Part 1

Transcriber's Note:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible.

Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. OE ligatures have been expanded.

THE WORKS OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE _JOHN_ Earl of _Rochester_.

Consisting of SATIRES, SONGS, TRANSLATIONS, AND OTHER Occasional POEMS.

_LONDON_: Printed for the Booksellers of _London_ and _Westminster_. 1718. Price 1 _s._

THE CONTENTS.

A _Satire against Mankind_. Page 3

_Tunbridge-Wells: A Satire._ p. 11

Horace_'s Nempe incomposita dixi pede, &c. imitated._ p. 19

_A Satire against Marriage._ p. 25

_A Letter from _Artemisa_ in the Town, to _Cloe_ in the Country._ p. 29

_An Epistolary Essay from _M. G._ to _O. B._ upon their mutual Poems._ p. 41

_The maim'd Debauchee._ p. 46

_Upon Nothing._ p. 49

_The Advice._ p. 53

_The Discovery._ p. 56

_The ninth Elegy in the second Book of _Ovid_'s Amours translated._ To Love. p. 58

_Woman's Honour. A Song._ p. 62

_Grecian Kindness. A Song._ p. 64

_The Mistress. A Song._ p. 65

_A Song._ p. 67

_To _Corinna_. A Song._ p. 69

_A Young Lady to her antient Lover. A Song._ p. 71

_To a Lady, in a Letter. A Song._ p. 73

_The Fall. A Song._ p. 75

_Love and Life. A Song._ p. 77

_A Song._ p. 78

_A Song._ p. 79

_A Song._ p. 80

_Upon his leaving his Mistress._ p. 82

_Upon drinking in a Bowl._ p. 84

_A Song._ p. 86

_A Song._ p. 88

_The Answer._ p. 89

_A Song._ p. 91

_Constancy. A Song._ p. 94

_A Song._ p. 95

_FINIS._

A SATIRE AGAINST MANKIND.

Were I, who to my Cost already am, One of those strange, prodigious Creatures _Man_, A Spirit free, to chuse for my own Share, } What Sort of Flesh and Blood I pleas'd to wear, } I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear; } Or any thing, but that vain Animal, Who is so proud of being Rational. The Senses are too gross; and he'll contrive A sixth, to contradict the other five: And before certain Instinct, will prefer Reason, which fifty Times for one does err. Reason, an _Ignis Fatuus_ of the Mind, Which leaves the Light of Nature, Sense, behind. Pathless, and dang'rous, wand'ring Ways it takes, Thro Error's fenny Boggs, and thorny Brakes: Whilst the misguided Follower climbs with Pain Mountains of Whimseys heapt in his own Brain; Stumbling from Thought to Thought, falls headlong down Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, Books bear him up a while, and make him try To swim with Bladders of Philosophy: In hopes still to o'ertake the skipping Light, } The Vapour dances in his dazzled Sight, } Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night. } Then old Age and Experience, Hand in Hand, Lead him to Death, and make him understand, After a Search so painful, and so long, That all his Life he has been in the wrong. Huddled in Dirt the reas'ning Engine lies, Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise: Pride drew him in, as Cheats their Bubbles catch, And made him venture to be made a Wretch: His Wisdom did his Happiness destroy, Aiming to know the World he should enjoy. And Wit was his vain frivolous Pretence, Of pleasing others at his own Expence. For _Wits_ are treated just like _Common-Whores_; First they're enjoy'd, and then kick'd out of Doors. The Pleasure past, a threat'ning Doubt remains, That frights th' Enjoyer with succeeding Pains. Women, and Men of Wit are dang'rous Tools, And ever fatal to admiring Fools. Pleasure allures, and when the Fops escape, } 'Tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate; } And therefore what they fear, at Heart they hate. } But now methinks some formal Band and Beard Takes me to Task, Come on, Sir, I am prepar'd: Then by your favour, any thing that's writ Against this gibing, gingling Knack call'd Wit, Likes me abundantly; but you'll take Care Upon this Point not to be too severe: Perhaps my Muse were fitter for this Part; } For I profess I can be very smart } On Wit, which I abhor with all my Heart. } I long to lash it in some sharp Essay, } But your grand Indiscretion bids me stay, } And turns my Tide of Ink another Way. } What Rage ferments in your degen'rate Mind, To make you rail at Reason and Mankind? Blest glorious Man, to whom alone kind Heav'n An everlasting Soul hath freely giv'n; Whom his great Maker took such Care to make, That from himself he did the Image take; And this fair Frame in shining Reason drest, To dignify his Nature above Beast. Reason, by whose aspiring Influence, We take a Flight beyond Material Sense, Dive into Mysteries, then soaring pierce The flaming Limits of the Universe; Search Heav'n and Hell, find out what's acted there, And give the World true Grounds of Hope and Fear.

