METELLUS HIS DIALOGUES. The First PART, Containing a RELATION OF A JOURNEY TO Tunbridge-Wells; Also a Description of the WELLS and PLACE.

With the Fourth BOOK of Virgil's AENEIDS in English

Written under that Name, by a Gentleman of this Nation, sometime Gentleman Commo­ner of Christ-Church in OXFORD.

LONDON, Printed by Tho. Warren, for N. Rolls in St. Paul's Church-Yard, 1693.

TO THE Right Honourable WILLIAM LORD BIRON, BARON of RATCHDELL.

My Lord,

THis Orphan Book, that can by no modish A­mours recommend it self to the pleasant Men of the Time, nor by Satyrizing Church or State, can hope to have a Par­ty on its side; must needs be assured of many Adversaries, and can be in hope but of very few Friends. It flies, My Lord, therefore first (to almost all [Page]that is left of 'em) the Shadow and Name of the Ancient He­roes; begs an Adoption to the vertuous Name, and asks leave to make use of the Voice of Metellus: not daring, under a less Capacity, to speak to the Vices of our Age. It hears, my Lord, from the Ghost of Elo­quent Curio, which here it has rais'd, ‘Livor edax tibi cuncta negat, Luc. Phars. lib. 1.’ which though he spake only to Caesar in his life-time, his Ghost may yet, with truth enough, remember less Men of it now: At a time when Party, when Picque, when Passion, when In­terest, when but fansied Opini­on, may every thing, to any Man, deny.

Therefore this Orphan, to decline the stroak of so wild a [Page]Passion, as Envy has always appeared to the literate World, falls to the ground, as expert Hunters often do, before the savage wild Boar: and far, When it turns upon 'em. from the Ambition of contesting with such an Adversary as the best scarce withstand, vanisheth from the sight of the World: Leaves the Ghost of great Me­tellus, the Light of Reason, and the Voice of impregnable Truth, in the mouths of sharp Acer, and eloquent Curio, to di­spute Libertinage with the Age: especially in the Second, and Third Part, where, grown to more Virility, it attacks the pregnant Vices of the Time, and adventures to combat with the Darling of our Days. Ho­ping from such mouths as those, to speak inoffensively Truth; if not to the Persons (which this [Page]Book altogether declines) at least, to the Vices of the Times.

By this happy necessity, this Little Book, dignified, my Lord, and adopted to the vertuous Name of Metellus, now truly ennobled, addresses to your Lordship (not as such Orphans and Destitutes commonly do) presuming upon the Nearness of Blood its Authour has to your Lordship, and that Noble Family of your Name; but by a higher impulse of Nature, yet (as Iron to the Load-stone goes) by a natural Sympathy the brave BIRONS of En­gland have, with the vertuous and glorious Metelli of Rome, this Little Book, by Metellus adopted, to your Lordship now naturally comes; and hopes, that for the Palladium's sake, by its brave adopting Ancestour re­scued [Page]from the burning Tem­ple, Of Vesta. it may find Favour and Countenance, from a Family, who have been as great Lo­vers of Minerva, as Servants of Mars; and who are (beyond all Alliance of Blood) to the glorious Metellus, in Bravery, of Kin.

