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Pomona see with Milton's grandeur rise,
The most delicious fruit of Paradise,
With apples might the first-born man deceive,
And more persuasive voice than tempting Eve,
Not to confine you here; for many more
Britain's luxuriant wealth has still in store,
Whom would I number up, I must outrun
The longest course of the laborious Sun,

PART XIV.

OUR manners like our countenance should be;
They always candid, and the other free:
But, when our mind by anger is possest,
Our noble manhood is transform'd to beast.
No feature then its wonted grace retains,
When the blood blackens in the swelling veins:
The eye-balls shoot out fiery darts, would kill
Th' opposer, if the Gorgon had its will.
When Pallas in a river saw the flute
Deform'd her cheeks, she let the reed be mute.
Anger no more will mortify the face,
Which in that passion once consults her glass.
Let beauty ne'er be with this torment seiz'd,
But ever rest serene, and ever pleas'd.

A dark and sullen brow seems to reprove
The first advances that are made to love,

To which there's nothing more averse than pride.
Men without speaking often are denied:
And a disdainful look too oft' reveals
Those seeds of hatred which the tongue conceals.
When eyes meet eyes, and smiles to smiles return,
'Tis then both hearts with equal ardour burn,
And by their mutual passion soon will know,
That all are darts and shot from Cupid's bow.
But, when some lovely form does strike your eyes,
Be cautious still how you admit surprise.
What you would love, with quick discretion view:
The object may deceive by being new.
You may submit to a too hasty fate,

And would shake off the yoke when 'tis too late:
We often into our destruction sink,
By not allowing time enough to think.
Resist at first: for help in vain we pray,
When ills have gain'd full strength by long delay.
Be speedy; lest perhaps the growing hour
Put what is now within, beyond our power.
Love, as a fire in cities, finds increase,
Proceeds, and, till the whole's destroy'd, won't cease.
It with allurements does, like rivers, rise
From little springs, enlarg'd by vast supplies.
Had Mirrha kept this guard, she had not stood
A monumental crime in weeping wood.
Because that love is pleasing in its pain,
We not without reluctance health obtain.
Physic may tarry till tomorrow's Sun,
Whilst the curs'd poisons through the vitals run.
The tree not to be shook has pierc'd the ground;
And death must follow the neglected wound.
O'er different ages Love bears different sway,
Takes various turns to make all sorts obey.
The colt unback'd we sooth with gentle trace;
We feed the runner destin'd for the race;
And 'tis with time and masters we prepare
The manag'd coursers rushing to the war.
Ambitious youth will have some sparks of pride,
And not without impatience be denied.

If to his love a rival you afford,
You then present a trial for his sword:
His éager warmth disdains to be perplext,
And rambles to the beauty that is next.
Maturer years proceed with care and sense,
And, as they seldom give, so seldom take offence:
For he that knows resistance is in vain,
Knows likewise struggling will increase his pain.
Like wood that's lately cut in Paphian grove,
Time makes him a fit sacrifice for love.
By slow degrees he fans the gentle fire,
Till perseverance makes the flame aspire.
This love's more sure, the other is more gay;
But then he roves, whilst this is forc'd to stay.
There are some tempers which you must oblige,
Not by a quick surrender, but a siege;
That most are pleas'd, when driven to despair
By what they're pleas'd to call a cruel fair.
They think, unless their usage has been hard,
Their conquest loses part of its reward.
Thus some raise spleen from their abounding
wealth,
[health.
And, clog'd with sweets, from acids seek their
And many a boat does its destruction find
By having scanty sails, too full of wind.

Is it not treachery to declare
The feeble parts we have in war?
Is it not folly to afford
Our enemy a naked sword?
Yet 'tis my weakness to confess
What puts men often in distress:
But then it is such beaux as be
Possest with so much vanity,

To think that wheresoe'er they turn,
Whoever looks on them must burn.
What they desire they think is true,
With small encouragement from you.
They will a single look improve,
And take civilities for love.