Hold, mighty Man, I cry; all this we know From the pathetick Pen of _Ingelo_: From _Patrick_'s Pilgrim, _Sibb_'s Soliloquies, And 'tis this very Reason I despise; This supernat'ral Gift, that makes a Mite Think he's the Image of the Infinite; Comparing his short Life, void of all Rest, To the eternal and the ever-blest: This busy, puzzling, Stirrer up of Doubt, That frames deep Mysteries, then finds 'em out, Filling with frantick Crouds of thinking Fools, The rev'rend Bedlams, Colleges and Schools, Born on whose Wings each heavy Sot can pierce The Limits of the boundless Universe. So charming Ointments make an old Witch fly, And bear a crippl'd Carcase thro' the Sky. 'Tis this exalted Pow'r whose Bus'ness lies In Nonsense and Impossibilities: This made a whimsical Philosopher, Before the spacious World his Tub prefer: And we have many modern Coxcombs who Retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do. But Thoughts were giv'n for Action's Government; Where Action ceases, Thought's impertinent. Our Sphere of Action is Life's Happiness, And he that thinks beyond, thinks like an Ass. Thus whilst against false Reas'ning I inveigh, I own right Reason, which I would obey; That Reason which distinguishes by Sense, And gives us Rules of Good and Ill from thence; That bounds Desires with a reforming Will, To keep them more in Vigour, not to kill: Your Reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy, Renewing Appetites yours would destroy. My Reason is my Friend, yours is a Cheat, Hunger calls out, my Reason bids my eat; Perversly yours your Appetite do's mock; This asks for Food, that answers what's't a Clock.

This plain Distinction, Sir, your Doubt secures; 'Tis not true Reason, I despise but yours. Thus, I think Reason righted: But for Man, I'll ne'er recant, defend him if you can. For all his Pride, and his Philosophy, } 'Tis evident Beasts are, in their Degree, } As wise at least, and better far than he. } Those Creatures are the wisest, who attain By surest Means, the Ends at which they aim. If therefore _Jowler_ finds, and kills his Hare, Better than _Meres_ supplies Committee Chair; Tho' one's a Statesman, t'other but a Hound; _Jowler_ in Justice will be wiser found. You see how far Man's Wisdom here extends: Look next if Human Nature makes amends; Whose Principles are most generous and just, And to whose Morals you wou'd sooner trust. Be judge your self, I'll bring it to the Test, Which is the basest Creature, Man, or Beast: Birds feed on Birds, Beasts on each other prey, But savage Man alone do's Man betray. Prest by Necessity, _They_ kill for Food; Man undoes Man, to do himself no good. With Teeth and Claws, by Nature arm'd, _They_ hunt Nature's Allowance, to supply their Want: But Man with Smiles, Embraces, Friendships, Praise, Inhumanly his Fellow's Life betrays; With voluntary Pains works his Distress; Not thro' Necessity, but Wantonness. For Hunger, or for Love, _They_ bite, or tear, Whilst wretched Man is still in Arms for Fear; For Fear he arms, and is of Arms afraid; From Fear to Fear successively betray'd. Base Fear, the Source whence his best Passions came, His boasted Honour, and his dear-bought Fame: The Lust of Pow'r, to which he's such a Slave, And for the which alone he dares be brave: To which his various Projects are design'd, Which makes him gen'rous, affable, and kind: For which he takes such Pains to be thought wise, And scrues his Actions in a forc'd Disguise: Leads a most tedious Life in Misery, Under laborious, mean Hypocrisy. Look to the Bottom of his vast Design, Wherein Man's Wisdom, Pow'r, and Glory join; The Good he acts, the Ill he do's endure, 'Tis all from Fear, to make himself secure. Meerly for Safety, after Fame they thirst; For all Men would be Cowards, if they durst: And Honesty's against all common Sense, Men must be Knaves; 'tis in their own Defence Mankind's dishonest: If they think it fair, Amongst known Cheats, to play upon the Square, You'll be undone-- Nor can weak Truth your Reputation save; The Knaves will all agree to call you Knave. Wrong'd shall he live, insulted o'er, opprest, Who dares be less a Villain than the rest. Thus here you see what Human Nature craves, Most Men are Cowards, all Men shou'd be Knaves. The Difference lies, as far as I can see, Not in the thing it self, but the Degree; And all the Subject Matter of Debate, Is only who's a Knave of the first Rate.

