; 
Beyond  the  straits  of  scanty  time  and  place. 

Beyond  the  ebbs  and  flows  of  matter's  narrow  seas 
They  reach,  and  fill  the  ocean  of  eternity  and  space. 

Infused  like  some  vast  mighty  soul, 
Thou  dost  inform  and  actuate  this  spacious  whole ;  - 
Thy  unseen  hand  does  the  well-jointed  frame  sustain, 
Which  else  would  to  its  primitive  nothing  shrink  again. 

But  most  Thou  dost  Thy  majesty  display 

In  the  bright  realms  of  everlasting  day ; 

There  is  Thy  residence,  there  dost  Thou  reign, 

There  on  a  state  of  dazzling  lustre  sit. 

There  shine  in  robes  of  pure  refined  light ; 

Where  sun's  coarse  rays  are  but  a  foil  and  stain. 
And  refuse  stars  the  sweepings  of  Thy  glorious  train. 

3 

There  all  Thy  family  of  menial  saints, 

Huge  colonies  of  blessed  inhabitants,  [hence. 

Which  death  through  countless  ages  has  transplanted 

Now  on  Thy  throne  for  ever  wait. 
And  fill  the  large  retinue  of  Thy  heavenly  state. 
There  reverend  prophets  stand,  a  pompous  goodly  show. 
Of  old  Thy  envoys  extraordinary  here. 
Who  brought  Thy  sacred  embassies  of  peace  and  war, 
That,  to  the  obedient,  this,  the  rebel  world  below. 

By  them,  the  mighty  twelve  have  their  abode, 
Companions  once  of  the  incarnate  suffering  God, 

17—2 


260  PABAPHKASE  UPON  THE 

Partakers  now  of  all  His  triumplis  there, 
As  they  on  earth  did  in  His  miseries  share. 
Of  martyrs  next,  a  crowned  and  glorious  choir, 
Illustrious  heroes  who  have  gained 
Through  dangers,  and  red  seas  of  blood,  the  promised 

land, 
And  passed,  through  ordeal  flames,  to  thy  eternity  in 
fire. 
There,  all  make  up  the  concert  of  Thy  praise, 

To  Thee  they  sing,  and  never  cease, 
Loud  Hymns  and  Hallelujahs  of  applause; 
An  angel-laureat  does  the  sense  and  strains  compose, 
Sense,  far  above  the  reach  of  mortal  verse. 
Strains,  far  above  the  reach  of  mortal  ears, 
And  all,  a  Muse  unglorified  can  fancy  or  rehearse. 


Nor  is  this  concert  only  kept  above. 

Nor  is  it  to  the  blessed  alone  confined ; 

But  earth,  and  all  thy  faithful  here  are  joined, 

And  strive  to  vie  with  them  in  duty  and  in  love; 

And,  though  they  cannot  equal  notes  and  measures  raise, 

Strive  to  return  the  imperfect  echoes  of  thy  praise. 
They  through  all  nations  own  thy  glorious  name, 
And  everywhere  the  great  Three-One  proclaim : 
Thee,  Father  of  the  world !  and  us,  and  Him, 
Who  must  mankind,  whom  Thou  didst  make,  redeem; 

Thee,  blessed  Saviour!  Thee,  adored,  true,  only  Son 
To  man  debased,  to  rescue  man  undone ; 
And  Thee,  Eternal,  Holy  Power ! 
"Who  dost  by  grace  exalted  man  restore 

To  all  he  lost  by  the  old  fall  and  sin  before; 
You,  blessed  and  glorious  Trinity ! 

Piddle  to  baffled  knowledge  and  philosophy, 

Which  cannot  comprehend  the  mighty  mystery 
Of  numerous  One,  and  the  unnumbered  Tliree ! 

Vast  topless  pile  of  wonders !  at  whose  sight 
Reason  itself  turns  giddy  with  the  height, 


HYMN  OP  ST.   AMBROSE.  261 

Above  tlie  fluttering  pitcli  of  human  wit, 
And  all,  but  the  strong  wings  of  faith,  that  eagle's 
towering  flight. 