Metellus rescu'd from flames the Palladium at Rome. The BIRONS, had not Fate it self been a Foe, and had not our Sins been our Enemies too, had rescued from the worst of Confusions more than the Pal­ladium here. Non habet scientia [...] ­nimicum praeter igno­rantiam. Not only our U­niversities from Ignorance, the only Enemy Science has in the World; our Churches from Profanation and Sacriledge; our Monarch, and Monarchy it self, from Assassination; our Countrey from Slavery worse [Page]than those flames: if all had been as brave as faithful, and of as good Lives as they. Men, if not the most admired, certain­ly the most deserving Admira­tion of any of their time. Se­ven brave Brothers, six of them Knighted for their Bravery and Birth. My Lord John Biron, the Eldest Brother, General. Sir Rich­ard, Go­vernour of Newark, which he bravely defended. Sir Robert, sometime General of the Ord­nance in Ireland. Sir Tho­mas, Colo­nel of the then Prince of Wales his own Regiment of Horse, slain in the War. Sir William, and the other Two Field-Officers, one of 'em slain at York in Defence of the Town. The Eldest deservedly honoured with a Barony, which he bought with his Blood. All in eminent Command, all emi­nently suffering, all eminent­ly acting for their Country and King; might justly be thought, (as one well observ'd of 'em) the bravest seven Bro­thers that have appeared in the World since the Maccabees days. A Family deserving Eternal Memory, if it were but for the brave Actions of the Eldest, [Page]the then victorious Head of that Family, that had so much Heart, my Lord JOHN BI­RON; who, to say nothing of those so many personal Brave­ries of his, as that at Brill, In Oxford­shire. In Wilt­shire. and elsewhere: At Round-way-down, with Fifteen hundred Horse and Dragoons, he not only de­feated, but absolutely routed a considerable Army of Horse and Foot, under no unskilful General; where he took Two and forty Colours, all their Cannon, all their Baggage, and almost as many Prisoners as he had Men: more might be remembred, but ‘Satis est hanc mihi nosse manum. Mart. Epig. de Scaev.’ Yet to these brave seven Bro­thers, we must add the brave Uncle, Sir NICHOLAS BI­RON, Governour of West-Che­ster, [Page]one of the Generals of the Royal Army, and one of our then greatest Masters of the Military Art, your Lordship's great Uncle; the Eighth good, the Eighth brave Man, of the same Family, and the same Name, at the same time survi­ving, and with hazard of all they had, fighting for their Country, and defending their King.

Pardon therefore, My Lord, if this little Orphan, adopted by the great Metellus, from its Cradle as it were, presume to Address it self to your Lord­ship, the immediate Heir, and Snccessour, of so great a Name as BIRON is here; since in you, as in your Noble Ancestours, Bravery still, and Ingenuity join; Qualities that sympathize so much with the Name of Metell.

[Page]In this First Part, My Lord, as in its younger Years, it pre­tends but to divertise your Lordship with a pleasant Pre­lude to a more serious Dis­course; but in the Second and Third Part, grown to more Vi­rility, it will entertain your Nobler, and more Heroick Thoughts. Its Authour being Ambitious but to be Esteem­ed,

Your Lordship's Most faithful humble Servant, and affectionate Kinsman, J. L.

A CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS Who speak in these DIALOGUES.

  • METELLƲS, A Lover of VERTƲE, and eminently Learned.
  • ACER, A Divine, of a sharp Wit, and eloquent.
  • CƲRIO, A Civilian, and an eloquent Man.
  • AESCƲLAPE, A Learned Physician, and good Companion; but inclined to Epicurus his Opinions.
  • [Page]LAELIƲS, A witty young Gentleman, but a Deist.

Or take their Characters thus:

Deserving of that Name, the great Metell
In Vertue and in Learning does excell.
Eloquent Curio pleads, and does commend.
Sharp Acer does both teach and reprehend.
Learn'd Aesculape by Reason's Light can see
In Nature far; scarce to Divinity.
Laelius declares th' Opinions of the Times;
Too honest to be guilty of the Crimes.

THE First Dialogue.
A JOURNEY TO Tunbridge-Wells.

