Our Apprehenfions none can justly blame,
Mony is dearer much to us than Fame:
This thought on, let our Poets juftifie
The Reputation of their Poetry;

We are refolv'd we will not have to do

With what's between thofe Gentlemen and you.
Be kind, and let our House have but your Praise,
You're welcome ev'ry Day to damn their Plays.

A

She lay in the Plain, his Arm under his Head, And his Flock feeding by, the fond Celadon faid, If Love's a fweet Paffion, why does it torment? If a bitter (faid he) whence are Lovers content? Since I fuffer with Fleafure, why fhould I complain? Or grieve at my Fate, when I know 'tis in vain? Yet fo pleafing the Pain is, so foft is the Dart, That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my Heart: To my felf I figh often without knowing why; And when abfent from Phyllis, methinks I could die: But oh what a Pleasure still follows my Pain ; When kind Fortune does help me to fee her again. In her Eyes,the bright Stars that foretel what's to come, By foft ftealth now and then I examine my Doom. I prefs her Hand gently, look languishing down, And by paffionate Silence I make my Love known. But oh! how I'm bleft when fo kind she does prove, By fome willing Mistake to discover her Love; When in ftriving to hide, the reveals all her Flame, And our Eyes tell each other what neither dare name.

D

ASONG.

Amon, if you will believe me,
'Tis not fighing round the Plain,

Song nor Sonnet can relieve ye;

Faint Attempts in Love are vain.

II.

Urge but home the fair Occasion,
And be Mafter of the Field;
To a pow'rful kind Invasion
'Twere a Madness not to yield.

III.

Tho' fhe vows fhe'll ne'er permit ye,
Cries you're rude, and much to blame;
And with Tears implores your Pity 3
Be not merciful for shame.

IV.

When the fierce Affault is over,
Chloris time enough will find

This her cruel furious Lover,
Much more gentle, not so kind.

EPILOGUE.

G That sixty leven's a very damning Year,

Allants, by all good Signs it does appear,

For Knaves abroad, and for ill Poets here.

Among the Muses there's a gen'ral Rot,
The Rhyming Monfieur, and the Spanish Plots
Defie, or Court, all's one, they go to Pot.

The Ghofts of Poets walk within this Place,
And haunt us Actors wherefoe'er we pass,
In Visions bloodier than King Richard's was.

For this poor Wretch, he has not much to say,
But quietly brings in his Part o' th' Play,
And begs the Favour to be damn'd to Day.

He fends me only like a Sh’riff's Man here,
To let you know the Malefactor's near,
And that he means to die, en Cavalier.

For if you shou'd be gracious to his Pen,
Th' Example will prove ill to other Men,
And you'll be troubled with 'em all agen.

Upon Four New Phyficians Repairing to TUNBRIDGE WELLS.

Written feveral Years fince.

YOU Maidens and Wives and young Widows rejoice,

Since Waters were Waters, I boldly dare fay, [Voice; There ne'er was fuch cause for a Thanksgiving Day: For from London Town

Are lately come down,

Four able Fhysicians that never wore Gown ;
Their Phyfick is pleasant, their Dose it is large,
And you may be cur'd without Danger or Charge.
II.

No Bolus, no Vomit, no Potion or Pill,

Which fometimes do Cure, but oftner do Kill,
Your Taste or your Stomach need ever difplease,
If you'll be advised but by one of these ;

For they have a new Drug

Which is call'd the close Hug,

[lock fmug.

Which will mend your Complexion and make you A Sovereign Balfom, which once well apply'd, Though griev'd at the Heart, the Patient ne'er dy'd.

III.

In the Morning you need not be robb'd of your Reft, For in your warm Bed your Phyfick works beft; And though in the Taking fome Stirring's requir'd, The Motion's fo pleasant you need not be tir'd;

On your Back you must lye,

And raise your self high,

And one of these Doctors must always be by,
Who ftill will be ready to cover you warm ;

For if you take cold all Phyfick does harm.

IV.

Before they do venture to give their Direction,
They always confider the Patient's Complexion;
If the have a moift Palm or a red Head of Hair,
She requires more Phyfick than one Man can spare
If the have a long Nose,

Scarce any one knows

How many large Handfulls muft go to her Dofe;
You Ladies that have fuch ill Symptoms as these,
In Reason and Confcience fhould pay double Fees.

V.

But that we may give these Doctors due Praise,
Who to all forts of People their Favour conveys,
To the Ugly for Pity's fake Skill shall be shewn,

And as for the Handfom they're cur'd for their own.
On your Silver or Gold

They never lay hold,

For what comes fo freely they scorn fhould be fold:
Then join with thefe Doctors and heartily pray,
That their Power of Healing may never decay.

A Cruel MISTRESS.

By T. CAREW, Efq;

E read of Kings, and Gods, that kindly took
fill'd with Water from the Brook:

But I have daily tendred without thanks
Rivers of Tears that overflow their Banks.
A flaughter'd Bull will appease angry Jove;
A Horse the Sun; a Lamb the God of Love:
But fhe difdains the fpotlefs Sacrifice

Of a pure Heart, that at her Altar lies,

Vesta is not difpleas'd, if her chaft Urn

Do with repaired Fuel ever burn;

But my Saint frowns, though to her honour'd Name
I confecrate a never-dying Flame.

Th' Affyrian King did none i' th' Furnace throw,
But those that to his Image did not bow;
With bended Knees I daily worship her,
Yet the confumes her own Idolater.

Of fuch a Goddess no times leave record,
That burnt the Temple, where she was ador'd.

K

Ingrateful Beauty threatned.
By the fame Hand.

Now Celia, (fince thou art fo proud,)
'Twas I that gave thee thy Renown:
Thou had'ft, in the forgotten Crowd

Of common Beauties, liv'd unknown,
Had not my Verse exhal'd thy Name,
And with it impt the Wings of Fame.

That killing Power is none of thine,
gave it to thy Voice and Eyes:
Thy Sweets, thy Graces, all are mine;
Thou art my Star, fhin'ft in my Skies;
Then dart not, from thy borrow'd Sphere,
Lightning on him that fixt thee there.

Tempt me with fuch Affrights no more,
Left what I made, I uncreate:
Let Fools thy myftick Forms adore,
I'll know thee in thy mortal State.

Wife Poets that wrap'd Truth in Tales,

Knew her themselves through all her Vails.