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THE AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT

TO HIS SATIRES.

T is not for every one to relifh a true and naaral fatire, being of itfelf, befides the nature and abred bitterness and tartness of particulars, both ard of conceit and harsh of ftyle, and therefore annot but be unpleafing both to the unfkilful and ver musical car; the one being affected with onya fhallow and easy matter, the other with a nooth and current difpofition: fo that I well oresee in the timely publication of these my conealed fatires, I am fet upon the rack of many ercileffe and peremptory cenfures, which fith the almest and most plausible writer is almost fatally abject to, in the curiofity of these nicer times, ow may I hope to be exempted upon the occafion f fo bufy and stirring a subject? One thinks it nif-befeeming the author, becaufe a poem; anoher, unlawful in itself, because a satire; a third, armful to others, for the sharpness; and a fourth, anfatire-like, for the mildness: the learned, too perfpicuous, being named with Juvenal, Perfius, and the other ancient fatires: the unlearned, favourless, because too obfcure, and obfcure, because not under their reach. What a monster muft he be that would please all!

Certainly look what weather it would be, if every almanack fhould be verified: much what like poems, if every fancy fhould be fuited. It is not for this kind to defire or hope to please, which naturally fhould only find pleasure in displeasing: notwithstanding, if the fault finding with the vices of the time may honefly accord with the good will of the parties, I had as lieve eafe myself with a flender apology, as wilfully bear the brunt of caufelefs anger in my filence: for poetry itself, after the fo effectual and abfolute endeavours of her honoured patrons, either the needeth no new

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defence, or elle might well fcorn the offer of fø impotent and poor a client. Only for my own part, though were she a more unworthy mistrefs, I think the might be inoffenfively ferved with the broken meffes of our twelve o'clock hours, which homely fervice fhe only claimed and found of me, for that fhort while of my attendance: yet having thus foon taken my folenin farewell of her, and fhak'd hands with all her retinue, why fhould it be an eye-fore unto any, fith it can be no lofs to myfelf?

For my fatires themselves, I fee two obvious cavils to be answered: one concerning the matter; than which I confefs none can be more open to danger, to envy; fith faults loath nothing more than the light, and men love nothing more than their faults; and therefore, what through the nature of the faults, and fault of the perfons, it is impoffible fo violent an appeachment should be quietly brooked. But why fhould vices be unblamed for fear of blame? And if thou may'st fpit upon a toad unvenomed, why may'ft hou not speak of vice without danger? Efpecially fo warily as I have endeavoured; who, in the unpartial mention of fo many vices, may fafely profefs to be altogether guiltlefs in myself to the intention of any guilty perfon who might be blemifhed by the likelihood of my conceived application, thereupon choofing rather to marre mine own verfe, than another's name; which, notwithstanding, if the injurious reader fhall wreft to his own fpight, and difparaging of others, it is a fhort anfwer, Art thou guilty? Complain not, thou art not wronged. Art thou guiltless? Complain not, thou art not touched. The other, concerning the manner, wherein perhaps too much stooping to

it yield nothing but a flashy and loofe concerto the judgment. Whereas the Roman numbers, tying but one foot to another, offereth a grea freedom of variety, with mach more delight a the reader. Let my fecond ground be, the w known dainties of the time; fuch, that men to ther choose carelessly to lose the sweet of the ke nel, than to urge their teeth with breaking the fhell wherein it was wrapped; and therefore in that which is unseen is almost undone, and that a almoft unfeen which is unconceived, either i would fay nothing to be untalk'd of, or f with my mouth open, that I may be underfood Thirdly, the end of this pains was a fatire, the end of my fatire a further good, which whe ther I attain or no, I know not; but let me plain with the hope of profit, rather than pep ly obfcure only for a bare name's fake.

the low reach of the vulgar, I fhall be thought not to have any whit kindly raught my ancient Ro-well afford a pleafing harmony to the ear, fo verfe, to which he fettereth himself, as it may man predeceffors, whom, in the want of more late and familiar precedents, I am conftrained thus far off to imitate; which thing I can be fo willing to grant, that I am further ready to warrant my action therein to any indifferent cenfure. First, therefore, I dare boldly avouch, that the English is not altogether fo natural to a fatire as the Latin; which I do not impute to the nature of the language itself, being fo far from difabling it any way, that methinks I durft equal it to the proudest in every refpect; but to that which is common to it with all the other common languages, Italian, French, German, &c. In their poefies, the fettering together the Teries of the verfes, with the bonds of like cadence or definence of rhyme, which, if it be unufually abrupt, and not dependent in fenfe upon fo near affinity of words, I know not what a leathsome kind of harfhnefs and difcordance it breedeth to any judicial ear; which if any more confident adverfary fhall goinfay, I wish no better trial than the tranflation of one of Perfius's fatires into English; the difficulty and diffonance whereof fhall make good my affertion befides, the plain experience there-fo I might have fomewhat to ftop the mout of in the fatires of Ariosto, (fave which, and one bafe French fatire, I could never attain the view of any for my direction, and that also might for need ferve for an excufe at least) whose chain