5 

Blessed  Jesu !  how  shall  we  enough  adore, 
Or  Thy  unbounded  love,  or  Thy  unbounded  power? 
Thou  art  the  Prince  of  Heaven,  thou  art  the  Almighty's 

heir, 
Thou  art  the  eternal  offspring  of  the  Eternal  Sire : 
Hail  Thou,  the  world's  Redeemer!  whom  to  free 
From  bonds  of  death  and  endless  misery, 
Thou  thought'st  it  no  disdain  to  be 
Inhabiter  to  low  mortality ; 

The  Almighty  thought  it  no  disdain 
To  dwell  in  the  pure  Virgin's  spotless  womb, 
There  did  the  boundless  Godhead,  and  whole  heaven 

find  room. 
And  a  small  point  the  circle  of  infinity  contain. 
Hail,  ransom  of  mankind,  all  great,  all  good ! 

Who  didst  atone  us  with  Thy  blood. 
Thyself  the  offering,  altar,  priest,  and  God ! 
Thyself  didst  die,  to  be  our  glorious  bail 
From  death's  arrests,  and  the  eternal  flaming  jail; 

Thyself  thou  gav'st,  the  inestimable  price 
To  purchase  and  redeem  our  mortgaged  heaven  and 
happiness ; 
Thither,  when  Thy  great  work  on  earth  had  end, 

When  death  itself  was  slain  and  dead, 
And  hell  with  all  its  powers  captive  led, 
Thou  didst  again  triumphantly  ascend; 
There  dost  Thou  now  by  Thy  great  Father  sit  on  high, 

With  equal  glory,  equal  majesty. 
Joint  ruler  of  the  everlasting  monarchy. 

6 

Again  from  thence,  Thou  shalt  with  greater  triumph 
come. 
When  the  last  trumpet  sounds  the  general  doom. 


262       PAEAPHRASE  UPON  THE  HYMN  OF  ST.  AMBROSE. 

And,  lo !  Thou  com'st,  and,  lo !  the  direful  sound  does 
make 
Through  Death's  wide  realm  mortality  awake; 
And,  lo !  they  all  appear 
At  Thy  dread  bar, 
And  all  receive  the  unalterable  sentence  there. 
Afirighted  nature  trembles  at  the  dismal  day, 

And  shrinks  for  fear,  and  vanishes  away ; 
Both  that,  and  time,  breathe  out  their  last,  and  now 

they  die. 
And  now  are  swallowed  up  and  lost  m  vast  eternity. 

Mercy,  O  mercy,  angry  God ! 
Stop,  stop  Thy  flaming  wrath,  too  fierce  to  be  with- 
stood. 
And  quench  it  with  the  deluge  of  Thy  blood; 
Thy  precious  blood  which  was  so  freely  spilt 
To  wash  us  from  the  stains  of  sin  and  guilt ; 
O  write  us  with  it  in  the  book  of  fate, 
Amongst  Thy  chosen  and  predestinate. 
Free  denizens  of  heaven,  of  the  immortal  state. 


Guide  us,  O  Saviour !  guide  Thy  church  below, 
Both  way  and  star,  compass  and  pilot  Thou ; 
Do  Thou  this  frail  and  tottering  vessel  steer 
Through  life's  tempestuous  ocean  here, 
Through  all  the  tossing  waves  of  fear. 
And  dangerous  rocks  of  black  despair. 
Safe,  under  Thee,  we  shall  to  the  wished  haven  move. 
And  reach  the  undiscovered  lands  of  bliss  above. 
Thus  low,  behold !  to  Thy  great  name  we  bow, 

And  thus  we  ever  wish  to  grow; 
Constant,  as  time  does  Thy  fixed  laws  obey. 
To  Thee  our  worship  and  our  thanks  we  pay; 
With  these,  we  wake  the  cheerful  light. 
With  these,  we  sleep  and  rest  invite;  [days, 

And  thus  we  spend  our  breath,  and  thus  we  spend  our 
And  never  cease  to  sing,  and  never  cease  to  praise. 