_Tunbridge-WELLS_:

A SATIRE.

At Five this Morn, when _Phoebus_ rais'd his Head From _Thetis_ Lap, I rais'd my self from Bed; And mounting Steed, I trotted to the Waters, } The Rendezvous of Fools, Buffoons, and Praters, } Cuckolds, Whores, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters. } My squeamish Stomach I with Wine had brib'd, To undertake the Dose that was prescrib'd; But turning Head, a sudden cursed Crew, } That innocent Provision overthrew, } And without drinking, made me purge and spew; } From Coach and Six, a Thing unwieldy roll'd, Whom Lumber-Cart more decently would hold, As wise as Calf it look'd, as big as Bully, But handled, prov'd a meer Sir _Nich'las Cully_: A bawling Fop, a _Nat'ral Nokes_, and yet He dar'd to censure, to be thought a Wit. To make him more ridiculous in Spite, Nature contriv'd the Fool should be a Knight. How wise is Nature when she does dispense A large Estate to cover Want of Sense. The Man's a Fool, 'tis true, but that's no Matter, } For he's a mighty Wit with those that flatter, } But a poor Blockhead is a wretched Creature. } _Grant the unlucky Stars, this o'ergrown Boy To purchase some aspiring pretty Toy, That may his Want of Sense and Wit supply, As Buxom Crab-fish doth his Lechery._ Tho' he alone was dismal Sight enough, } His Train contributed to set him off; } All of his Shape, all of the self-same Stuff: } No Spleen or Malice could on them be thrown, } Nature had done the Bus'ness of Lampoon, } And in their Looks their Characters were shewn. } Endeavouring this irksome Sight to baulk, } And a more irksom Noise, their silly Talk; } I silently slunk down to'th Lower Walk. } But often when one would _Charybdis_ shun, Down upon _Scylla_ 'tis our Fate to run: For there it was my cursed Luck to find As great a Fop, tho' of another kind; A tall, stiff Fool, that walk'd in _Spanish_ Guise, } The Buckram Poppet never stirrd his Eyes, } But grave as Owl he look'd, as Woodcock wise. } He scorns the empty Talk of this made Age, And speaks all Proverb, Sentence, and Adage: Can with as much Solemnity buy Eggs, As a Cabal can talk of their Intrigues: Master of Ceremonies, yet can't dispense With the Formality of Talking Sense. From whence unto the Upper Walk I came, Where a new Scene of Foppery began; A Tribe of Curates, Priests, Canonical Elves, Fit Company for none besides themselves, Were got together; each his Distemper told, Scurvy, Stone, Strangury; some were so bold, To charge the Spleen to be their Misery, And on that wise Disease lay Infamy: But none had Modesty enough t'explain } His Want of Learning, Honesty, or Brain, } The general Diseases of that Train. } These call themselves Ambassadors of Heaven, And sawcily pretend Commissions given: But should an _Indian_ King, whose small Command Seldom extends beyond ten Miles of Land, Send forth such wretched Fools on an Embassage. He'd find but small Effects of such a Message. List'ning, I found the Cob of all this Rabble, Pert _Bayes_ with his Importance comfortable; He being rais'd to an Archdeaconry, By trampling on Religion, Liberty, Was grown so great, and look'd too fat and jolly } To be disturb'd with Care and Melancholly, } Tho' _Marvel_ had enough expos'd his Folly. } He drank to carry off some old Remains His lazy dull Distemper left in's Brains; Let him drink on; but 'tis not a whole Flood } Can give sufficient Sweetness to his Blood, } To make his Nature, or his Manners good. } _Importance_ drank too, _tho' she had been no Sinner, To wash away some Dregs he had spew'd in her_. Next after these, a fulsom _Irish_ Crew Of silly _Macks_ were offer'd to my View; The things did talk, but hearing what they said, I hid my self the Kindness to evade. Nature had plac'd these Wretches beneath Scorn, They can't be call'd so vile as they are born. Amidst the Crowd, next I my self convey'd, For now there comes, White-Wash and Paint being laid, Mother and Daughter, Mistress and the Maid, And Squire with Wig and Pantaloons display'd. But ne'er could Conventicle, Play, or Fair, For a true Medly with this Herd compare, Here Lords, Knights, Squires, Ladies, and Countesses, Chandlers, and