And kept 'em prisoners of course,
For being sober at ill hours;
That in the morning he might free
Or bind 'em over for his fee:
Made monsters fine, and puppet-plays,
For leave to practise in their ways;
Farm'd out all cheats, and went a share
With th' headborough and scavenger ;
And made the dirt i' th' streets compound
For taking up the public ground;
The kennel and the king's highway,
For being unmolested, pay;

Let out the stocks, and whipping-post,

And cage, to those that gave him most;
Imposed a task on bakers' ears,
And, for false weights, on chandelers;
Made victuallers and vintners fine
For arbitrary ale and wine;

But was a kind and constant friend
To all that regularly offend,
As residentiary bawds,

And brokers that receive stol'n goods;
That cheat in lawful mysteries,
And pay church duties and his fees :
But was implacable and awkward
To all that interloped and hawker'd.

To this brave man the Knight repairs
For counsel in his law-affairs,
And found him mounted in his pew,
With books and money placed, for shew,
Like nest-eggs to make clients lay,
And for his false opinion pay :
To whom the Knight, with comely grace,
Put off his hat, to put his case;
Which he as proudly entertain'd
As th' other courteously strain'd;
And, to assure him 't was not that
He look'd for, bid him put on 's hat.
Quoth he, there is one Sidrophel,
Whom I have cudgell'd-Very well.
And now he brags to 've beaten me--
Better and better still, quoth he.
And vows to stick me to a wall,
Where'er he meets me-Best of all.
"Tis true the knave has taken 's oath
That I robb'd him-Well done, in troth.
When he's confess'd he stole my cloak,
And pick'd my fob, and what he took ;
Which was the cause that made me bang him,
And take my goods again-Marry, hang him.
Now, whether I should beforehand
Swear he robb'd me ?-I understand.
Or bring my action of conversion

And trover for my goods ?-Ah, whoreson !
Or, if 't is better to endite,

And bring him to his trial?-Right,
Prevent what he designs to do,

And swear for th' state against him ?—True.
Or whether he that is defendant
In this case has the better end on 't ;
Who, putting in a new cross-bill,
May traverse th' action-Better still.

Then there's a lady too-Ay, marry!
That's easily proved accessary;

A widow who by solemn vows
Contracted to me, for my spouse,
Combined with him to break her word,
And has abetted all-Good Lord!
Suborn'd th' aforesaid Sidrophel

To tamper with the dev❜l of hell,
Who put m' into a horrid fear,
Fear of my life-Make that appear.
Made an assault with fiends and men
Upon my body-Good agen.
And kept me in a deadly fright,
And false imprisonment, all night.
Meanwhile they robb'd me, and my horse,
And stole my saddle-Worse and worse.
And made me mount upon the bare ridge,
T'avoid a wretcheder miscarriage.

Sir, (quoth the lawyer,) not to flatter ye,
You have as good and fair a battery
As heart can wish, and need not shame
The proudest man alive to claim;
For if they've used you as you say,
Marry, quoth I, God give you joy ;
I would it were my case, I'd give
More than I'll say, or you'll believe :
I would so trounce her, and her purse,
I'd make her kneel for better or worse:
For matrimony, and hanging here,
Both go by destiny so clear,

That you as sure may pick and choose,
As cross I win, and pile you lose :
And if I durst, I would advance
As much in ready maintenance,
As upon any case I've known;

But we that practise dare not own :
The law severely contrabands
Our taking bus'ness off men's hands:
'Tis common barratry, that bears
Point-blank an action 'gainst our ears,
And crops them till there is not leather,
To stick a pin in, left of either;
For which some do the summer-sault,
And o'er the bar, like tumblers, vault :
But you may swear, at any rate,
Things not in nature, for the state;
For in all courts of justice here
A witness is not said to swear,
But make oath; that is, in plain terms,
To forge whatever he affirms.

I thank you (quoth the Knight) for that,
Because 'tis to my purpose pat-
For Justice, though she's painted blind,
Is to the weaker side inclined,
Like Charity; else right and wrong
Could never hold it out so long,
And, like blind Fortune, with a sleight,
Conveys men's interest and right
From Stiles's pocket into Nokes's,
As easily as Hocus Pocus;

Plays fast and loose, makes men obnoxious,

And clear again like hiccius doctius.

