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TO SIR JOHN MENNIS, Being invited from Calais to Bologne to eat a pig.

I.

ALL on a weeping Monday,
With a fat Bulgarian sloven,
Little Admiral John

To Bologne is gone,

Whom I think they call Old Loven,
II.

Hadst thou not thy fill of carting *
Will. Aubrey, Count of Oxon,
When nose lay in breech,
And breech made a speech,
So often cry'd a pox on ?
III.
A knight by land and water
Esteem'd at such a high rate,
When 'tis told in Kent

In a cart that he went, 17
They'll say now, Hang him, pirate.

IV.

Thou might'st have ta'en example
From what thou read'st in story,

Being as worthy to sit

On an ambling tit

As thy predecessor Dory.

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*We three riding in a cart from Dunkirk to Calais with a fat Dutch woman, who broke wind all along.

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V.

But, oh! the roof of linen,
Intended for a shelter:
But the rain made an ass

Of tilt and canvass,

And the snow, which you know is a melter. 25

VI.

But with thee to inveigle
That tender stripling Astcot,
Who was soak'd to the skin

Thro' drugget so thin,
Having neither coat nor waistcoat.
VII.

He being proudly mounted,
Clad in cloak of Plymouth,
Defy'd cart so base,
For thief without grace,
That goes to make a wry mouth.

VIII.

Nor did he like the omen,

For fear it might be his doom
One day for to sing,
With gullet in string,
A hymn of Robert Wisdom.

IX.

But what was all this bus'ness ?
For sure it was important;

For who rides i' th' wet,

When affairs are not great,

The neighbours make but a sport on't.

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35

40

45

TO SIR JOHN MENNIS,
Being invited from Calais to Pologne to eat a pige

I.
All on a weeping Monday,
With a fat Bulgarian sloven,
Little Admiral John
To Bologne is gone,
Whom I think they call Old Loven,

II.
Hadst thou not thy fill of carting *
Will. Aubrey, Count of Oxon,
When nose lay in breech,
And breech made a speech,
So often cry'd a pox on? -

III.
A knight by land and water
Esteem'd at such a high rate,
When 'tis told in Kent
In a cart that he went,
They'll say now, Hang him, pirate.

15
IV.
Thou might'st have ta’en example
From what thou read'st in story,
Being as worthy to sit
On an ambling tit
As thy predecessor Dory.
* We three riding in a cart from Dunkirk to Calais

a fat Dutch woman, who broke wind all along.

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20

V.
But, oh! the roof of linen,
Intended for a shelter :
But the rain made an ass
Of tilt and canvass,
And the snow, which you know is a melter. 25

VI.
But with thee to inveigle
That tender stripling Astcot,
Who was soak'd to the skin
Thro' drugget so thin,
Having neither coat nor waistcoat.

30
VII.
He being proudly mounted,
Clad in cloak of Plymouth,
Defy'd cart so base,
For thief without grace,
That goes to make a wry mouth.

35 VIII. Nor did he like the omen, For fear it might be his doom One day for to sing, With gullet in string, A hynin of Robert Wisdom.

40 IX. But what was all this bus'ness ? For sure it was important; For who rides i' th' wet, When affairs are not great, The neighbours make but a sport on't. 45

X.
To a goodly fat sow's baby,
O John ! thou hadst a malice ;
The old driver of swine
That day sure was thine,
Or thou hadst not quitted Calais.

50

TO SIR RICHARD FANSHAW.

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF

PASTOR FIDO.

Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate,
That few but such as cannot write translate ;
But what in them is want of art or voice,
In thee is either modesty or choice.
While this great piece, restor’d by thee, doth stand
Free from the blemish of an artless hand, 6
Secure of fame thou justly dost esteem
Less honour to create than to redeem.
Nor ought a genius less than his that writ
Attempt translation; for transplanted wit
All the defects of air and soil doth share,
And colder brains like colder cliinates are ;
In vain they toil, since nothing can beget
A vital spirit but a vital heat.
That servile path thou nobly dost decline 15
Of tracing word by word and line by line :
Those are the labour'd births of slavish brains,
Not the effect of poetry, but pains ;

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