A   SUNDAY-THOUGHT   IN   SICKNESS.  263 

8 
While  thus  each  breast,  and  mouth,  and  ear, 
Are  filled  with  Thy  praise,  and  love,  and  fear, 
Let  never  sin  get  room,  or  entrance  there : 
Vouchsafe,  O  Lord,  through  this  and  all  our  days, 
To  guard  us  with  Thy  powerful  grace : 
Within  our  hearts  let  no  usurping  lust  be  found, 
'No  rebel  passion  tumult  raise, 
To  break  Thy  laws,  or  break  our  peace, 
But  set  Thy  watch  of  angels  on  the  place. 
And  keep  the  tempter  still  from  that  forbidden  ground. 
Ever,  O  Lord,  to  us  Thy  mercies  grant; 
Never,  O  Lord,  let  us  thy  mercies  want; 
Ne'er  want  Thy  favour,  bounty,  liberality. 
But  let  them  ever  on  us  be. 
Constant  as  our  own  hope  and  trust  on  Thee. 
On  Thee,  we  all  our  hope  and  trust  repose ! 
O  never  leave  us  to  our  foes, 
Never,  O  Lord,  desert  our  cause; 
Thus  aided  and  upheld  by  Thee, 
We'll  fear  no  danger,  death,  nor  misery; 
Fearless  we  thus  will  stand  a  falling  world, 
With  crushing  ruins  all  about  us  hurled,  [defy. 

And  face  wide  gaping  hell,  and  all  its  slighted  powers 


A    SUNDAY-THOUGHT   IN   SICKNESS. 

LOKD,  how  dreadful  is  the  prospect  of  death,  at  the  remotest 
distance !  How  the  smallest  apprehension  of  it  can  pall  the 
most  gay,  airy,  and  brisk  spirits !  Even  I,  who  thought  I  could 
have  been  merry  in  sight  of  my  coffin,  and  drink  a  health  with 
the  sexton  in  my  own  grave,  now  tremble  at  the  least  envoy  of 
the  king  of  terrors.  To  see  but  the  shaking  of  my  glass  makes 
me  turn  pale,  and  feux  is  like  to  prevent  and  do  the  work  of  my 
distemper.  AH  the  jollity  of  my  humour  and  conversation  is 
turned  on  a  sudden  to  chagrin  and  melancholy,  black  as  despair. 


264  A  SUNDAY-THOUGHT   IN   SICKNESS. 

and  dark  as  the  grave.  My  soul  and  body  seem  at  once  laid  out, 
and  I  fancy  all  the  plummets  of  eternal  night  already  hanging  upon 
my  temples.  But  whence  proceed  these  fears  ?  Certainly  they  are 
not  idle  dreams,  nor  the  accidental  product  of  my  disease,  which 
disorders  the  brains,  and  fills  'em  with  odd  chimeras.  Vfhy  should 
my  soul  be  averse  to  its  enlargement  ?  Why  should  it  be  content 
to  be  knit  up  in  two  yards  of  skin,  when  it  may  have  all  the  world 
for  its  purlieu  ?  'Tis  not  that  I'm  unwilling  to  leave  my  rela- 
tions and  present  friends :  I'm  parted  from  the  first  already,  and 
could  be  severed  from  both  the  length  of  the  whole  map,  and  live 
with  my  body  as  far  distant  from  them  as  my  soul  must  when  I'm 
dead.  Neither  is  it  that  I'm  loth  to  leave  the  delights  and  plea- 
sures of  the  world ;  some  of  them  I  have  tried,  and  found  empty, 
the  others  covet  not,  because  unknown.  I'm  confident  I  could 
despise  'em  all  by  a  greatness  of  soul,  did  not  the  Bible  oblige 
me,  and  divines  tell  me,  'tis  my  duty.  It  is  not  neither  that  I'm 
unwilling  to  go  hence  before  I've  estabhshed  a  reputation,  and 
something  to  make  me  survive  myself.  I  could  have  been  con- 
tent to  be  still-born,  and  have  no  more  than  the  register  or  sex- 
ton to  tell  that  I've  never  been  in  the  land  of  the  living.  In  fine, 
'tis  not  from  a  principle  of  cowardice,  which  the  schools  have  called 
self-preservation,  the  poor  effect  of  instinct  and  dull  pretence  of  a 
brute  as  well  as  me.  This  unwillingness,  therefore,  and  aversion  to 
undergo  the  general  fate,  must  have  a  juster  original,  and  flow 
from  a  more  important  cause.  I'm  weU  satisfied  that  this  other 
being  within,  that  moves  and  actuates  my  frame  of  flesh  and 
blood,  has  a  life  beyond  it  and  the  grave ;  and  something  in  it 
prompts  me  to  believe  its  immortality.  A  residence  it  must  have 
somewhere  else,  when  it  has  left  this  carcase,  and  another  state 
to  pass  into,  unchangeable  and  everlasting  as  itself,  after  its  sepa- 
ration. This  condition  must  be  good  or  bad,  according  to  its 
actions  and  deserts  in  this  life ;  for  as  it  owes  its  being  to  some 
infinite  power  that  created  it,  I  well  suppose  it  his  vassal,  and 
obhged  to  live  by  his  law;  and  as  certainly  conclude,  that  accord- 
ing to  the  keeping  or  breaking  of  that  law,  'tis  to  be  rewarded  or 
punished  hereafter.  This  diversity  of  rewards  and  pimishments 
makes  the  two  places,  heaven  and  heU,  so  often  mentioned  in 
Scripture,  and  talked  of  in  pulpits.  Of  the  latter  my  fears  too 
crueUy  convince  me,  and  the  anticipation  of  its  torment,  which  I 
already  feel  in  my  own  conscience.  There  is,  there  is  a  hell,  and 
damned  fiends,  and  a  never  dying  worm,  and  that  sceptic  that 
doubts  of  it,  may  find  'em  all  within  my  single  breast.  I  dare  not 
any  longer,  with  the  atheist,  disbelieve  them,  or  think  'em  tho 