Then, whether you would take her life,
Or but recover her for your wife,
Or be content with what she has,
And let all other matters pass,
The bus'ness to the law's alone,
The proof is all it looks upon;
And you can want no witnesses
To swear to anything you please,
That hardly get their mere expences
By th' labour of their consciences,
Or letting out to hire their ears
To affidavit customers,
At inconsiderable values,

To serve for jurymen, or tallies,
Although retain'd in th' hardest matters
Of trustees and administrators.

For that (quoth he) let me alone;
We've store of such, and all our own,
Bred up and tutor'd by our Teachers,
The ablest of conscience-stretchers.

That's well, (quoth he,) but I should guess, By weighing all advantages, Your surest way is first to pitch On Bongey for a water-witch;

And when ye 've hang'd the conjurer,

Ye 've time enough to deal with her.
In th' int'rim spare for no trepans
To draw her neck into the bans ;
Ply her with love-letters and billets,
And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets,
With trains t' inveigle and surprise
Her heedless answers and replies;

And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,
They'll serve for other by-designs;
And make an artist understand
To copy out her seal, or hand;
Or find void places in the paper
To steal in something to entrap her;
Till with her worldly goods, and body,
Spite of her heart, she has endow'd ye :
Retain all sorts of witnesses,

That ply i' th' Temple, under trees,

Or walk the round, with Knights o' th' Posts,
About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's-Inn ;
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men, ne'er fail
T'expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,
Their only necessary tools,

Besides the Gospel and their souls:
And when ye 're furnish'd with all purveys,

I shall be ready at your service.

I would not give (quoth Hudibras)
A straw to understand a case,
Without the admirable skill
To wind and manage it at will;
To veer, and tack, and steer a cause
Against the weathergage of laws,
And ring the changes upon cases,
As plain as noses upon faces,
As you have well instructed me,

For which you 've earn'd (here 'tis) your fee.

favourite amusement was angling, on which he has left a treatise, together with some interesting biographical memoirs, which have been made well known by many modern and elegant editions.

I IN these flowery meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me,
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice;
Sit here and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love :

Or on that bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty : please my mind
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then wash'd off by April showers;
Here hear my Kenna sing a song,
There see a blackbird feed her young,

Or a leverock build her nest:
Here give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love;
Or, with my Bryan and my book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook :

There sit by him and eat my meat,
There see the sun both rise and set,
There bid good morning to next day,
There meditate my time away,
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to the grave.

*Probably his dog.

WENTWORTH DILLON, Earl of Roscommon, was the maternal nephew of the unfortunate Earl of Strafford. He was born in Ireland, educated at Caen in Normandy, travelled into Italy, and, returning to England at the Restoration, was made

a captain of the Band of Pensioners. "It may be remarked," says Dr. Warton, "to the praise of Roscommon, that he was the first critic who had taste and spirit enough publicly to praise the Paradise Lost *."

IMMODEST words admit of no defence;
For want of decency is want of sense.
What moderate fop would rake the park or stews,
Who among troops of faultless nymphs may choose?
Variety of such is to be found:

Take then a subject proper to expound;
But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice;
For men of sense despise a trivial choice:
And such applause it must expect to meet,
As would some painter busy in a street,
To copy bulls and bears, and every sign
That calls the staring sots to nasty wine.

Yet 'tis not all to have a subject good:
It must delight us when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulsome objects to my view,
(As many old have done, and many new,)
With nauseous images my fancy fills,
And all goes down like oxymel of squills.
Instruct the listening world how Maro sings
Of useful subjects and of lofty things.
These will such true, such bright ideas raise,
As merit gratitude, as well as praise :
But foul descriptions are offensive still,
Either for being like, or being ill:

For who, without a qualm, hath ever look'd
On holy garbage, though by Homer cook'd?
Whose railing heroes, and whose wounded gods
Makes some suspect he snores, as well as nods.
But I offend-Virgil begins to frown,
And Horace looks with indignation down:
My blushing Muse with conscious fear retires,
And whom they like implicitly admires.

On sure foundations let your fabric rise,
And with attractive majesty surprise;
Not by affected meretricious arts,

[came :

But strict harmonious symmetry of parts;
Which through the whole insensibly must pass,
With vital heat to animate the mass:
A pure, an active, an auspicious flame;
And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing
But few, oh! few souls, pre-ordain'd by fate,
The race of gods, have reach'd that envied height.
No Rebel-Titan's sacrilegious crime,
By heaping hills on hills can hither climb :

The grizly ferryman of hell denied
Æneas entrance, till he knew his guide.
How justly then will impious mortals fall,
Whose pride would soar to heaven without a call!

