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Yet Speech, e'en there, submissively withdraws From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws.
Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
EARL OF DORSET.
THOUGH Artemisia talks by fits
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Haughty and huge as High Dutch bride,
On her large squab you find her spread,
That lies and stinks in state.
She wears no colours (sign of grace)
All white and black beside: Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride.
So have I seen, in black and white,
A stately worthless animal,
That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.
PHRYNE had talents for mankind;
Like some free port of trade: Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign state Here first their entry made.
Her learning and good breeding such, Whether the' Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniards or French, came to her; To all obliging she'd appear; 'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer, 'Twas S'il vous plait, Monsieur. Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religions, climes, At length she turns a bride:
In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades, She shines the first of batter'd jades, And flutters in her pride.
So have I known those insects fair (Which curious Germans hold so rare)
Still vary shapes and dyes;
Still gain new titles with new forms;
THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON.
PARSON, these things in thy possessing
He that has these may pass his life, Drink with the squire, and kiss his wife; On Sundays preach, and eat his fill, And fast on Fridays-if he will; Toast church and queen, explain the news, Talk with churchwardens about pews, Pray heartily for some new gift, And shake his head at Doctor Swift.
TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.
BEING THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
This paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years since, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and fortune [the authors of Verses to the Imitator of Horace,' and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court'] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which, being public, the public is judge) but my person, morals, and family; whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, it will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the truth and the sentiment: and if any thing offensive, it will be only to those I am least sorry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous.
Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance but what is true; but I have, for the most part, spared their names, and they may escape being laughed at if they please.
I would have some of them know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid friend, to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage and honour on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a nameless character can never be found out but by its truth and likeness.
P. ‹ SHUT, shut the door, good John! (fatigued, I said)
up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.'
The dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide.
Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong,
If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.