They gave me generous Education, high
They ftrove to raife my Mind, and with it grew

their Joy.

The Sages that inftructed me in Arts

And Knowledge, oft would praise my Parts,
And chear my Parents longing hearts.
When I was call'd to a Difpute,
My Fellow-Pupils oft ftood mute:
Yet never Envy did disjoin

}

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.
As I lay loosely on my bed,

[Head,

A thousand pleasant thoughts triumphing in my
And as my Sense on the rich Banquet fed,
A Voice (it feeem'd no more, fo bufie I

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,
And anxious Doubts of what I had to do,
Grew with fucceeding Years.

The World was wide, but whither should I go?
I, whose blooming Hopes all wither'd were,
Who'd little Fortune, and a deal of Care?
To Britain's great Metropolis I ftray'd,'

Where Fortune's general Game is play'd;
Where Honesty and Wit are often prais'd,
But Fools and Knaves are fortunate and rais'd,
My forward Spirit prompted me to find

A Converse equal to my Mind:
But by raw Judgment easily mif-led,

(As giddy callow Boys

Are very fond of Toys)

I mifs'd the brave and wife, and in their stead
On every fort of Vanity I fed.

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,
T'enfnare a tender Youth, and win his Heart:
Or when the had him in her Arms,
Secur'd his love with greater Art.

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.
Thus by the Arts of this moft fly
Deluder was I caught,

To her bewitching Bondage brought.
Eternal Conftancy we swore,

A thousand times our Vows were doubled o'er

And as we did in our Entrancements lie,
I thought no Pleafure e'er was wrought fo high,
No Pair so happy as my Muse and I.

VI.

Ne'er was young Lover half fo fond
When firft his Pufillage he loft,
Or could of half my Pleasure boast.
We never met but we enjoy'd,
Still transported, never cloy'd.

Chambers, Clofets, Fields and Groves,
Bore witness of our daily Loves;

And on the bark of every Tree
You might the marks of our Endearments fee.
Diftichs, Pofies, and the pointed Bits
Of Satyr, (written when a Poet meets
His Mufe in Caterwauling fits)

You might on every Rind behold, and fwear
I and my Clio had been at it there.
Nay, by my Mufe too I was bleft

}

With Off-fprings of the choiceft kinds,
Such as have pleas'd the noblest minds,
And been approv'd by Judgments of the beft.
But in this moft tranfporting height,

Whence I look'd down and laugh'd at Fate,
All of a fudden I was alter'd grown

I round me look'd, and found my felf alone;
My faithlefs Mufe, my faithlefs Mufe was gone.
I try'd if I a Verfe could frame:
Oft I in vain invok'd my Clio's name.

The more I ftrove, the more I fail'd.
I chaf'd,I bit my Pen, curft my dullScall, and rail'd,
Refolv'd to force m'untoward Thought, and at
the laft prevail'd.

A Line came forth, but fuch a one,

No trav'ling Matron in her Child-birth pains,
Full of the joyful Hopes to bear a Son,
Was more aftonish'd at th' unlook'd-for shape
Of fome deform'd Baboon, or Ape,

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,
I ftrait to Council call'd;

Like fome old faithful Friend, whom long ago
I had casheer'd, to please my flatt'ring Fair.
To me with readiness he did repair ;
Expreft much tender Chearfulness, to find
Experience had reftor'd him to my Mind;
And loyally did to me show,

How much himself he did abuse,

Who credited a flattering, falfe, deftructive, treache-
I ask'd the Caufes why. He faid, [rous Mufe.
'Twas never known a Mufe e'er ftaid
When Fortune fled; for Fortune is a Bawd
To all the Nine that on Parnaffus dwell,
Where thofe fo fam'd, delightful Fountains fwell
Of Poetry, which there does ever flow;
And where Wit's lufty, fhining God

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;
And as right fearch into my felf I made,
I found all he had faid

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.
The firft was he who ftunk of that rank Verfe
In which he wrote his Sedom Farce ;-

A Wretch whom old Diseases did fo bite,
That he writ Bawdry fure in fpight,
To ruin and difgrace it quite.
Philofophers of old did fo exprefs
Their Art, and fhew'd it in their Naftiness.
Next him appear'd that blundering Sot
Who a late Seffion of the Poets wrote.
Nature has mark'd him for a heavy Fool;

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.
To make her famous at the Court,