What Profit thy neglected Zeal repays,
Ah! what Return ungrateful to thy Praife?
Change, change thy Stile, with mortal Rage return
Unjuft Difdain, and Pride oppose to Scorn;
Search all the Secrets of the Fair and Young,
And then Proclaim; foon fhall they bribe thy Tongue:
The sharp Lampooner with Succefs affails,
Sure to be civil to the Man that Rails;
Women, like Cowards, tame to the fevere,
Are only fierce when they discover Fear.
Thus fpoke the God, and upward mounts in Air,
In juft Resentment of his past Despair.
Provok'd to Vengeance, to my Aid I call
The Furies round, and dip my Pens in Gall;
Not one fhall 'fcape of all the Coz'ning Sex,
Vex'd fhall they be, who fo delight to vex.
In vain I try, in vain to Vengeance move
My gentle Mufe, so us'd to tender Love;
Such Magick rules my Heart, what e'er I write
Turns all to foft Complaint, and am'rous Flight.
Begone fond Thoughts, begone; Be bold, faid I,
Satyr's thy Theam--- -in vain again I try:
So charming Myra to my Senfe appears,
My Soul adorés, my Rage diffolves in Tears.
So the gaul'd Lion, fmarting with his Wound, Threatens his Foes, and makes the Forrest found; With his ftrong Teeth he bites the bloody Dart, And tears his Side with more provoking Smart, "Till having spent his Voice in fruitless Cries, He lays him down, breaks his proud Heart, and dies.
Written by Mr. DRYDEN.
FAIR, Sweet and young, receive a Prize
Referv'd for your Victorious Eyes:
From Crowds, whom at your Feet you fee,
O pity, and distinguish mes
As I from thousand Beauties more
Diftinguish you, and only you adore.
Your Face for Conqueft was defign'd,
Your ev'ry Motion charms my Mind;
Angels, when you your Silence break,
Forget their Hymns to hear you speak;
But when at once they hear and view,
Are loath to mount, and long to stay with you. III.
No Graces can your Form improve,
But all are loft unless you love;
While that fweet Paffion you difdain,
Your Veil and Beauty are in vain.
In pity then prevent my Fate,” ›
For after dying all Reprieves too late.
IGH State and Honours to others impart,
But give me your Heart:
That Treasure, that Treasure alone
I beg for my own.
So gentle a Love fo fervent a Fire
My Soul does inspire.
That Treasure, that Treafure alone
I beg for my own.
Love's my Fetition,
All my Ambition ;
If e'er you difcover
So faithful a Lover,
So real a Flame,
I'll die, I'll die,
So give up my Game.
The Prifoner in the TOWER to the
HILST Europe is allarm'd with Wars,
And Rome foments the Christian Jars;
Whilft guilty Britain fears her Fate,
And wou'd repent her Crime too late.
Here fafe in my confin'd Retreat,
I fee the Waves about me beat,
And envy none that dare be great.
A quiet Confcience, and a Friend,
Help me my happy Hours to spend;
Let Celia to my Cell refort,
She turns my Prifon to a Court;
Instead of Guards by Day and Night,
Let Celia ftill be in my fight,
And then they need not fear my Flight.
Cou'd Senfe of Servile Fear prevail,
Or cou'd my Native Honour fail,
Her fight wou'd all my Doubts control,
And give her back my peaceful Soul:
Such charming Truths her Words contain:
Or if her Angel Voice refrain, G
Her Eyes can never plead in vain. s d
To Sir THOMAS St. SERFE: On the Printing his PLAY, call'd TARUGO's WILES.
By my Lord BUCKHURST.
Arugo gave us Wonder and Delight,
When he oblig'd the World by Candle-light.
But now he's ventur'd on the Face of Day,
T'oblige and ferve his Friends a nobler way;
Make all our old Men Wits, States-men the young,
And teach ev'n English Men the English Tongue.
James, on whofe Reign all peaceful Stars did fmile,
Did but attempt th' uniting of our Ifle.
What Kings, and Nature, only cou'd defign,
Shall be accomplisht by this Work of thine.
For who is such a Cockney in his Heart,
Proud of the Plenty of the Southern Part,
To fcorn that Union by which he may
Boaft 'twas his Country-man that writ this Play?
Phoebus himself, indulgent to thy Mufe,
Has to thy Country fent this kind Excufe:
Fair Northern Lafs, it is not through Neglect
I Court thee at a diftance, but Refpect.
I cannot act, my Paffion is fo great,
But I'll make up in Light what wants in Heat.
On thee I will beftow my longeft Days,
And Crown thy Sons with everlafting Bays.
My Beams that reach thee fhall employ their Pow'rs
To ripen Souls of Men, not Fruits of Flow'rs.
Let warmer Climes my fading Favours boaft,
Poets and Stars shine brightest in thy Froft.
EPILOGUE to TARTUFF.
By the fame Hand.
M ANY have been the vain Attempts of Wit
Against the still-prevailing Hypocrite;
Once, and but once, a Poet got the Day,
And vanquish'd Bufie in a Puppet- Play;
But Bufie rallying, arm'd with Zeal, and Rage,
Poffeft the Pulpit, and pull'd down the Stage.
To laugh at English Knaves is dang❜rous then,
While English Fools will think them honeft Men:
But fure no zealous Brother can deny us
Free leave with this our Monfieur Ananias.
A Man may fay, without being call'd an Atheist,
There are fuch Rogues among the French and Papists,
That fix Salvation to fhort Band and Hair,
That belch and fnuffle to prolong a Pray'r;
That ufe (enjoy the Creature) to express
Plain Whoring, Gluttony, and Drunkenness;
And, in a decent way, perform them too
As well, nay better far, perhaps, than you:
Whofe fleshly Failings are but Fornication,
We Godly phrase it, Gospel-Propagation,
Juft as Rebellion was call'd Reformation.
Zeal ftands but Cent'ry at the Gate of Sin,
Whilft all that have the Word pass freely in.
Silent, and in the dark, for fear of Spies,
We march, and take Damnation by furprize.
There's not a roaring Blade in all this Town
Can go fo far tow'rds Hell for half a Crown,
As I for Six-pence, for I know the way;
For want of Guides Men are too apt to ftray:
Therefore give Ear to what I shall advise,
Let ev'ry marry'd Man, that's Grave and Wife,
Take a Tartuff, of known Ability,
To teach and to encrease his Family,
Who fhall fo fettle lafting Reformation,
Firft get his Son, then give him Education.
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