quarrel, I think my firft fatire doth fomewhat th Notwithstanding, in the expectation of t femble the four and crabbed face of Juven which I, endeavouring in that, did determina omit in the reft, for thefe forenamed caufis,

which let be as favourable as so thankkis a wa
every accufer. The reft to each man's c
can deserve or defire.

A DEFIANCE TO ENVY.

NAY, let the prouder pines of Ida feare

The fudden fires of heaven, and decline
Their yielding tops that dar'd the skies whilere ;
And shake your sturdy trunks, ye prouder pines,

Whofe fwelling grains are like begall'd alone,
With the deep furrows of the thunder-ftone.

Stand ye fecure, ye fafer shrubs below,
In humble dales, whom heav'ns do not defpight;
Nor angry clouds confpire your overthrow,
Envying at your too disdainful height.

Let high attempts dread euvy and ill tongues,
And cow'rdly fhrinke for feare of caufeleffe
wrongs.

So wont big oaks feare winding ivy weed;
So foaring eagles fear the neighbour funne;
So golden Mazor wont fufpicion breed,
Of deadly hemlock's poifoned potion;

So adders fhroud themfelves in faireft leaves;
So fouler fate the fairer thing bereaves.

Nor the low bush feares climbing ivy twine;
Nor lowly buftard dreads the distant rays;
Nor earthen pot wont fecret death to fhrine;
Nor fubtle fnake doth lurk in pathed ways;

Nor bafer deed dreads envy and ill tongues,
Nor fhrinks fo foon for fear of caufelefle wrongs.
Needs me then hope, or doth me need mif-dread:
Hope for that honour, dread that wrongful spite:
Spite of the party, honour of the deed,
Which wont alone on lofty objects light.

That envy should accoft my muse and me,
For this fo rude and reckleffe poely.

And hopen now to fhoulder from above
The eagle from the ftairs of friendly Jove.

Or lift the rather in late triumph reare
Eternal trophies to fome conquerour,
Whose dead deserts flept in his fepulcher,
And never faw, nor life, nor light before :
To lead fad Pluto captive with my fong,
To grace the triumphs he obscur'd so long.
Or fcoure the rufted fwords of elvish knights,
Bathed in pagan blood, or fheath them new
In myfty moral types; or tell their fights,
Who mighty giants, or who monsters flew;
And by fome ftrange inchanted fpeare and
fhield,
[field.
Vanquish'd their foe, and won the doubtful

May-be the might in ftately ftanzas frame
Stories of ladies, and advent'rous knights,
To raise her filent and inglorious name
Unto a reachleffe pitch of praifes hight,

And fomewhat fay, as more unworthy done,
Worthy of braffe, and hoary marble ftone.

Then might vain Envy wafte her duller wing,
To trace the airy fteps fhe fpiteing fecs,
And vainly faint in hopeleffe following
The clouded paths her native droffe denies.

But now fuch lowly fatires here I fing,
Not worth our Mufe, not worth her envy
ing.

Too good (if ill) to be expos'd to blame;
Too good, if worfe, to fhadow fhameleffe vice:
Ill, if too good, not answering their name:

Since in our fatire lies both good and ill, And they and it in varying readers will.

Would the but fhade her tender browes with bay, So good and ill in fickle cenfure lies. That now lie bare in careleife wilful rage; And trance herself in that sweet extacy, That rouzeth drooping thoughts of bashful age: (Though now thofe bays and that afpired thought,

In careleffe rage fhe fets at worse than nought.)

Or would we loofe her plumy pineon,

Manicled long with bonds of modeft feare, [gone,
Soone might he have thofe keftrels proud out-
Whole flighty wings are dew'd with wetter aire,

Witneffe, ye Mufes, how I wilful fung
Thefe heady rhimes, withouten fecond care;
And wifh'd them worse, my guilty thoughts a-

mong;

The ruder fatire fhould go ragg'd and bare,
And thew his rougher and his hairy hide,
Though mine be fmooth, and deck'd in care-
leffe pride.