"We all expected you at play :
Was 't not a mistress made you stay?"
The beau is fir'd, cries, " Now I find
I out of pity must be kind :
She sigh'd, impatient till I came."
Thus, soaring to the lively flame,
We see the vain ambitious fly

Scorch its gay wings, then unregarded die.
Both sexes have their jealousy,
And ways to gain their ends thereby,
But oftentimes too quick belief
Has given a sudden vent to grief,
Occasion'd by some persons lying,
To set an easy wife a-crying:
And Procris long ago, alas!
Experienc'd this unhappy case.

There is a mount, Hymettus styl'd,
Where pinks and rosemary are wild,
Where strawberries and myrtles grow,
And violets make a purple show;
Where the sweet bays and laurel shine,
All shaded by the lofty pine;

Where Zephyrs, with their wanton motion,
Have all the leaves at their devotion.
Here Cephalus, who hunting lov'd,
When dogs and men were both remov'd,

4 It is obvious that this word conveys at present a very different idea from its original signification; which was plainly that of an accomplished gentleman. N.

And all his dusty labour done,
In the meridian of the Sun,
Into some secret hedge would creep,
And sing, and hum himself asleep.
But commonly being hot and dry,
He thus would for some cooler cry:
"O now, if some
Cooler would come!
Dearest, rarest,
Loveliest, fairest,
Cooler, come!

Oh, Air,

Fresh and rare; Dearest, rarest, Loveliest, fairest,

Cooler, come; cooler, come; cooler, come!"

A woman, that bad heard him sing, Soon had her malice on the wing: For females usually don't want

A fellow-gossip that will cant;

Who still is pleased with others' ails,
And therefore carries spiteful tales.

She thought that she might raise some strife
By telling something to his wife:
That once upon a time she stood
In such a place, in such a wood,
On such a day, and such a year,
There did, at least there did appear
('Cause for the world she would not lie,
As she must tell her by the by)

Her husband; first more loudly bawling,
And afterwards more softly calling
A person not of the best fame,
And mistress Cooler was her name.

"Now, Gossip, why should she come thither? But that they might be naught together?"

When Cris heard all, her colour turn'd,
And though her heart within her burn'd,
And eyeballs sent forth sudden flashes,
Her cheeks and lips were pale as ashes.
Then, "Woe the day that she was born!"
The nightrail innocent was torn:
Many a thump was given the breast,
"And she, oh, she should never rest!
She straight would heigh her to the wood,
And he'd repeut it-that he should."
With eas er haste away she moves,
Never regarding scarf or gloves :
Into the grotto soon she creeps,
And into every thicket peeps,
And to her eyes there did appear
Two prints of bodies-that was clear:
"And now" (she cries) " I plainly see
How time and place, and all agree:
But here's a covert, where I'll lie,
And I shall have them by and by."

'Twas noon; and Cephalus, as last time,
Heated anruffled with his pastime,
Came to the very self-same place
Where he was us'd to wash his face;
And then he sung, and then he hum'd,
And on his knee with fingers throm'd.
When Crissy found all matters fair,
And that he only wanted air,
Saw, what device was took to fool her,
And no such on as mistress Cooler;
Mistrusting then no future harms,
She would have rush'd into his arms;
But, as the leaves began to rustle,
He thought some beast had made the bustle.

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He shot, then cried, "I've kill'd my deer.”—
"Ay, so you have," (says Cris) " I fear."-
"Why, Crissy, pray what made you here?"
"By Gossip Trot, I understood

You kept a small girl in this wood."
Quoth Ceph, ""Tis pity thou should'st die
For this thy foolish jealousy:

For 'tis a passion that does move
Too often from excess of love.”

But, when they sought for wound full sore,
The petticoat was only tore,

And she had got a lusty thump,
Which in some measure bruis'd her rump.
Then home most lovingly they went:
Neither had reason to repent.

Their following years pass'd in content;
And Crissy made him the best wife
For the remainder of his life.

