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DUTCH PROVERB... PAULO PURGANTI AND HIS WIFE. 155 În short, the trade was still the same:

Appear'd to honest Hans again; The dame went out: the colonel caine.

But not at all by madam seen: “ What's to be done?” poor Carvel cry'd : And, giving him a magic ring, " Another battery must be try'd :

Fit for the finger of a king; What if to spells I had recourse?

“ Dear Hans,” said he, “ this jewel tako, Tis but to hinder something worse.

And wear it long for Satan's sake: The ind must justify the means;

"Twill do your business to a bair: He only sins who ill intends :

For, long as you this ring shall wear, Since, therefore, 'tis to combat evil,

As sute as I look over Lincoln, 'Tis lawful to employ the Devil.”

That ne'er shall happen, which you think on." Forthwith the Devil did appear,

Hans took the ring, with joy extreme, (For naine hiin, and he's always near)

(All this was only in a dream) Not in the shape in which he plies

Anil, thrusting it beyond his joint, At miss's elbow when she lies,

" "T'is done,” he cry'd: “I've gain'd my point." Or stands before the nursery doors,

“What point,” said she, “ To take the naughty boy that roars:

You neither give me joy nor rest."But, without sawcer eye or claw,

“ 'Tis donc,'--"What's done, you drunken bear? Like a grure barrister at law.

You’ye thrust your finger God knows where!" * Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief,” The Devil says;

I bring relief."Relief !” says Hans :

pray, let me crave Your name, sir?"-". Satan."-"Sir, your slave;

A DUTCH PROVERB.
I did not look upon your feet:
You'll parlon me:- Aye, now i sec't:

Fire, water, woman, are man's ruin,"
And pray, sir, when came you from Hell?

Cays wise professor Vander Brüin. Our friends there, did you leave them well?"

By flames a house I hir'd was lost “ All well; but pr’ythee, honest Hans,"

Last year: and I must pay the cost. Says Satan, “ leave your complaisance:

This spring the rains o'erflow'd my ground: The truth is this : I cannot stay

And my best Flanders mare was drown'd. Fiaring in sun shine all the day:

A slave i am to Clara's eyes: For, entre nous, we hellish sprites

The gipsy kuowo her power, and fies. Love more the fresco of the nights;

Fire, water, woman, are my ruin:
And oftener our receipts convey,

And great thy wisdoin, Vander Brüin.
In dreams, than any other way.
I tell you, therefore, as a friend,
Ere morning dlawns, your fears shall end:
Go then, this evening, master Carvel,
Lay down your fowls, and broach your barrel;

PAULO,PURGANTI AND HIS WIFE;
Let friers and wine dissolve your care ;
Whilst I the great receipt prepare :

AN HONEST, BUT A SIMPLE PAIR. Tonight I'll bring it, by my faith!

Est enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni virBelieve for once what Satan saith.”

tute, quod deccat: quod cogitatione magis à Away went lans: Glad? Not a little;

virtute potest quàm re separari. Obey'd the Devil to a tittle;

Cic. de OL. l. Invited friends some half a dozen,

Beyond the fix'd and settled rules
Thi: colonel, and my lady's cousin.
The meat was serv’d; the bonds were crown'd;

Of vice and virtue in the schools,
Catches were sung; and healths went round;

Peyond the letter of the law, Barbadoes waters for the close;

Which keeps our inen and maids in awe,

The better sort should set before 'em
Till Hans had fairly got his dose :
The colonel toasted “ To the best:”

Agrare, a manner, a decorun;
The dame mov d off, to be undrest:

Something, that gives their acts a light ; The chimes went twelve: the guests withdrew:

Makes them not only just, but bright; But when, or how, Hans hardly knew.

And sets them in that open fame, Some modern anecdotes aver,

Which witty Valice cannot blame.

For 'tis in life, as 'tis in painting :
He nodded in his elbow-chais;
From thence was carried off to bed :

Much may be right, yet much be wanting;

From lines drawn true, our eve may trace
John held his heels, and Nan his head.
My lady was disturb'd: new sorrow !

A foot, a knee, a hand, a face ;
Which Hans must answer for to-morrow.

May justly own the picture wrought In bed then view this happy pair;

Exact to rule, exempt from fault: And think how Hymen triumph'd there.

Yet, if the colouring be not there, Hans fast asleep as soon as laid,

The Titian stroke, the Guido air; The duty of the night unpaid:

To nicest judgment show the piece, The waking dame, with thoughts opprest,

At best, 'twill only not displease: That made her hate both him and rest :

It would not gain on Jersey's eye ; By such a husband, such a wife!

