Hoping, for my excufe, 'twill be confefs'd,
That, of two evils, I have chose the least.
So, Sir, with this epiftolary scroll,
Receive the partner of my inmost foul:
Him-you will find in letters and in laws
Not unexpert; firm to his country's caufe;
Warm in the glorious interest you pursue:
And, in one word, a good man and a true.
N one great now, fuperior to an age,
The full extremes of Nature's force we find :
How heav'nly virtue can exalt, or rage
Infernal, how degrade the human mind.
While the fierce monk does at his trial ftand;
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence:
Guilt in his tongue, and murder in his hand;
He ftabs his judge, to prove his innocence.
The guilty ftroke and torture of the steel
Infix'd, our dauntlefs Briton fcarce perceives: The wounds his country from his death must feel, The patriot views; for thofe alone he grieves.
The barb'rous rage that durft attempt thy life,
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame:
And the sharp point of cruel Guifcard's knife,
In brafs and marble carves thy deathless name.
V.
Faithful affertor of thy country's caufe,
Britain with tears fhall bathe thy glorious wound; She for thy fafety shall enlarge her laws :
And in her ftatutes fhail thy worth be found.
Yet 'midft her fighs the triumphs, on the hand
Reflecting, that diffus'd the public woe;
A ftranger to her altars and her land:
No fon of hers could meditate this blow.
VII.
Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's care:
Our queen, our faint, with facrificing breath
Softens thy anguish: In her powerful pray'r
She pleads thy fervice; and forbids thy death.
Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more;
O breast, bewail'd by earth, preferv'd by heav'n!
No higher can afpiring virtue foar :
Enough to thee of grief and fame is giv'n.
An extempore Invitation to the Earl of OXFORD, Lord High Treasurer, 1712.
UR weekly friends to-morrow meet
OAR Metty's palace, in Duke-street;
To try, for once, if they can dine
On bacon-ham and mutton chine.
If, weary'd with the great affairs,
Which Britain trufts to Harley's cares,
Thou, humble statesman, may'st descend,
Thy mind one moment to unbend;
To fee thy fervant, from his foul,
Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl:
Among thy guests, which e'er my houfe
Receiv'd, it never can produce
Of honour a more glorious proof-----
Though Dorfet us'd to bless the roof.
WAY mice, full blythe and amicable,
TWAY full
Lies there ne trap their necks to catch;
Ne old black cat their fteps to watch.
'Their fill they eat of fowl and fish;
Feast-lyche, as heart of mouse mote wish.
As guests fat jovial at the board,
Forth leap'd our mice: Eftfoons the Lord
Of Boling, whilome John the Saint,
Who maketh oft propos full queint,
Laugh'd jocund, and aloud he cry'd,
To Matthew feated on t' oth' fide;
To thee, lean bard, it doth pertain
To understand thefe creatures tweine.
Come frame us now fome clean device,
Or playfant rhyme on yonder mice.
They seem, God shield me, Mat. and Charles.. Bad as Sir Topaz, or Squire Quarles, (Matthew did for the nonce reply,)
At emblem or device am I :
But could I chaunt or rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as thee;
Ne verfe from me (fo God me fhrive)
On mouse, or other beast alive.
Certes, I have these many days
Sent myne poetic herd to graze.
Ne armed knight ydrad in war
With lyon fierce will I compare :
Ne judge unjust, with furred fox,
Harming in fecret guife the flocks :
Ne priest unworth of goddess coat,
To fwine ydrunk, or filthy stoat.
Elk fimile farewel for ay,
From elephant, I trow, to flea.
Reply'd the friendlike peer, I weene,
Matthew is angred on the spleen.
Ne fo, quoth Mat. ne fhall be e'er,
With wit that falleth all fo fair:
Eftfoons, well weet ye, mine intent
Boweth to your commandement.
If by these creatures ye have feen,
Pourtrayed Charles and Matthew been;
Behoveth neet to wreck my brain,
The rest in order to explain.
That cup-board, where the mice disport,
I liken to St. Stephen's court :
Therein is space enough, I trow,
For elke comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may both be fed
With fhiver of the wheaten bread.
And when, as these mine eyen survey,
They ccafe to fkip, and squeak and play;
Return they may to diff'rent cells,
Auditing one, whilft t' other tells.
Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whofe mind
In bounteous deed no mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,
I deem this matter well made out.
Laugh I, whilft thus I ferious pray?
Let that be wrought which Mat. doth fay:
Yea, quoth the Erle, but not to day.
In the fame Style.
oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine;
Eateth bak'd meats, drinketh Greek wine:
But Topaz his own werk rehearseth;
And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verfeth.
Now fure as prieft did e'er fhrive finner,
Full hardly earneth Mat. his dinner.
AIR Sufan did her wife-hede well menteine,
Algates affaulted fore by letchours tweine.
Now, and I read aright that auncient fong,
Olde were the paramours, the dame full young.
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