The Muse has done, nor will more laws obtrude,
Lest she, by being tedious, should be rude.
Unbrace love's swans, let them unharness'd stray,
And eat ambrosia through the milky way.
Give liberty to every Paphian dove,
And let them freely with the Cupids rove.
But, when the Amazonian trophies rise
With monuments of their past victories;
With what discretion and what art they fought;
Let them record, "They were by Ovid taught."

AN

INCOMPARABLE ODE OF MALHERBE'S',
Written by him when the marriage was on foot
between the king of France and Anne of
Austria.

Cette Anne si belle,
Qu'on vante si fort,
Pourquoy ne vient elle?
Vrayment, elle a tort!
Son Louis soupire

Apres ses appas:
Que veut elle dire,
Que elle ne vient pas?
Si il ne la posséde,

Il s'en va mourir;
Donnons y reméde,
Allons la querir.

Translated by a great admirer of the easiness of French poetry.

This Anna so fair,

So talk'd of by Fame,
Why don't she appear?
Indeed, she's to blame!

The translator proposed to turn this ode with all imaginable exactness; and he hopes he has been pretty just to Malherbe: only in the sixth live he has made a smail addition of these three words," as they say;" which he thinks is excusable, if we consider the French poet there talks a little too familiarly of the king's passion, as if the king himself had owned it to him. The transiator thinks it more manuerly and respectful in Malherbe to pretend to have the account of it only by hearsay. KING.

2 Lewis the Fourteenth,

Lewis sighs for the sake

Of her charms, as they say; What excuse can she make For not coming away? If he does not possess, He dies with despair; Let's give him redress,

And go find out the fair.

THE FURMETARY;

A VERY

INNOCENT AND HARMLESS POEM',

IN THREE CANTO'S.
"First printed in 1699.

I have thought this a very proper subject for an heroic poem; and endeavoured to be as smooth in my verse, and as inoffensive in my characters, as was possible. It is my case with Lucretius, that I write upon a subject not treated of by the ancients. But, "the greater labour, the greater glory."

Virgil had a Homer to imitate; but I stand upon my own legs, without any support from abroad. I therefore shall have more occasion for the reader's favour, who, from the kind acceptance of this, may expect the description of other farmetaries about this city, from his most humble servant,

AND PER SE AND.

PREFACE.

THE author of the following poem may be thought to write for fame, and the applause of the town: but he wholly disowns it; for he writes only for the public good, the benefit of his country, and the manufacture of England. It is well known, that grave senators have often, at the Palace-yard, refreshed themselves with barley-broth in a morning, which has had a very solid influence on their counsels; it is therefore hoped, that other persons may use it with the like success. No man can be ignorant, how of late years coffee and tea in a morning has prevailed; nay, cold waters have obtained their commendation; and wells are sprung up from Acton to Islington, and cross the water to Lambeth. These liquors have several eminent champions of all professions. But there have not been wanting persons, in all ages, that have shown a true love for their country, and the proper diet of it, as water-gruel, milk-porridge, rice-milk, and especially furmetry both with plums and without. To this end, several worthy persons have encouraged the eating such wholesome diet in the morning; and, that the poor may be provided, they have desired several matrons to stand at Smithfield-bars, Leadenhall-market, Stocksmarket, and divers other noted places in the city, especially at Fleet-ditch; there to dispense furmetry to labouring people, and the poor, at reasonable rates, at three-half-pence and two-pence a dish, which is not dear, the plums being considered.

CANTO I.

No sooner did the grey-ey'd morning peep,
And yawning mortals stretch themselves from
sleep;
Finders of gold were now but newly past,
And basket-women did to market haste;
The watchmen were but just returning home,
To give the thieves more liberty to roam;
When from a hill, by growing beams of light,
A stately pile was offer'd to the sight;
Three spacious doors let passengers go through,
And distant stones did terminate their view:
Just here, as ancient poets sing, there stood
The noble palace of the valiant Lud;
His image now appears in Portland stone,"
Each side supported by a god-like son2:
But, underneath, all the three heroes shine,
In living colours, drawn upon a sign,
Which shows the way to ale, but not to wine.