Bradford would frown, and set it by. 'Twas Acme's and Septimjus' life:

Thus, in the picture of our mind, The lady sighd: the lover snor'd :

The action may be well design'd;

Guided by law, and bound by duty ; The punctual Devil kept his word:

Yet want this je ne sçai quoi of beauty:

And though its errout may be such,

Our Don, who knew this tittle-tattle As Knags and Burgess cannot hit;

Did, sure as trumpet, call to battle, It yet may feel the nicrr touch

'Thought it extremely à propos, Of Wicherley's or Congreve's wit.

To ward against the coming blow : “ What is this talk?" replies a friend,

To ward: but how? Aye, there's the question; " And where will this dry moral end?

Ficrce the assault, unarm'd the bastion. The truth of what you here lay down

The doctor feign'd a strange surprise: By some example should be shown.”

He felt her pulse; he view'd her cycs: “With all my heart-for once; read on.

That beat too fast, these rollid too quick; An honest, but a simple pair

She was, he said, or would be sick: (And twenty other I forbear)

He judg'd it absolutely good, May serve to make this thesis clear."

That she should purge, and cleanse her blood. A doctor of great skill and fame,

Spa waters for that end were got: Paulo Purganti was his name,

If they past easily of not, Had a good, comely, virtuous wife;

What matters it?' the lady's fever No woman led a better life:

Continued violent as ever. She to intrigues was ev'n hard-hearted:

For a distemper of this kind, She chuckled when a bawd was carted;

(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind) And thought the nation ne'er would thrive,

If once it youthful blood infects, Till all the whores were burnt alive.

And chiefly of the female sex, On married men, that dar'd be bad,

Is scarce remov'd by pill or potion ; She thought no mercy should be had;

Whate'er might be our doctor's notion. They should be hang'd, or starv'd, or fead,

One luckless night, then, as in bed Or serv'd like Romnish priests in Swede.

The doctor and the dame were laid; In short, all lewdness she defied :

Again this cruel fever came, And stiff was her parochial pride.

High pulse, short breath, and blood in flame. Yet, in an honest way, the dame

What measures shall poor Paulo keep Was a great lover of that same;

With madamn in this piteons taking? And could frotn Scripture take her cue,

She, like Macbeth, has murder'd sleep, That husbands should give wives their due.

And won't allow him rost, though waking. Her prudence did so justly steer

Sad state of matters! when we dare Between the gay and the severe,

Not ask for peace, nor offer war ; That if, in some regards, she chose

Nor Livy nor Comines have shown To curb poor Paulo in too close ;

What in this juncture may be done. In others she relax'd again,

Grotius might own, that Paulo's case is And govern'd with a looser rein.

Harder than any which he places Thus though she strictly did confine

Amongst his Belli and his Pacis. The doctor from excess of wine:

He strove, alas! but strove in vain, With oysters, eggs, and vermicelli,

By dint of lovic, to maintain She let him almost burst his belly:

That all the sex was born to grieve, Thus drying coffee was denied;

Down to her ladyship from Eve. But chocolate that loss supplied :

He ranged his tropes, and preach'd up paAnd for tobacco, (who could bear it?)

tience, Filthy concomitant of claret,

Back’s his opinion with quotations, (Blest revolution !) one might see

Divines and inoralists; and run ye on Eringo roots, and Bohea tea.

Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan.
She often set the doctor's band,

As much in vain he bid her try
And strok'd his beard, and squeez'd his hand : To fold her arms, to close her eye;
Kindly complain'd, that after noon

Telling her, rest would do her good,
He went to pore on books too soon:

If any thing in nature could : She held it wholesoiner by much,

So held the Greeks, quite down from Galen, To rest a little on the couch:

Masters and princes of the calling: About his waist in bed a-nights

So all our modern friends maintain She clung so close--for fear of sprites.

(Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane. The doctor understood the call;

Reduce, my Muse, the wandering song: But had not always wherewithal.

A tale should never be too long. The lion's skin too short, you know,

The more he talk'd, the more she burn'd, (As Plutarch's morals finely show)

And sigh’d, and tost, and groan'd, and turnd; Was lengthen’d by the fox's tail;

At last, " I wish,” said she, “my dear And art supplies, where strength may fail. And whisper'd something in his eat. Unwilling then in arms to meet

“ You wish !-wish on,” the doctor cries : The enemy she could not beat;

“ Lord! when will womankind be wise? He strove to lengthen the canpaign,

What, in your waters ?--are you mad? And save his forces by chicane.