Pride (of all others the most dangerous fault)
Proceeds from want of sense, or want of thought.
The men who labour and digest things most,
Will be much apter to despond than boast:
For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.
How many ages since has Virgil writ!
How few are they who understand him yet!
Approach his altars with religious fear:
No vulgar deity inhabits there.
Heaven shakes not more at Jove's imperial nod,
Than poets should before their Mantuan god.
Hail, mighty Maro! may that sacred name
Kindle my breast with thy celestial flame,
Sublime ideas and apt words infuse; [Muse!
The Muse instruct my voice, and thou inspire the
What I have instanced only in the best,
Is, in proportion, true of all the rest.
Take pains the genuine meaning to explore!
There sweat, there strain; tug the laborious oar;
Search every comment that your care can find ;
Some here, some there, may hit the poet's mind :
Yet be not blindly guided by the throng:
The multitude is always in the wrong.
When things appear unnatural or hard,
Consult your author, with himself compared.
Who knows what blessing Phoebus may bestow,
And future ages to your labour owe?
Such secrets are not easily found out;
But, once discover'd, leave no room for doubt.
Truth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breast;
And peace and joy attend the glorious guest.

Truth still is one; truth is divinely bright; No cloudy doubts obscure her native light; While in your thoughts you find the least debate, You may confound, but never can translate. Your style will this through all disguises show; For none explain more clearly than they know.

[* Dryden was before him, but Roscommon was the first to write in imitation of Milton's manner.]

He only proves he understands a text,
Whose exposition leaves it unperplex'd.
They who too faithfully on names insist,
Rather create than dissipate the mist;
And grow unjust by being over nice,
(For superstitious virtue turns to vice.)
Let Crassus' ghost and Labienus tell
How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell.
Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame,
That few know Pacorus' or Monæses' name.

Words in one language elegantly used,
Will hardly in another be excused;

And some that Rome admired in Caesar's time,
May neither suit our genius nor our clime.
The genuine sense, intelligibly told,
Shows a translator both discreet and bold.

Excursions are inexpiably bad;

And 'tis much safer to leave out than add.
Abstruse and mystic thought you must express
With painful care, but seeming easiness;
For truth shines brightest through the plainest
dress.

Th' Enean Muse, when she appears in state,
Makes all Jove's thunder on her verses wait;
Yet writes sometimes as soft and moving things
As Venus speaks, or Philomela sings.
Your author always will the best advise,
Fall when he falls, and when he rises, rise.
Affected noise is the most wretched thing,
That to contempt can empty scribblers bring.
Vowels and accents, regularly placed,
On even syllables (and still the last)
Though gross innumerable faults abound,
In spite of nonsense, never fail of sound.
But this is meant of even verse alone,

As being most harmonious and most known:
For if you will unequal numbers try,
There accents on odd syllables must lie.
Whatever sister of the learned Nine
Does to your suit a willing ear incline,
Urge your success, deserve a lasting name,
She'll crown a grateful and a constant flame.
But, if a wild uncertainty prevail,

And turn your veering heart with every gale,
You lose the fruit of all your former care,
For the sad prospect of a just despair.

A quack (too scandalously mean to name)
Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame;
As if Lucina had forgot her trade,
The labouring wife invokes his surer aid.
Well-season'd bowls the gossip's spirits raise,
Who, while she guzzles, chats the doctor's praise;
And largely, what she wants in words, supplies,
With maudlin eloquence of trickling eyes.
But what a thoughtless animal is man!
(How very active in his own trepan!)
For, greedy of physicians' frequent fees,
From female mellow praise he takes degrees;
Struts in a new unlicensed gown, and then
From saving women falls to killing men.
Another such had left the nation thin,
In spite of all the children he brought in.

281

His pills as thick as hand grenadoes flew ;
And where they fell, as certainly they slew:
His name struck everywhere as great a damp,
As Archimedes' through the Roman camp.
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool;
For smarting soundly may convince a fool.
But now repentance came too late for grace;
And meagre famine stared him in the face:
Fain would he to the wives be reconciled,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends, that got the brats, were poison'd too:
In this sad case, what could our vermin do?
Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail,
Th' unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail :
And there with basket-alms, scarce kept alive,
Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive.
I pity, from my soul, unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to prostitute their pen;
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead!
But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your swords and cares,
Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse ;
'Tis very dangerous tampering with the Muse,
The profit's small, and you have much to lose;
For though true wit adorns your birth or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race.
No poet any passion can excite,

But what they feel transport them when they write.
Have you been led through the Cumæan cave,
And heard th' impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now; I see her rolling eyes;
And panting, Lo! the God, the God, she cries:
With words not hers, and more than human sound,
She makes th' obedient ghosts peep trembling

through the ground.