Near is a place enclos'd with iron-bars,
Where many mortals curse their cruel stars,
When brought by usurers into distress,
For having little still must live on less:
Stern Avarice there keeps the relentless door,
And bids each wretch eternally be poor.
Hence Hunger rises, dismally be stalks,
And takes each single prisoner in his walks:

2 As Dr. King's description of Ludgate, though familiar to the present age, will be less intelligible to the rising generation, it may not be improper to observe, that its name, which Geoffry of Monmouth has ascribed to king Lud, was with greater propriety derived from its situation near the rivulet Flud, or Fleet, which ran near it. So early as 1373, Ludgate was constituted a prison for poor debtors who were free of the city; and was greatly enlarged in 1454, by sir Stephen Forster, who, after having been himself confined there, became lord mayor of London, and established several benevolent re

The places are generally styled furmetaries, because that food has got the general esteem; but that at Fleet-ditch I take to be one of the most remarkable, and therefore I have styled it, The Furmetary; and could easily have had a certificate of the usefulness of this furmetary, signed by several eminent carmen, gardeners, journeymen-gulations for its government.-The old gate betailors, and basket-women, who have promised to contribute to the maintenance of the same, in case the coffee-houses should proceed to oppose it.

1

coming ruinous, an elegant building, as above described by Dr. King, was erected in 1586, with the statue of queen Elizabeth on the west front, and those of the pretended king Lud and his two'sɔns Written to please a gentleman who thought on the east. This was pulled down in 1760, and nothing smooth or lofty could be written upon a the statue of Elizabeth placed against the church mean subject; but had no intent of making any of St. Dunstan in the West. Since that time, the redection upon The Dispensary, which has de-city debtors have been confined in a part of the servedly gained a lasting reputation. KING. London workhouse in Bishopsgate-street. N.

This duty done, the meagre monster stares,
Holds up his bones, and thus begins his prayers:
"Thou, goddess Famine, that canst send us
blights,

With parching heat by day, and storm by nights,
Assist me now: so may all lands be thine,
And shoals of orphans at thy altars pine!
Long may thy rain continue on each shore,
Where-ever peace and plenty reign'd before!
I must confess, that to thy gracious hand
I widows owe, that are at my command;
I joy to hear their numerous children's cries;
And bless thy power, to find they've no supplies.
I thank thee for those martyrs, who would flee
From superstitious rites and tyranny,
And find their fullness of reward in me.
But 'tis with much humility I own,
That generous favour you have lately shown,
When men,
that bravely have their country serv'd,
Receiv'd the just reward that they deserv'd,
And are preferr'd to me, and shall be starv'd.
I can, but with regret, 1 can despise
Innumerable of the London cries,

When pease, and mackarel, with their harsher sound,

The tender organs of my ears confound;
But that which makes my projects all miscarry,
Is this inhuman, fatal Furmetary.

"Not far from hence, just by the Bridge of Fleet,
With spoons and porringers, and napkin neat,
A faithless syren does entice the sense,
By fumes of viands, which she does dispense
To mortal stomachs, for rewarding pence;
Whilst each man's earliest thoughts would banish
Who have no other oracle but thee."
[me,

CANTO II.

WHILST such-like prayers keen Hunger would advance,

Fainting and weakness threw him in a trance:
Famine took pity on her careful slave,
And kindly to him this assistance gave.
She took the figure of a thin parch'd maid,
Who many years had for a husband staid;
And, coming near to Hunger, thus she said:
"My darling son, whilst Peace and Plenty smile,
And Happiness would over-run this isle,
I joy to see, by this thy present care,
I've still some friends remaining since the war:
In spite of us, A does on venison feed,
And bread and butter is for B decreed;
C D combines with E F's generous soul,
To pass their minutes with the sparkling bowl;
H I's good-nature, from his endless store,
Is still conferring blessings on the poor,
For none, except 'tis K, regards them more.
L, M, N, O, P, 2, is vainly great,
And squanders half his substance in a treat.
Nice eating by R, S, is understood;
T's supper, though but little, yet is good;
U's conversation's equal to his wine,
You sup with W, whene'er you dine:
X, Y, and Z, hating to be confin'd,
Ramble to the next eating-house they find;
Pleasant, good-humour'd, beautiful, and gay,
Sometimes with music, and sometimes with play,
Prolong their pleasures till th' approaching day.