Why poison is not half so bad. Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus

I'll do it—but I give you warning: By fair retreat grew Maximus,

You'll die before tomorrow inorning." Shows us, that all that warrior can do,

“ 'Tis kind, my dear, what you advise,” With force inferior, is cunctando.

The lady, with a sigli, replies: One day, then, as the foc drew near,

“ But life, you know, at best, is pain; With love, and joy, and life, and dear;

And death is what we should disdain

So do it therefore, and adieu :
For I will die for love of you.--
Let wanton wives by Death be scar'd;
But, to my comfort, I'm prepar'd.”

fling!”

THE LADLE,
The sceptics think, 'twas long ago,
Since gods caine down incognito,
To see who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rose :
That since they gave things their beginning,
Anil set this whirligig a-spinning,
Supine they in their Heaven remain,
Exempt from passion, and from pain :
And frankly leave us human elves,
To cut and shuille for ourselves;
To stand or walk, to rise or tumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.

The poets now and painters hold
This thesis both absurd and bold :
And your good-natur'd guls, they say,
Descend some twice or thrice a-day:
Else all these things we toil so hard in
Would not avail one single farthing:
For, when the hero we rehearse,
To grace his actions and our verse;

Tis not by dint of human thought,
That to his latium he is brought;
Iris descends by Fate's commands,
To guide his steps through foreign lands:
And Amphitrite clears the way
From rocks and quicksands in the sea.

And if you sec him in a sketch,
(Though drawn by Paulo or Carache)
He shows not half his force and strength,
Strutting in armour, and at length :
That he may make his proper tigure,
The piece must yet be four yards bigger:
The nymphs conduct him to the field;
One holds his sword, and one his shield;
Mars, standing by, asserts his quarrel;
And Fame flies after with a laurel.

These points, I say, of speculation,
(As 'twere to save or sink the nation)
Sen idly learned will dispute,
Asseit, object, confirm, refute :
Each mighty angry, mighty right,
With equal armis sustain'd the fight;
Till now no umpire can agree 'em:
So both draw off, and sing Te Deum.

Is it in equilibrio,
If dities descend or no?
Then let th' affirmative prevail,
As requisite to form my tale:
For by all parties 'tis confest,
That those opinions are the best,
Which in their nature most conduce
To present ends, and private use.

Two goals came therefore from above,
One Mercury, the other Jove :
TH:- humour was, it seems, to know,
If all the favours they bestow
Could from our own perverseness case us;
And if our wish enjoy'd, would please us,
Discoursing largely on this theme,
O'er hills and dales their godslups came į

Till, well nigh tir'd, at almost night,
They thought it proper to alight.

Note here, that it as true as odd is,
That in disguise a god or goddess
Exerts no supernatural powers;
But acts on maxims much like ours.
They spied at last a country farm,
Where all was snug, and clean, and warmi
For woods before, and hills behind,
Secur'd it both from rain and wind :
Large oxen in the field were lowing;
Good grain was sow'd; good fruit was growing
Of last year's corn in barns great store ;
Pat turkeys gobbling at the door;
And Wealth, in short, with Peace consented,
That people here should live contented :
“But did they in effect da so?"
“ Have patience, friend, and thou shalt know.

The honest farmer and his wife,
To years declin'd from prime of life,
Had struggled with the marriage noose,
As almost every couple does.
Sometimes, “My plague!” sometimes, “My dar.
Kissing to-day, to-morrow snarling,
Jointly subinitting to endure
That evil, which admits no cure.
Our gods the outward gate unbạrrd :
Our farmer met them in the yard;
Thought they were folks that lost their ways
And ask'd thein civilly to stay:
Told them, for supper, or for bed,
They might go on, and be worse sped.

So said, so done; the gods consent:
All three into the parlour went:
They compliment; they sit; they chat;
Fight o'er the wars; reform the state :
A thousand knotty points they clear,
Till supper and my wife appear.

Jove made his leg, and kiss'd the dames
Obsequious Hermes did the same.
“ Jove kiss'd the farmer's wife !” you say.
" He did—but in an honest way:
Oh! not with half that warmth and life,
With which he kiss'd Amphitryon's wife.”

Well, then, things handsomely were server
My mistress for the strangers carv'd.
How strong the beer, bow good the ineat,
Ilow loud they laugh'd, how much they eat,
In epic sumptuous would appear;
Yet shall be pass'd in silence here:
For I should grieve to have it said,
That, by a fine description led,
I made my episode too long,
Or tir'd my friend, to grace my song.