Would we but breathe within a wax-bound | Whether fo me lift my lovely thought to fing,

quill, Pan's feven-fold pipe, fome plaintive pastoral, To teach each hollow grove and fhrubby hill, Each murmuring brook, each folitary vale,

To found our love, and to our fong accord, Wearying Echo with one changleffe word.

Or lift us make two striving fhepherds Ling,
With coftly wagers for the victory,
Under Menalcas judge; while one doth bring
A carven bowl well wrought of beechen tree,
Praising it by the story, or the frame,
Or want of use, or skilful maker's name.

Another layeth a well-marked lamb,

Or fpotted kid, or fome more forward fteere; And from the paile doth praise their fertile dam :

So do they ftrive in doubt, in hope, in feare,
Awaiting for their trusty umpire's doome,
Faulted as falfe by him that's overcome.

Come dance, ye nimble Dryads, by my fide; Ye gentle wood-nymphs, come; and with ya bring

The willing fawns, that mought your cald Come nymphs and. fawns, that haunt thei: fhady groves,

While I report my fortunes or my loves.

Or whether lift me fing fo perfonate,
My striving selse to conquer with my verfe,
Speake, ye attentive fwains that heard me late,
Needs me give graffe unto the conquerors.

At Colin's feet I throw my yielding reed;
But let the rest win homage by their deed.

But now (ye Mufes) fith your facred hefts
Profaned are by each prefuming tongue,
In fcornful rage I vow this filent reft,
That never field nor grove fhall heare my forg.
Only these refuse rhimes I here mis-spend,
To chide the world, that did my thoughts of

fend.

SATIRES.

BOOK I.

PROLOGUE.

I firft adventure, with fool-hardy might,
To tread the feps of perilous defpite.
I firft adventure, follow me who lift,
And be the fecond Englife fatirift.
Envy waits on my back, Truth on my fide;
Envy will be my page, and Truth my guide.
Envy the margent bolds, and Truth the line :.
Truth doth approve, but Envy doth repine.
For in this fmoothing age who durft indite,
Hath made his pen an hired parafite,
To claw the back of him that beaftly lives,
And pranch bafe men in proud superlatives.

Whence damned vice is forouded quite from fame,
And crown'd with virtue's meed, immortal name!
Infamy, difpoffefs'd of native due,
Ordain'd of old on loofer life to fuc:

The world's eye-bleared with those fameless lyesz
Mafk'd in the few of meal-mouth'd poefies.
Go, daring Mufe, on with thy thanklesse task,
And do the ugly face of Vice unmask:
And if thou canst not thine high flight remit,
So as it mought a lowly fatire fit,
Let lowly fatires rife aloft to thee:
Truth be thy speed, and Truth thy patron be.

SATIRE I.

NOR ladies wanton love, nor wand'ring knight,
Legend I out in rhimes all richly dight.
Nor fright the reader with the Pagan vaunt
Of mighty Mahound, and great Termagaunt.
Nor lift I fonnet of my miftrefs' face,

To paint fome Bloweffe with a borrowed grace;
Nor can I bide to pen fome hungry scene
For thick skin ears, and undifcerning eyne.
Nor ever could my fcornful Mufe abide
With tragic fhoes her ankles for to hide.
Nor can I crouch, and writhe my fawning tayle
To fome great Patron, for my best avayle.
Such hunger ftarven trencher poetrie,
Or let it never live, or timely die:
Nor under every bank and every tree,
Speak rhymes unto my oaten minstralfie :
Nor carol out fo pleasing lively laies,

As mought the Graces move my mirth to praise.
Trumpet, and reeds, and focks, and bufkins fine,
I them bequeath: whofe ftatues wandring twine

+ E. of Surrey, Wyar, Sidney, Dyer, &c.

Of ivy mix'd with bays, circling around
Their living temples likewife laurel bound.
Rather had I, albe in careless rhymes,
Check the mif-order'd world, and lawless times.
Nor need I crave the Mufe's midwifery,
To bring to light fo worthlefs poetry:
Or if we lift, what bafer Mufe can bide,
To fit and fing by Granta's naked fide?
They haunt the tided Thames and falt Medway,
E'er fince the fame of their late bridal day.
Nought have we here but willow-fhaded fhore,
To tell our Grant his banks are left for lore.

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