For Plato's fancies what care I?
I hope you would not have me die,
Like simple Cato in the play,
For any thing that he can say?
E'en let him of Ideas speak

600

To Heathens in his native Greek :

605

If to be sad is to be wise,

I do most heartily despise
Whatever Socrates has said,

Or Tully writ, or Wanley read.

Dear Drift*, to set our matters right, Remove these papers from my sight; Burn Matt's Descart and Aristotle, Here, Jonathan, your master's bottle.

* Asian Drift, Esq. Mr. Prior's Secretary and Executer.

610

A POEM.

WRITTEN THREE HUNDRED YEARS SINCE.

Be it right or wrong, these men among

E

On woman do complayne;

Affyrmynge this, how that it is

A labour spent in vaine,

To love them wele; for never a dele

They love a man againe :

For lete a man do what he can,

Ther favour to attayne;

Yet yf a new do them pursue,

Ther furst trew lover than

Laboureth for nought; for from her thought

He is a banishyd man.

I say not nay, but that all day

5

IO

It is bothe writ and sayde

That woman's fayth is as who saythe,

15

But nevertheless right good witness

All utterly decayed.

I' this case might be layde,

That they love trew, and continew,
Record the Nut-brown Mayde;

Which from her love (whan her to prove

He came to make his mone)

Wold not depart, for in her herte

She lovyd but him alone.

20

Wherefore all ye that present be

I pray ye give an eare.

MAN. I am the knyght, I come by nyght

As secret as I can,

Saying, alas! thus standeth the case,

I am a banishyd man.

30

35

WOM. And I your wylle for to fulfylle

In this wyl not refuse,

Trusting to shew, in wordis fewe,

That men have an ill use,

(To ther own shame) women to blame,

And causelese them accuse:

'Therefore to you I answere now,

Alle women to excuse.

Myn own herte dere, with you what chere,

45

I pray you telle anone;

For in my mynde, of al mankynde,

I love but you alone.

MAN. It stondeth so; a dede is do, Wherefore moche harm shall growe;

My desteney is for to dey

A shameful deth I trowe;

Volume III.

Q

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As Brentford kings discreet and wise,

After long thought and grave advice,

Into Lardella's coffin peeping,

Saw nought to cause their mirth or weeping;

So Alma now to joy or grief

Superior, finds her late relief;

Weary'd of being high or great,

520

And nodding in her chair of state,

Stunn'd and worn our with endless chat,

Of Will did this, and Nan said that,

525

She finds, poor thing, some little crack,
Which nature forc'd by time must make,

Thro' which she wings her destin'd way;
Upward she soars and down drops clay;
While some surviving friend supplies
Hic jacet, and a hundred lics.

O Richard, till that day appears,
Which must decide our hopes and fears,
Would Fortune calm her present rage,

And give us playthings for our age;
Would Clotho wash her hands in milk,
And twist our thread with gold and silk;
Would she in friendship peace and plenty,
Spin out our years to four times twenty,
And should we both in this condition,
Have conquer'd love and worse ambition
(Else these two passions by the way,
us scurvy play)

530

535

540

Then, Richard, then should we set down,

Far from the tumult of this Town;

I fond of my well-chosen seat,

My pictures, medals, books, complete ;
Or should we mix our friendly talk,
O'ershaded in that fav'rite walk

Which thy own hand had whilom planted,

Both pleas'd with all we thought we wanted;
Yet then, e'en then, one cross reflection
Would spoil thy grove and my collection :
Thy son and his e'er that may die,
And time some uncouth heir supply,
Who shall for nothing else be known,
But spoiling all that thou hast done.
Who set the twigs shall he remember,
That is in haste to fell the timber??
And what shall of thy woods remain,
Except the box that threw the main ?

545

550

555

560

Nay, may not time and death remove The near relations, whom I love?

And my Coz Tom, or his Coz Mary ›

Those that could never read their grammar,
When my dear volumes touch the hammer,

-570