barren Women, Sempstresses, Were mix'd together; nor did they agree More in their Humours, than their Quality. Here waiting for Gallant young Damsel stood Leaning on Cane, and muffl'd up in Hood. The Wou'd-be-wit, whose Bus'ness was to woe, With Hat remov'd, and solemn Scrape of Shoe, Advances bowing, then gentilely shrugs, And ruffl'd Fore-top into Order tugs; And thus accosts her: _Madam, methinks the Weather Is grown much more serene, since you came hither: You influence the Heav'ns; but shou'd the Sun Withdraw himself, to see his Rays outdone By your bright Eyes, they could supply the Morn, And make a Day, before the Day be born._ With Mouth screw'd up, conceited winking Eyes, And Breast thrust forward, _Lard Sir_, she replies, _It is your Goodness, and not my Deserts, Which makes you shew this Learning, Wit, and Parts._ He puzzled, bites his Nails, both to display The sparkling Ring, and think what next to say, And thus breaks forth afresh; _Madam, Egad, Your Luck at Cards, last Night, was very bad; At Cribbidge Fifty Nine, and the next Shew, To make the Game, and yet to want these Two. G--D--me, Madam, I'm the Son of a Whore, If, in my Life, I saw the like before._ To Pedlar's Stall he drags her, and her Breast With Hearts, and such like foolish Toys he drest, And then, more smartly to expound the Riddle Of all his Prattle, gives her a _Scotch_ Fiddle. Tir'd with this dismal Stuff, away I ran, } Where were two Wives, with Girl just fit for Man, } Short-breath'd, and palled Lips, and Visage wan. } Some Court'sies past, and the old Compliment Of being glad to see each other, spent, With Hand in Hand they lovingly did walk, And one began thus to renew the Talk: _I pray, Good Madam, if it mayn't be thought Rudeness in me, what Cause has hither brought Your Ladyship?_ She soon replying, smil'd, _We've got a good Estate, but have no Child; And I'm inform'd, these Wells will make a barren Woman as fruitful as a Coney-Warren._ The first return'd, _For this Cause I am come, For I can have no Quietness at Home; My Husband grumbles, tho' we have got one, This poor young Girl, and mutters for a Son: And this is griev'd with Head-ach, Pangs, and Throws, Is full Sixteen, and never yet had Those._ She soon reply'd, _Get her a Husband, Madam; I marry'd about that Age, and ne'er had had 'em Was just like her, Steel Waters let alone, A Back of Steel will better bring Them down. And Ten to one, but they themselves will try The same Means to increase the Family._ Poor silly Fribble! who by Subtilty, Of Midwife, truest Friend to Lechery, Perswaded art to be at Pains and Charge, To give thy Wife Occasion to enlarge Thy silly Head: For here walks _Cuff_ and _Kick_, With Brawny Back, and Legs, and potent P----, Who more substantially can cure thy Wife, And on her half-dead Womb bestow new Life; From these the Waters got their Reputation Of good Assistants unto Propagation. Some warlike Men were now got into th' Throng, With Hair ty'd back, singing a bawdy Song; Not much afraid, I got a nearer View, And 'twas my Chance to know the dreadful Crew; They were Cadets, that seldom can appear, Damn'd to the Stint of Thirty Pounds a Year; With Hawk on Fist, and Grey-Hound led in Hand, The Dog and Foot-Boys sometimes to command, And now having trimm'd a Cast of spavin'd Horse, } With Three Half-Pence for Guineas in their Purse, } Two rusty Pistols, Scarf about their Arse, } Coat lin'd with Red, they here presume to swell, This goes for Captain, that for Collonel. So the Bear-Garden Ape, on his Steed mounted, No longer is a Jackanapes accounted; And is, by virtue of his Trump'ry, then Call'd by the Name of the young Gentleman: Bless me! thought I, what thing is Man, that thus In all his Shapes is so ridiculous? Our selves with Noise of Reason we do please, In vain Humanity is our worst Disease; Thrice happy Beasts are, who because they be Of Reason void, are so of Foppery. _Faith, I was so asham'd, that with Remorse, I us'd the Insolence to mount my Horse; For he doing only Things fit for his Nature, Did seem to me by much the wiser Creature._

_HORACE_'s _Nempe incomposito dixi pede_, &c. IMITATED.