Made thee rife up, like an audacious elf,
To do the speaker honour, not thyself.
But, if thou foar'ft above the common prices, 55 By virtue of fubfcription to thy Crifis,
And nothing can go down with thee, but wines
Prefs'd from Burgundian and Campanian vines,
Bid them be brought; for, though I hate the French,
I love their liquors, as thou lov'ft a wench;
Elfe thou must humble thy expensive tafte,
And, with us, hold contentment for a feast.
The fire's already lighted; and the maid
Has a clean cloth upon the table laid,
Who never on a Saturday had ftruck,
But for thy entertainment, up a buck.
Think of this act of grace, which by your leave
Sufan would not have done on Eafter Eve,
Had the not been inform'd over and over,
'Twas for th' ingenious Author of The Lover. 70
Cease therefore to beguile thyfelf with hopes,
Which is no more than making fandy ropes,
And quit the vain purfuit of loud applaufe,
That muft bewilder thee in faction's cause.
Pry'thee what is't to thee who guides the state? 75
Why Dunkirk's demolition is fo late?
Or why her majefty thinks fit to cease
The din of war, and hufh the world to peace?
The clergy too, without thy aid, can tell
What texts to choofe, and on what topicks dwell; 89
And, uninftructed by thy babbling, teach
Their flocks celeftial happiness to reach.
Rather let fuch poor fouls as you and 1,
Say that the holydays are drawing nigh,
And that to-morrow's fun begins the week,
Which will abound with store of ale and cake,
With hams of bacon, and with powder'd beef,
Stuff'd to give field-itinerants relief.
Then I, who have within these precincts kept, And ne'er beyond the chimney-sweeper's stept, 90 Will take a loose, and venture to be seen, Since 'twill be Sunday, upon Shanks's green; There, with erected looks and phrase fublime,
To talk of unity of place and time,
And with much malice, mix'd with little fatire, 95
Explode the wits on t'other fide o' th' water.
Why has
my lord Godolphin's special grace
Invested me with a queen's-waiter's place,
If I, debarr'd of festival delights,
Am not allow'd to spend the perquifites?
He's but a fhort remove from being mad,
Who at a time of jubilee is sad,
And, like a griping ufurer, does spare
His money to be fquander'd by his heir;
Flutter'd away in liveries and in coaches,
And washy forts of feminine debauches.
As for my part, whate'er the world may think,
I'll bid adieu to gravity, and drink;
And, though I can't put off a woeful mien,
Will be all mirth and cheerfulness within : IIO
As, in defpight of a cenforious race,
I most incontinently fuck my face.
What mighty projects does not he design,
Whofe ftomach flows, and brain turns round with
Wine, powerful wine, can thaw the frozen cit, 115 And fashion him to humour and to wit;
Makes even S**** to disclose his art,
By racking every fecret from his heart,
As he flings off the statesman's fly disguise,
To name the cuckold's wife with whom he lies. 120
Ev'n Sarum, when he quaffs it ftead of tea,
Fancies himself in Canterbury's fee,
And S****** when he carousing reels,
Imagines that he has regain'd the feals:
W******, by virtue of his juice, can fight, 125
And Stanhope of commiffioners make light.
Wine gives lord William aptitude of parts,
And fwells him with his family's deferts:
Whom can it not make eloquent of speech?
Whom in extremeft poverty not rich?
Since, by the means of the prevailing grape,
Th****n can Lechmere's warmth not only ape,
But, half-feas-o'er, by its infpiring bounties,
Can qualify himself in several counties.
What I have promis'd, thou mayft reft affur'd, 135
Shall faithfully and gladly be procur'd.
Nay, I'm already better than my word,
New plates and knives adorn the jovial board:
And, left thou at their fight fhouldft make wry faces,
The girl has fcower'd the pots, and wash'd the glaffes,
Ta'en care fo excellently well to clean 'em,
That thou mayft fee thine own dear picture in 'em.
Moreover, due provifion has been made,
That converfation may not be betray'd;
I have no company but what is proper
To fit with the moft flagrant Whig at fupper.
There's not a man among them but must please,
Since they're as like each other as are peas.
Toland and Hare have jointly fent me word,
They'll come; and Kennet thinks to make a third, 150
Provided he 'as no other invitation,
From men of greater quality and station.
Room will for Oldmixon and J---s be left :
But their difcourfes fmell fo much of theft,
There would be no abiding in the room,
Should two fuch ignorant pretenders come.
However, by this trufty bearer write,
If I should any other scabs invite;
Though if I may my ferious judgment give,
I'm wholly for King Charles's number five:
That was the stint in which that monarch fix'd,
Who would not be with noisiness perplex'd:
And that, if thou'lt agree to think it beft,
Shall be our tale of heads, without one other guest.
I've nothing more, now this is faid, to say, 165
But to request thou'lt instantly away.
And leave the duties of thy prefent post,
To fome well-fkill'd retainer in a host;
Doubtless he'll carefully thy place supply,
And o'er his grace's horses have an eye.
While thou, who flunk through postern more than
Doft by that means avoid a crowd of duns,
And, croffing o'er the Thames at Temple-stairs, Leav't Philips with good words to cheat their ears.
To LORD HARLEY, ON HIS MARRIAGE,
AMONG the numbers who employ
Their tongues and pens to give you joy,
Dear Harley! generous youth, admit
What friendship dictates more than wit.
Forgive me, when I fondly thought
(By frequent obfervations taught)
A fpirit fo inform'd as yours
Could never profper in amours.
The God of Wit, and Light, and Arts,
With all acquir'd and natural parts,
Whofe harp could favage beafts enchant,
Was an unfortunate gallant.
Had Bacchus after Daphne reel'd,
The Nymph had foon been brought to yield:
Or, had embroider'd Mars pursued,
The Nymph would ne'er have been a prude.
Ten thousand footfteps, full in view,
Mark out the way where Daphne flew :
For fuch is all the fex's flight,
They fly from learning, wit, and light :
They fly, and none can overtake
But fome gay coxcomb, or a rake.
How then, dear Harley, could I guess
That you should meet, in love, fuccefs?
For, if those antient tales be true,
Phoebus was beautiful as you :
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