But, though we must obey when Heaven commands,
And man in vain the sacred call withstands,
Beware what spirit rages in your breast;
For ten inspired, ten thousand are possest:
Thus make the proper use of each extreme,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm.
As when the cheerful hours too freely pass,
And sparkling wine smiles in the tempting glass,
Your pulse advises, and begins to beat
Through every swelling vein a loud retreat :
So when a Muse propitiously invites,
Improve her favours, and indulge her flights;
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another summons wait.
Before the radiant sun, a glimmering lamp,
Adulterate measures to the sterling stamp,
Appear not meaner than mere human lines,
Compared with those whose inspiration shines:
These, nervous, bold; those, languid and remiss;
There cold salutes; but here a lover's kiss.
Thus have I seen a rapid headlong tide,
With foaming waves the passive Saone divide ;
Whose lazy waters without motion lay,

While he, with eager force, urged his impetuous

way.

CHAMONT'S SUSPICIONS OF HIS SISTER.

Persons-ACASTO, the guardian of MONIMIA; MONIMIA, and her brother CHAMONT.

Enter Servant.

Serv. My lord, th’expected guests are just arrived. Acas. Go you, and give them welcome and reception.

Cham. My lord, I stand in need of your assistance
In something that concerns my peace and honour.
Acas. Spoke like the son of that brave man I loved:
So freely friendly we conversed together.
Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it.
Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.
Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship nor your
justice.

Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
My orphan sister, must not be forgotten!

Acas. Pr'ythee, no more of that; it grates my

nature.

Cham. When our dear parents died, they died together, [them : One fate surprised them, and one grave received My father with his dying breath bequeathed Her to my love my mother, as she lay Languishing by him, call'd me to her side, [me, Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embraced Then press'd me close, and as she observed my tears Kiss'd them away; said she, Chamont, my son, By this, and all the love I ever show'd thee, Be careful of Monimia, watch her youth, Let not her wants betray her to dishonour; [sigh'd, Perhaps kind Heaven may raise some friend. Then Kiss'd me again; so bless'd us and expired. Pardon my grief.

Acas.
It speaks an honest nature.
Cham. The friend Heaven raisedwas you, you took
An infant, to the desert world exposed, [her up,
And proved another parent.

Acas.
I've not wrong'd her.
Cham. Far be it from my fears.
Acas.
Then why this argument?
Cham. My lord, my nature 's jealous, and you'll
Acas. Go on.
[bear it.

Cham. Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly :
Good offices claim gratitude; and pride,
Where power is wanting, will usurp a little,

And make us (rather than be thought behind-hand) Pay over-price.

I cannot guess your drift;

Acas. Distrust you me ?

Cham.

No, but I fear her weakness

May make her pay a debt at any rate;
And to deal freely with your lordship's goodness,
I've heard a story lately much disturbs me.

Acas. Then first charge her; and if the offence be found

Within my reach, though it should touch my nature,
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoiced in,
I'd prosecute it with severest vengeance.
Cham. I thank you from my soul.

[Erit.

Mon. Alas, my brother! What have I done? and why do you abuse me? My heart quakes in me; in your settled face And clouded brow methinks I see my fate : You will not kill me!

Cham. Pr'ythee, why dost talk so! Mon. Look kindly on me, then. I cannot bear Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me : My heart's so tender, should you charge me rough, I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing. But use me gently like a loving brother, And search through all the secrets of my soul. Cham. Fear nothing, I will show myself a brother, A tender, honest, and a loving brother. You've not forgot our father?

Mon.

I shall never.

Cham. Then you'll remember too, he was a man That lived up to the standard of his honour, And prized that jewel more than mines of wealth: He'd not have done a shameful thing but once, Though kept in darkness from the world, and hidden, He could not have forgiven it to himself: This was the only portion that he left us ; And I more glory in it, than if possess'd

Of all that ever fortune threw on fools. 'Twas a large trust, and must be managed nicely: Now if by any chance, Monimia,

You have soil'd this gem, and taken from its value, How will you account with me?

I challenge envy,

Mon.
Malice, and all the practices of hell,
To censure all the actions of my past
Unhappy life, and taint me if they can !

Cham. I'll tell thee, then: three nights ago, as I
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dew'd all my face, and trembling seized my limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortured fancy there appear'd
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art,