The graco-cup serv'd, the cloth away.
Jove thought it time to show his play:
“ Landlord and landlasly,” he cried,
“Folly and jesting laid aside,
That ye thus hospitably live,
And strangers with good cheer receive,
Is mighty grateful to your betters,
And makes e'en guds themselves your debtorie
To give this thesis plainer proof,
You have to-night beneath your roof
A pair of gods, (nay, never wonder)
This youth can fiy, and I can thunder.
I’m Jupiter, and lie Mercurius,
My page, my sou indeed, but spurious.
Form then three wishes, you and madam;
And sure as you already bad 'em,

The things desir'd, in half an hour,
Shall all be here, and in your power."

“ Thank you, great gods," the woman says: “ Oh! may your altars ever blaze ! A Ladle for our silver-dish is what I want, is what I wish.” A Ladle !” cries the man,

a Ladle!
Odzooks, Corisca, you have pray'd ill;
What should be great, you turn to farce;
I wish the Ladle in your a-."

With equal grief and shame, my Muse
The sequel of the tale pursues;
The Ladle fell into the room,
And stuck in old Corisca's bum.
Our couple weep two wishes past,
And kindly join to form the last ;.
To ease the woman's aukward pain,
And get the Ladle out again.

To those who, at the market-rate,
Can barter honour for estate.

Now, if thou giant'st me my request,
To make thy votary truly blest,
Let curst Revenge and saucy Pride
To some bleak rock far off be tied;
Nor e'er approach my rural seat,
To tempt me to be base and great.

And, goddess, this kind office done, Charge Venus to command her son (Where-ever else she lets him rove) To shun my house, and field, and grove : Peace cannot dwell with Hate or Love.

Hear, gracious Rhéa, what I say: And thy petitioner shall pray.

MORAL.

Tous commoner hath worth and parts,
Is prais'd for arms, or lov'd for arts;
His head aches for a coronet :
And who is bless'd that is not great?

Some sense, and more estate, kind Heaven
To this well-lotted peer has given :
What then? He must have rule and sway;
And all is wrong, till he's in play.

The miser must make up his plumb,
And darás not touch the hoarded sum;
The sickly dotard wants a wife,
To draw off his last dregs of life.

Against our peace we arm our will :
Amidst our plenty, something still
For horses, houses, pictures, planting,
To thee, to me, to him, is wanting.
The cruel something unpossessid,
Corrodes, and leavens all the rest.
That something, if we could obtain,
Would soon create a future pain :
And to the coffin, from the cradle,
Tis all a wish, and all a Ladle.

WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNINGOF

MEZERAY'S HISTORY OF FRANCE.
WHATE'er thy countrymen have done,
By law and wit, by sword and gun,

In thee is faitlxfully recited:
And all the living world, that view
Thy work, give thee the praises dué,

At once instructed and delighted.
Yet, for the fame of all these decds,
What beggar in the Invalids,

With lameness broke, with blindness smittes
Wish'd erer decently to die,
To have been either Mczeray,

Or any monarch he has written.
It's strange, dear author, yet it true is,
That, down from Pharamond to Louis,

All covet life, yet call it pain;
All feel the ill, yet shun the cure:
Can sense this paradox endure?

Resolve me, Cambray or Fontaine. The man, in graver tragic known, (Though his best part long since was done)

Still on the stage desires to tarry : And he, who play'd the Harlequin, After the jest still loads the scene,

Unwilling to retire, though weary.

WRITTEN AT PARIS, 1700, IN THE BEGINNING OF ROBE'S GEOGRAPIIY. Of all that William rules, or Robe Describes, great Rhéa, of thy globe; When or on post-horse, or in chaise, With much expense, and little ease, My destin'd miles I shall have gone, By Thames or Maese, by Po or Rhone, And found no foot of earth my own ; Great Mother, let me once be able To have a garden, house, and stable ; That I may read, and ride, and plant, Superior to desire or want; And as health fails, and years increase, Sit down and think, and die, in peace. Oblige thy favourite undertakers To throw me in but twenty acres : This number sure they may allow; For pastures ten, and ten for plow: 'Tis all that I could wish or hope, For me and John, and Nell and Crop.

Then, as thou wilt, dispose the rest (And let not Fortune spoil the jest)

WRITTEN IN THE NOUVEAUX INTERETS DES PRINCES DE L'EUROPE. Blest be the princes, who have fought

For pompous names, or wide dominion ; Since by their errour we are taught

That happiness is but opinion !

ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAY

SUAM, ANIMula, vagula, blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in loca, Pallidula, rigida, nudula? Nec, ut soles, dabis joca,

A PASSAGE IN TUR

Finding the wretched all they here can have,

But present food, and but a future grave:
BY MONSIEUR FOXTEXELLE,

Each, great as Philip's victor son, shail view Bla petite ame, ma mignonne,

This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new. Tu t'en vas donc, ma fille, & Dieu sache où tu vas : Decrepit Age shall read thee, and confess Tu poirs seulette, nuë, & tremblotante, helas ! Thy labours can assuage, where medicines cease; Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne !

Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief, Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats ?

The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life;

Shall look to Heaven, and lauglı at all beneath ; IMITATED.

Own riches, gather'd, trouble; faine, a breath;

And life an ill, whose only cure is death. Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing,

Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow, Must we no longer live together?

Their sense untutor d infancy may know : And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,

Yet to such height is all that plainness wronght, To take thy tight thou know'st not whither?

Wit may admire, and letter'd Pride be taught. Thy humourous vein, thy pleasing folly, ,

Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime, Lies all neglected, all forgot :

On its blest steps each age and sex may rise ; And pensive, wavering, melancholy,

'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream, Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know's not what.

Its foot on Earth, its height above the skies :
Diffus'd its virtue, boundless is its power ;
'Tis public health, and universal cure;
Of henculy manna 'tis a second feast;
A nation's food, and all to every taste.

To its last light mad Britain's guilt was rear'd; MORIÆ ENCOMIUM OF ERASMUS

And various death for various crimes she fear'd.

With your kind work her drooping hopes revive; IMITATED.

You bid her read, repent, adcre, and live : Ix awful pomp, and melancholy state,

You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand; See settled Reason on the judgment seat :

Stop ready Death, and save a sinking land. Around her crowd Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear, 0! save us still: still bless us with thy stay: And thoughtful Foresight, and tormenting Care: 0! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way : Far from the throne, the trembling Pleasures stand, Refuse to leave thy dustin'd charge too soon ; Chain'd up, or exil'd by her stern command. And, for the church's good, defer thy own. Wretched her subjects, gloomy sits the queen ; 0! live; and let thy works urge our belief;. Till happy Chance reverts the cruel scene; Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life; And apish Folly, with her wild resort

Till future infancy, baptiz'd by thee, Of wit and jest, disturbs the soleinn court. Grow ripe in years, and old in piety; See the fantastic minstrelsy advance,

Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die To breathe the song, and animate the dance.

Then, in full age and hoary holiness, Blest the usurper! happy the surprise!

Retire, great teacher! to thy promis'd bliss : Her mimic postures catch our eager eyes ;

Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy dust, Her jingling bells affect our captive ear;

As thy own fame among the future just; And in the sights we see, and sounds we hear, Till in last sounds the dreadful trumpet speaks ; Against our judginent, she our sense employs; Till Judgment calls, and quicken'd Nature wakes ; The laws of troubled Reason she destroys,

Till, through the utmost earth, and deepest sea, And in their place rejoices to indite

Our scatter'd atoms find their destin'd way,
Wild schemes of mirth, and plans of loose delight. | In haste, to clothe their kindred souls again,

Perfect our state, and build immortal man :
Then fearless thou, who well sustain'dst the fight,

To paths of joy, or tracts of endiess light,
TO DR. SHERLOCK,

Lead up all those who heard thee, and believ'd;

'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd ! be receiv'd; US HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE CONCERNING DEATH.

And glad all Heaven with millions thou hast sav'd. Forgive the Muse, who, in unballow'd strains, The saint one moment from his God detains : For sure, whate'er you do, where-e'er you are, 'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer :

CARMEN SECULARE,
Forgive her; and entreat that God, to whom

FOR THE YEAR 1700.
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that sublime degree,
Which suits a song of piety and thee.

TO THE KING.
Wondrous gooù man! whose labours may repel

Aspice, venturo lætentur ut omnia seculo: The force of Siu, may stop the rage of Hell;

O mibi tam longe inaneat pass ultima vitæ, Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God wast sent,

Spiritus & quantum sat erit tua dicere facta ! The crying voice, to bid the world repent.

Virg. Eclog. iv. The youth shall study, and do more engage Their flattering wishes for uncertain age; No more, with fruitless care and cheated strife, Tuy elder look, great Janus, cast Chase fleeting Pleasure through this maze of life ; Into the long records of ages past :

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