A   SUNDAY-THOUGHT  IN   SICKNESS.  265 

clergy^s  bugbears,  invented  as  nurses  do  fi-ightful  names  for  their 
children,  to  scare  'em  into  quietness  and  obedience.  How  oft 
have  I  triumphed  in  my  unconcerned  and  seared  insensibility  ? 
How  oft  boasted  of  that  unhappy  suspected  calm,  which,  like  that 
of  the  Dead  Sea,  proved  only  my  curse,  and  a  treacherous  ambush 
to  those  storms,  which  at  present  (and  will  for  ever,  I  dread,) 
shipwi-eck  my  quiet  and  hopes  ?  How  oft  have  I  rejected  the 
advice  of  that  bosom  friend,  and  drowned  its  alarms  in  the  noise 
of  a  tumultuous  debauch,  or  by  stupifying  wine  (like  some  con- 
demned malefactor)  armed  myself  against  the  apprehensions  of 
my  certain  doom  ? 

Now,  now  the  tyrant  awakes,  and  comes  to  pay  at  once  all 
arrears  of  cruelty.  At  last,  but  too  late,  (hke  drowning  mariners) 
I  see  the  gay  monsters  which  inveigled  me  into  my  death  and 
destruction.  Oh,  the  gnawing  remorse  of  a  rash,  unguarded,  un- 
considering  sinner !  Oh,  how  the  ghosts  of  former  crimes  afiright 
my  haunted  imagination,  and  make  me  suffer  a  thousand  racks 
and  martyrdoms !  I  see,  methinks,  the  jaws  of  destruction  gaping 
wide  to  swallow  me ;  and  I  .(lite  one  sliding  on  ice),  though  I  see 
the  danger,  cannot  stop  from  running  into  it.  My  fancy  repre- 
sents to  rae  a  whole  legion  of  devils,  ready  to  tear  me  in  pieces, 
numberless  as  my  sins  or  fears ;  and  whither,  alas !  whither  shall 
I  fly  for  refuge?  Where  shall  I  retreat  and  take  sanctuary? 
Shall  I  call  the  rocks  and  mountains  to  cover  me,  or  bid  the  earth 
yawn  wide  to  its  centre,  and  take  me  in  ?  Poor  shift  of  escaping 
Almighty  justice !  Distracting  frenzy  !  that  would  make  me  be- 
lieve contradictions,  and  hope  to  fly  out  of  the  reach  of  him  whose 
presence  is  everywhere,  not  excluding  hell  itself;  for  he  is  there  in 
the  effects  of  his  vengeance.  Shall  I  invoke  some  power  infinite 
as  that  that  created  me,  to  reduce  me  to  nothing  again,  and  rid 
me  at  once  of  my  being  and  all  that  tortures  it  ?  Oh  no,  'tis  in 
vain;  I  must  be  forced  into  being,  to  keep  me  fresh  for  torment, 
and  retain  sense  only  to  feel  pain.  I  must  be  dying  to  all 
eternity,  and  live  ever,  to  hve  ever  wretched.  Oh  that  Nature 
had  placed  me  in  the  rank  of  things  that  have  only  a  bare  ex- 
istence, or,  at  best,  an  animal  life,  and  never  given  me  a  soul  and 
reason,  which  now  must  contribute  to  my  misery,  and  make  me 
envy  brutes  and  vegetables  !  Would  the  womb  that  bore  me  had 
been  my  prison  till  now,  or  I  stept  out  of  it  into  my  grave,  and 
saved  the  expenses  and  toil  of  a  long  and  tedious  journey,  where 
life  affords  nothing  of  accommodations  to  invite  one's  stay !  Happy 
had  I  been  if  I  had  expired  with  my  first  breath,  and  entered  the 
Bill  of  Mortality  as  soon  as  the  world;  happy  if  I  had  been 