And per se And alone, as poets use,
The starving dictates of my rules pursues;
No swinging coachman does afore him shine,
Nor has he any constant place to dine,
But all his notions of a meal are mine.
Haste, haste, to him, a blessing give from me,
And bid him write sharp things on furmetry.
But I would have thee to Coffedro go,
And let Tobacco too thy business know;
With famous Teedrums in this case advise,
Rely on Sagoe, who is always wise.
Amidst such counsel, banish all despair;
Trust me, you shall succeed in this affair:
That project which they Furmetary call,
Before next breakfast-time shall surely fall!"

This said, she quickly vanish'd in a wind
Had long within her body been confin'd.
Thus Hercules, when he his mistress found,
Soon knew her by her scent, and by her sound.

66

CANTO III.

HUNGER rejoic'd to hear the blest command,
That Furmetary should no longer stand;
With speed he to Coffedro's mansion flies,
And bids the pale-fac'd mortal quickly rise.
Arise, my friend; for upon thee do wait
Dismal events and prodigies of Fate!
'Tis break of day, thy sooty broth prepare,
And all thy other liquors for a war:
Rouse up Tobacco, whose delicious sight,
Illuminated round with beams of light,
To my impatient mind will cause delight.
How will he conquer nostrils that presume
To stand th' attack of his impetuous fume!
Let handsome Teedrums too be call'd to arts,
For he has courage in the midst of charms:
Sagoe with counsel fills his wakeful brains,
But then his wisdom countervails his pains;
"Tis he shall be your guide, he shall effect
That glorious conquest which we all expect:
The brave Hectorvus shall command this force;
He'll meet Tubcarrio's foot, or, which is worse,
Oppose the fury of Carmanniel's horse.
For his reward, this he shall have each day,
Drink coffee, then strut out and never pay."

It was not long ere the grandees were met,
And round newspapers in full order set.
Then Sagoe, rising, said, "I hope you hear
Hunger's advice with an obedient ear;
Our great design admits of no delay,
Famine commands, and we must all obey:
That syren which does Furmetary keep
Long since is risen from the bands of sleep;
Her spoons and porringers, with art display'd,
Many of Hunger's subjects have betray'd."

"To arms," Hectorvus cried: "Coffedro stout, Issue forth liquor from thy scalding spout!"

Great One-and-all-i gives the first alarms;
Then each man snatches up offensive arms.
To Ditch of Fleet courageously they run,
Quicker than thought; the battle is begun:
Hectorvus first Tubcarrio does attack,
And by surprise soon lays him on his back;
Thirsto and Drowtho then, approaching near,
Soon overthrow two magazines of beer.

The innocent Syrena little thought
That all these arms against herself were brought;

Nor that in her defence the drink was spilt:
How could she fear, that never yet knew guilt?
Her fragrant juice, and her delicious plums,
She does dispense (with gold upon her thumbs):
Virgins and youths around her stood; she sate,
Environ'd with a wooden-chair of state.

In the mean time, Tobacco strives to vex
A numerous squadron of the tender sex;

What with strong smoke, and with his stronger breath,

He funks Basketia and her son to death,

Coffedro then, with Teedrums, and the band Who carried scalding liquors in their hand, Throw watery ammunition in their eyes; On which Syrena's party frighten'd flies: Carmannio straight drives up a bulwark strong, And horse opposes to Coffedro's throng. Coledrivio stands for bright Syrena's guard, And all her rallied forces are prepar'd; Carmannio then to Teedrums' squadron makes, And the lean mortal by the buttons takes; Not Teedrums' arts Carmannio could beseech, But his rough valour throws him in the ditch. Syrena, though surpris'd, resolv'd to be The great bonduca of her Furmetry: Before her throne courageously she stands, Managing ladles-full with both her hands. The numerous plums like hail-shot flew about, And Plenty soon dispers'd the meagre rout.

