They gave me generous Education, high their Joy. The Sages that inftructed me in Arts And Knowledge, oft would praise my Parts, } Their hearts from me, nor Pride distemper mine; Thus my first years in-Happiness I past, Nor any bitter cup did taft: But, oh! a deadly Potion came at laft. [Head, A thousand pleasant thoughts triumphing in my Was with my self, Ifaw not who was nigh) [dead. Pierc'd through my Ears; Arife, thy good Senander's It fhook my Brain, and from their Feaft my frighted : Senfes fled.. IV. From thence fad Difcontent, uneafie Fears, The World was wide, but whither should I go? Where Fortune's general Game is play'd; A Converse equal to my Mind: (As giddy callow Boys Are very fond of Toys) I mifs'd the brave and wife, and in their stead Gay Coxcombs, Cowards, Knaves, and pratingFools, Bullies of o'er-grown Bulks, and little Souls, Gamefters,Half-wits, and Spendthrifts, (such as think Mischievous midnight frollicks bred by Drink Are Gallantry and Wit, Because to their lewd understandings fit) Were those wherewith two years at least I spent, To all their fulfome Follies moft incorrigibly bent: 'Till at the laft, my felf more to abufe, I grew in love with a deceitful Muse. V. No fair Deceiver ever us'd fuch Charms, fancy'd, or I dream'd, (as Poets always do) No Beauty with my Mufe's might compare. Lofty she feem'd, and on her front fat a majeftick Awful, yet kind; fevere, yet fair. [Air, Upon her Head a Crown fhe bore Of Laurel, which she told me fhould be mine: And round her Ivory Neck fhe wore A Rope of largeft Pearl. Each part of her did shine With Jewels and with Gold, Numberless to be told; Which in Imagination as I did behold, And lov'd, and wonder'd more and more, } Said fhe, Thefe Riches all, my Darling, fhall be thine, Riches which never Poet had before. She promis'd me to raise my fortune and my name, By Royal Favour, and by endless Fame; But never told How hard they were to get, how difficult to hold. To her bewitching Bondage brought. A thousand times our Vows were doubled o'er And as we did in our Entrancements lie, VI. Ne'er was young Lover half fo fond Chambers, Clofets, Fields and Groves, And on the bark of every Tree You might on every Rind behold, and fwear } With Off-fprings of the choiceft kinds, Whence I look'd down and laugh'd at Fate, I round me look'd, and found my felf alone; The more I ftrove, the more I fail'd. A Line came forth, but fuch a one, No trav'ling Matron in her Child-birth pains, Then I was at the hideous Iffue of my Brains. I tore my Paper, ftabb'd my Pen, And fwore I'd never write again, Refolv'd to be a doating Fool no more. But when my reck'ning I began to make, I found too long I'd flept, and was too late awake; I found m'ungrateful Mufe, for whofe falfe fake I did my felf undo, Had robb'd me of my dearest Store, My precious Time, my Friends, and Reputation too; And left me helpless, friendlefs, very proud, and poor. VII.. Reafon, which in bafe Bonds my Folly had enthrall'd, Like fome old faithful Friend, whom long ago How much himself he did abuse, Who credited a flattering, falfe, deftructive, treache- Keeps his choice Seraglio. So whilft our Fortune fmiles, our Thoughts aspire, Pleafure and Fame's our bus'nefs, and defire. Then, too, if we find A promptnefs in the Mind, The Mufe is always ready, always kind. But if th' old Harlot Fortune once denies Her favour, all our Pleasure and rich Fancy dies, And then th' young,flippery Jilt, the Mufe too from us flies. } VIII. To the whole Tale I gave Attention due; Was very honeft, very true. Oh how I hugg'd my welcome Friend! And much my Mufe I could not discommend; For I ne'er liv'd in Fortune's Grace, She always turn'd her back,and fled from me apace, And never once vouchfaf'd to let me fee her Face. Then to confirm me more, He drew the veil of Dotage from my Eyes: See here, my Son, (faid he) the valu'd Prize; Thy fulfome Mufe behold, be happy, and be wife. I look'd, and faw the rampant, tawdry Quean, With a more horrid Train Than ever yet to Satyr lent a Tale, Or haunted Chloris in the Mall. A Wretch whom old Diseases did fo bite, By's flat broad Face you'll know the Owl. The other Birds have hooted him from light; Much buffeting has made him love the Night, } And only in the dark he ftrays; [his days, Still Wretch enough to live, with worfe Fools fpends And for old Shoes and Scraps repeats dull Plays. Then next there follow'd, to make up the Throng, Lord Lampoon, and Monfieur Song, Who fought her love, and promis'd for't. |