266  A    SUNDAY-THOUGHT   IN   SICKNESS. 

drowned  in  my  font,  and  that  water  which  was  to  regenerate 
and  give  me  new  life,  had  proved  mortal  in  another  sense !  I  had 
then  died  without  any  guilt  of  my  own,  but  what  I  brought  into 
the  world  with  me,  and  that  too  atoned  for ;  I  mean  that  which 
I  contracted  from  my  first  parents,  my  unhappiness  rather  than 
fault,  inasmuch  as  I  was  fain  to  be  born  of  a  sinning  race  :  then 
I  had  never  enhanced  it  with  acquired  guilt,  never  added  those 
innumerable  crimes  which  must  make  up  my  indictment  at  the 
grand  audit.  Ungrateful  wretch  !  I've  made  my  sins  as  numerous 
as  those  blessings  and  mercies  the  Ahnighty  bounty  has  conferred 
upon  me,  to  obhge  and  lead  me  to  repentance.  How  have  I 
abused  and  misemployed  those  parts  and  talents  which  might 
have  rendered  me  serviceable  to  mankind,  and  repaid  an  interest 
of  glory  to  their  donor  !  How  ill  do  they  turn  to  account  which 
I  have  made  the  patrons  of  debauchery,  and  pimps  and  panders  to 
vice  !  How  oft  have  I  broke  my  vows  to  my  great  Creator, 
which  I  would  be  conscientious  of  keeping  to  a  silly  woman,  a 
creature  beneath  myself!  What  has  all  my  religion  been  but  an 
empty  parade  and  show  ?  Either  an  useftd  hypocrisy  taken  up 
for  interest,  or  a  gay  specious  formality  worn  in  complaisance  to 
custom  and  the  mode,  and  as  changeable  as  my  clothes  and  their 
fashion.  How  oft  have  I  gone  to  church  (the  place  where  we  are 
to  pay  Him  homage  and  duty)  as  to  an  assignation  or  play,  only 
for  diversion ;  or  at  best,  as  I  must  ere  long  (for  aught  I  know) 
with  my  soul  severed  from  my  body  ?  How  I  tremble  at  the 
remembrance  !  as  if  1  could  put  the  sham  upon  Heaven,  or  a  God 
were  to  be  imposed  on  like  my  fellow-creature.  And  dare  I, 
convicted  of  these  high  treasons  against  the  King  of  Glory,  dare 
I  expect  a  reprieve  or  pardon?  Has  He  thunder,  and  are  not 
all  his  bolts  levelled  at  my  head,  to  strike  me  through  the  very 
centre?  Yes,  1  dare  appeal  to  thee,  boundless  pity  and  com- 
passion !  My  own  instances  already  tell  me,  that  Thy  mercy  is 
infinite ;  for  I've  done  enough  to  shock  long-sufi'erance  itself,  and 
weary  out  an  eternal  patience.  I  beseech  Thee  by  Thy  soft  and 
gentle  attributes  of  mercy  and  forgiveness,  by  the  last  dying 
accents  of  my  suffering  Deity,  have  pity  on  a  poor,  humble, 
prostrate  and  confessing  sinner ;  and  Thou,  great  ransom  of  lost 
mankind,  who  offered' st  thyself  a  sacrifice  to  atone  our  guilt,  and 
redeem  our  mortgaged  happiness,  do  Thou  be  my  Advocate,  and 
intercede  for  me  with  the  angry  Judge. 