So have I seen, at fair that's nam'd from Horn, Many a ladle's blow by prentice borne ; In vain he strives their passions to assuage, With threats would frighten, with soft words engage; Until, through milky gauntlet soundly beat, His prudent heels secure a quick retreat.

Jamque opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis,

Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas!

MULLY OF MOUNTOWN'.

FIRST PRINTED BY THE AUTHOR IN 1704.

MOUNTOWN! thou sweet retreat from Dublin
Be famous for thy apples and thy pears; [cares,
For turnips, carrots, lettuce, beans, and pease;
For Peggy's butter, and for Peggy's cheese.
May clouds of pigeons round about thee fly!
But condescend sometimes to make a pie.
May fat geese gaggle with melodious voice,
And ne'er want gooseberries or apple-sauce!
Ducks in thy ponds, and chicken in thy pens,
And be thy turkeys numerous as thy hens!
May thy black pigs lie warm in little sty,
And have no thought to grieve them till they die !
Mountown! the Muses' most delicious theme;
Oh! may thy codlins ever swim in cream!
Thy rasp-and straw-berries in Bourdeaux drown,
To add a redder tincture to their own!

It was taken for a state poem, and to have many mysteries in it; though it was only made, as well as Orpheus and Eurydice, for country diversion. KING.

A pleasant villa to the south of Dublin, near the sea.

Thy white-wine, sugar, milk, together club,
To make that gentle viand syllabub.
Thy tarts to tarts, cheese-cakes to cheese-cakes
To spoil the relish of the flowing wine. [join,
But to the fading palate bring relief,
By thy Westphalian ham, or Belgic beef;
And, to complete thy blessings, in a word,
May still thy soil be generous as its lord3!

Oh! Peggy, Peggy, when thou goest to brew,
Consider well what you're about to do;
Be very wise, very sedately think

That what you're going now to make is drink ;
Consider who must drink that drink; and then,
What 'tis to have the praise of honest men :
For surely, Peggy, while that drink does last,
'Tis Peggy will be toasted or disgrac'd.
Then, if thy ale in glass thou would'st confine,
To make its sparkling rays in beauty shine,
Let thy clean bottic be entirely dry,
Lest a white substance to the surface fly,
And, floating there, disturb the curious eye.
But this great maxim must be understood,
"Be sure, nay very sure, thy cork be good!"
Then future ages shall of Peggy tell,

That nymph that brew'd and bottled ale so well.

How fleet is air! how many things have breath,
Which in a moment they resign to death;
Depriv'd of light, and all their happiest state,
Not by their fault, but some o'er-ruling Fate!
Although fair flowers, that justly might invite,
Are cropt, nay torn away, for man's delight;
Yet still those flowers, alas! can make no moan,
Nor has Narcissus now a power to groan!
But all those things which breathe in different
frame,

By tie of common breath, man's pity claim.
A gentle lamb has rhetoric to plead,
And, when she sees the butcher's knife decreed,
Her voice entreats him not to make her bleed:
But cruel gain, and luxury of taste,
With pride, still lays man's fellow-mortals waste:
What earth and waters breed, or air inspires,
Man for his palate fits by torturing fires.

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Mully, a cow, sprung from a beauteous race, With spreading front, did Mountown's pastures grace.

Gentle she was, and, with a gentle stream,
Each morn and night gave milk that equal'd cream.
Offending none, of none she stood in dread,
Much less of persons which she daily fed:
"But Innocence cannot itself defend
'Gainst treacherous arts, veil'd with the name of
friend."

Robin of Derbyshire, whose temper shocks
The constitution of his native rocks;
Born in a place4, which, if it once be nam'd,
Would make a blushing modesty asham'd:
He with indulgence kindly did appear
To make poor Mully his peculiar care;
But inwardly this sullen churlish thief
Had all his mind plac'd upon Mully's beef;
His fancy fed on her; and thus he'd cry,
Mully, as sure as I'm alive, you die!

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