For he is one too, or would be;

But he drinks no wine,

Which is a fhrewd fign

That all's not fo well as it should be.

These three, when they drink,
How little do they think
Of banishment, debts, or dying:

Not old with their years,

Nor cold with their fears;

But their angry ftars ftill defying.

Mirth makes them not mad,

Nor fobriety fad ;

But of that they are feldom in danger;
At Paris, at Rome,

At the Hague they 're at home;
The good fellow is no where a stranger.

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

ALL on a weeping Monday,

With a fat Bulgarian floven,
Little admiral John

To Bologne is gone,

Whom I think they call old Loven.

Hadft thou not thy fill of carting,
Will Aubrey, count of Oxon.

When

When nofe lay in breech,
And breech made a speech,

So often cry'd a pox on?

A knight by land and water
Efteem'd at fuch a high rate,
When 'tis told in Kent,
In a cart that he went,
They'll fay now, hang him pirate.

Thou might'st have ta'en example,
From what thou read'ft in ftory;
Being as worthy to fit

On an ambling tit

As thy predeceffor Dory.

But oh! the roof of linen,

Intended for a fhelter !

But the rain made an ass

Of tilt and canvas ;

And the fnow which you know is a melter.

But with thee to inveigle

That tender stripling Astcot,

Who was foak'd to the skin,

Through drugget fo thin,

Having neither coat nor waistcoat.

He being proudly mounted,
Clad in cloak of Plymouth,
Defy'd cart fo base,

For thief without grace,

That goes to make a wry mouth.

Nor

Nor did he like the omen,

For fear it might be his doom

One day for to fing,

With gullet in ftring,

---A hymn of Robert Wisdom.

But what was all this bufinefs?
For fure it was important:

For who rides i' th' wet

When affairs are not great,

The neighbours make but a sport on't.

To a goodly fat fow's baby,
O John, thou hadst a malice,
The old driver of fwine

That day fure was thine,
Or thou hadft not quitted Calais.

NATURA NATURATA.

WHA

"HAT gives us that fantastic fit,
That all our judgment and our wit

To vulgar cuftom we fubmit?

Treafon, theft, murder, and all the reft
Of that foul legion we fo deteft,
Are in their proper names expreft.

Why is it then thought fin or fhame,
Those necessary parts to name,

From whence we went, and whence we came ?

Nature,

Nature, whate'er she wants, requires ;
With love enflaming our defires,
Finds engines fit to quench those fires :

Death she abhors; yet when men die,
We're prefent; but no ftander-by
Looks on when we that lofs fupply.

Forbidden wares fell twice as dear;
Ev'n fack prohibited last year,

A most abominable rate did bear.

'Tis plain our eyes and ears are nice,
Only to raife, by that device,
Of those commodities the price.

Thus reafon's fhadows us betray,
By tropes and figures led aftray,
From nature, both her guide and way.

SARPE DON's Speech to GLAUCUS, in the Twelfth Book of Homer.

THUS to Glaucus fpake

Divine Sarpedon, fince he did not find

Others, as great in place, as great in mind.
Above the rest why is our pomp, our power,

Our flock, our herds, and our poffeffions more?

Why

Why all the tributes land and fea affords

Heap'd in great chargers, load our sumptuous boards?
Our chearful guests carouse the sparkling tears

Of the rich grape, whilst musick charms their ears.
Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' fhore,
As gods behold us, and as gods adore ?
But that, as well in danger as degree,

We stand the firft; that when our Licians fee
Our brave examples, they admiring fay,
Behold our gallant leaders! These are they
Deserve the greatness; and unenvy'd stand:
Since what they act, transcends what they command.
Could the declining of this fate (oh friend)
Our date to immortality extend?

Or if death fought not them who feek not death,
Would I advance? or fhould my vainer breath
With fuch a glorious folly thee inspire ?
But fince with fortune nature doth confpire,
Since age, disease, or fome lefs noble end,
Though not lefs certain, doth our days attend;
Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead
A thousand ways, the nobleft path we 'll tread;
And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
A common facrifice to honour fall.

MARTIAL