My  prayers  are  heard,  a  glorious  light  now  shone, 
And,  lo !  an  angel-post  comes  hastening  down 


A   SUNDAY-THOUGHT   IN   SICKNESS.  267 

From  heaven;  I  see  him  cut  the  yielding  air, 
So  swrift,  he  seems  at  once  both  here  and  there; 
So  quick,  my  sight  in  the  pursuit  was  slow. 
And  thought  could  scarce  so  soon  the  journey  go. 
No  angry  message  in  his  look  appears, 
His  face  no  signs  of  threatening  vengeance  wears ; 
Comely  his  shape,  of  heavenly  mien  and  air, 
Kinder  than  smiles  of  beauteous  virgins  are. 
Such  he  was  seen  by  the  blessed  maid  of  old, 
When  he  the  Almighty  Infant's  birth  foretold. 
A  mighty  volume  in  one  hand  is  borne, 
Whose  opened  leaves  the  other  seems  to  turn; 
Vast  annals  of  my  sins  in  scarlet  writ, 
But  now  erased,  blot  out,  and  cancelled  quite. 
Hark !  how  the  heavenly  whisper  strikes  mine  ear, 
Mortal,  behold  thy  crimes  all  pardoned  here !  - 
Hail,  sacred  envoy  of  the  Eternal  King ! 
Welcome  as  the  blessed  tidings  thou  dost  bring; 
Welcome  as  heaven  from  whence  thou  cam'st  but  now; 
Thus  low  to  thy  great  God  and  mine  I  bow, 
And  might  I  here,  0  might  I  ever  grow, 
Fixed  and  unmoved,  an  endless  monument 
Of  gratitude  to  my  Creator  sent ! 


THE  END. 


BELL'S  ENGLISH  POETS. 


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THE    ENGLISH    POETS, 

WiTB  CRITICAL  A^ro  Historical  Notes,  Memoibs,  and  Glossaries. 

By    BOBERT    bell. 

ORDER  AND  DATE  OF  PUBLICATION. 

I.  Chaucer's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  1......  April  1,  1870 

II.  Cowper's  Poems,  vol.  1 ,,  15,     ,, 

III.  Dryden's  Poems,  vol.  1  May    1,     „ 

IV.  Thomson's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  1    ...       ,,  15,     ., 
V.  Butler's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  1    June   1,     „    ^ 

VI.  Shakspeare's  Poems  and  Sonnets      ...      ,,  15,  „ 

VII.  Surrey  and  minor  Poets July    1,  ,,    - 

VIII.  Wyatt's  Poems    „  15,  „   ^ 

IX.  Thomson's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  If. ...  Aug.    1,  ,, 

X.  Cowper's  Poems,  vol,  IT ,,   15,  ,, 

XI.  „  „      vol.  Ill Sept.  1,  „ 

XII.  Dryden's  Poems,  vol.  II ,,  15,  ,, 

XIII.  „  „      vol.  Ill Oct.     1,  ,, 

XIV.  Butler's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  II „    15,    ,,  __ 

XV.  „  „  vol.  III.     ...  Nov.    1,     „    - 

XVI.  Ben  Jonson's  Poems    ,,  15,  ,,    - 

XVII.  Early  Ballads   Dec.    1,  „    ^ 

XVIII.  Songs  from  the  Dramatists    ,,  15,  ,,    - 

XIX.  Eobert  Greene  &  Kit  Marlowe's  Poems  Jan.     1,  15:;i' 
XX.  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  Peasantry  of 

England    „     15,  „    - 

XXI.  Waller's  Poems   Feb.     1,  „     - 

XXII.  Oldham's  Poems „    15,  „ 

XXIII.  Chaucer's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  II.   ...  Mar.    1,  „ 

XXIV.          „               „            „    vol.  III....      „    15,  „ 

XXV.          „               „            „    vol.  IV....  April    1,  „ 

XXVI.          „               „            „    vol.  V.  ...       „    15,  „ 

XXVII.          „                „            „    vol.  VI....  May     1,  „ 

XXVIII.          „               „            „    vol.  VII.        „     15,  „ 

XXIX.          „               „            „    vol.  VIII.   June    1,  „    . 

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The  poems  of  John  Oldham, 


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