That feed, like cannibals, on other fishes,
And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes:
A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd,
In which they do not live, but go a-board.
The souls of women are so small,
That some believe they 've none at all;
Or if they have, like cripples, still
They've but one faculty, the will;
The other two are quite laid by
To make up one great tyranny;
And though their passions have most pow'r,
They are, like Turks, but slaves the more
To th' abs'lute will, that with a breath
Has sovereign pow'r of life and death,
And, as its little int'rests move,
Can turn 'em all to hate or love;
For nothing, in a moment, turn
To frantic love, disdain, and scorn;
And make that love degenerate
T'as great extremity of hate;
And hate again, and scorn, and piques,
To flames, and raptures, and love-tricks.
EPIGRAMS OF EDMUND WALLER.
ON A PAINTED LADY WITH ILL TEETH.
WERE men so dull they could not see
That LYCE painted; should they flee,
Like simple birds, into a net,
So grossly woven, and ill set,
Her own teeth would undo the knot,
And let all go that she had got.
Those teeth fair LYCE must not show,
If she would bite: her lovers, though
Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes,
Are dis-abus'd, when first she gapes:
The rotten bones discover'd there,
Show 'tis a painted sepulcher.
OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.
Design, or chance, makes others wive;
But nature did this match contrive:
EVE might as well have ADAM fled,
As she denied her little bed
To him, for whom heav'n seem'd to frame,
And measure out, this only dame.
Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of sad distrust, and jealousy:
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.
To him the fairest nymphs do show
Like moving mountains, topp'd with snow:
And ev'ry man a POLYPHEME
Does to his GALATEA seem;
None may presume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.
Ah CHLORIS! that kind nature thus
From all the world had sever'd us:
Creating for ourselves us two,
As love has me for only you!
EPIGRAMS OF MATTHEW PRIOR.
DEAR Thomas, didst thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didst thou never see
(Tis but by way of simile)
A squirrel spend his little rage,
In jumping round a rolling cage?
The cage, as either side turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top?-
Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.
So fares it with those merry blades,
That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
In noble songs, and lofty odes,
They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,
Still pleased with their own verses' sound;
Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,
Always aspiring, always low.
Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol,
(A Fly upon the chariot pole
Cries out), what Blue-bottle alive
Did ever with such fury drive?
Tell Belzebub, great father, tell
(Says t' other, perch'd upon the wheel),
Did ever any mortal Fly
Raise such a cloud of dust as I?
My judgment turn'd the whole debate:
My valor sav'd the sinking state.
So talk two idle buzzing things;
Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings.
But let the truth to light be brought;
This neither spoke, nor t' other fought:
No merit in their own behavior:
Both rais'd, but by their party's favor.
PHILLIS'S AGE.
How old may Phillis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task:
For she has really two ages.
Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face,
And Phillis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied;
And Phillis is some forty-three.
Vain the concern which you express,
That uncall'd Alard will possess
Your house and coach, both day and night,
And that Macbeth was haunted less
By Banquo's restless sprite.
With fifteen thousand pounds a-year,
you complain, you can not bear An ill, you may so soon retrieve? Good Alard, faith, is modester
By much, than you believe.
Lend him but fifty louis-d'or;
And you shall never see him more:
Take the advice; probatum est.
Why do the gods indulge our store,
But to secure our rest?
Meek Francis lies here, friend: without stop or stay,
As you value your peace, make the best of your way.
Though at present arrested by death's caitiff paw,
If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law.
And in the King's Bench should a verdict be found,
That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,
He will claim to himself what is strictly his due,
And an action of trespass will straightway ensue,
That you without right on his premises tread,
On a simple surmise that the owner is dead.
FORMA BONUM FRAGILE.
What a frail thing is beauty! says baron Le Cras,
Perceiving his mistress had one eye of glass:
And scarcely had he spoke it,
When she more confus'd as more angry she grew,
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true:
She dropt the eye, and broke it.
EARNING A DINNER.
Full oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine,
Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine;
But Topaz his own werke rehearseth;
And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verseth.
Now sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,
Full hardly earneth Mat. his dinner.
BIBO AND CHARON.
When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat,
And full of champagne as an egg's full of meat,
He waked in the boat; and to Charon he said,
He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead.
Trim the boat, and sit quiet, stern Charon replied:
You may have forgot, you were drunk when you died.
THE PEDANT.
Lysander talks extremely well;
On any subject let him dwell,
His tropes and figures will content ye:
He should possess to all degrees
The art of talk; he practices
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
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