Metellus.
THE Sun was now come to his Jour­ney's end
For that half year, beginning to descend,
When me and Laelius, who had both been ill,
And long had lingred under th' Artist skill:
A learn'd Physician, knowing none cou'd mend
Like those that made; did prudently pretend
To cure by Nature; or as Nature cou'd,
Did we apply t' her; so this Doctor wou'd
[Page 2]Sometimes by wise Digression from the Arts,
Cure Men by sending 'em to wholesome parts
Of the Great World, with which the Less must be;
If they'll be well, still in good harmony.
God-like he first ordained us the scent
Of Fragrant Earth; and then as if he'd meant
To give us at each Dose an Element,
The Air this Aesculape to quicken gave,
Waters to cleanse us; if those cou'd not save,
Then Nature-like too he ordain'd the Grave.
Destructive Fire this Aesculape did use,
But not in Element, and crude, t' abuse
Too tender Man: but dulcify'd by Vine,
Great Nature's Limbeck, and destill'd to Wine;
"Good Wine the greatest chearer of the heart,
"The Natural Restorative of Art.
Wine from the Teats of Nature, and not Brew'd,
He allow'd himself and us for Lassitude.
And this was his fourth Dose, which Nature meant,
As he taught well, for a fifth Element:
Wine first by Nature thus, for Stomach's sake,
Then giv'n by Paul, we like Ambrosta take,
With Terrene God, our Aesculape, to whom
We offer 'of healthy Cups a Hecatomb.
[Page 3]That doleful night, before we went away;
In that took leave, so dy'd till the third day;
Not like old Trojans, buried lay in Wine,
But like true Trojans till we meet repine.
Not buried at all; for not at rest;
Nor did we pass that time among the blest;
But like Men damn'd from Paradise, in pain
And labour live, till we our bliss regain:
Till all at Tunbridge-Wells again alive
Meet, and each other kindly do revive,
With Water, and good Air, and blood of Grape,
Good Company and divine Aesculape.
We were five Scholars; four went two and two,
Curio and I, who had no more to do
But to take Air, and then to take our ease;
And nought else being prescrib'd for our Disease,
Together rid; that hard by the mid-way,
We might with Liquor quench the scorching day,
Early before the Exc'llent Doctor went
On Horseback, with accomplisht Patient,
Honestest Laelius, who of Wit had store,
But of wise Patience had a great deal more.
And doubtless 'twas the fortunatest hit,
"That one had Patience, when they both had Wit.
[Page 4]He talking, taught; t' other well pleas'd to learn;
They each; each others Excellence discern.
As Nature's Active, and her Passive do,
So do these well pair'd Naturalists too
Agree, concurr in all things, jump and hit;
Happy 'n so great a Sympathy of Wit.
Acer, to whom Minerva still was kind,
Yet Fortune frown'd on; he was left behind,
Whether unwilling to ride that long way,
As his good Friends did, through in one hot day,
Or froward Fortune (long by him despis'd)
Goddess, to whom he never sacrisic'd,
Had damn'd him for a day into the Jaws
Of modern Furies, and the modish Claws
Of Harpies of this Age, we do not know;
But he in Stage-Coach is condemn'd to go
Without his Friends —
Curio and I were something better blest;
Riding before, escap'd that Harpy's Nest.
All different ways with different Fate we went,
In hopes of different Divertisement:
Yet at the Wells with Acer we arriv'd,
There, Aesculape, who had been well reviv'd,
[Page 5]Not with cold Waters, but with more divine,
More animating Liquor, Gascoigne Wine,
Hard by the Wells stood, with his Learned Mate,
Like old Anchise, contemplating our Fate,
Father of Wits.—
When we on Horseback, Acer, in a Coach
With some odd kind of Damsells, did approach,
They stop, step out; When "Oh! What hast thou done,
"Base Fortune, with Minerva's Minion?
Laelius cry'd out. "None of Apollo's Race,
"None of the Nine these are! What God cou'd place
"Thus Ingenuity? Must Fate be Foe,
"Spightful to all that Pallas favours so?
Then Aesculape drew near; And art thou come
At last, dear Friend, to our Elysium?
How 'fraid were we? kindly then we embrace,
Welcome each other to the pleasant place.
Our next Care was to seek a House, where we,
For one Month's time, might all of us be free
From that worst Plague of Wit, Ill-Company.
We wander on; some pretty Houses see,
Which in that place (though wild enough) there be.
[Page 6]The Doctor pleas'd himself: his airy Friend,
Who more did to good Company pretend,
Than Bookish solitude, an airy place
Soon found, which airy Company did grace.
Acer and Curio sought no happiness
But Solitude, the likeliest place to bless,
We thought, the Desart of that Wilderness.
We wander all a pretty while before
We see a Cottage: Cottage, and no more
At last we find; A sweet and pleasant place,
A situation that had Nature's Face;
That lookt like the first Times, that seem'd to be
Some Patrimony of poor Honesty;
The greenest Plat that was in all that wild
And spacious Heath, and the most undefil'd:
Nor Lust nor Envy cou'd have Object there,
Pride was a bulk too big for it to bear.
Seat for Christianity: were Christ but near,
Peter might wish a Tabernacle here.
This is the Desart then, said Acer, we
In such a Cottage, Curio, may be free.
The wish'd for Tabernacle, which we crave,
Elias solitude, we here may have.
[Page 7]And to assure that Pleasure too, we see,
Said Curio, here St. Peter's Poverty.
Green close behind it, and sweet Springs were nigh,
On th' one side Wood, and the green Corn hard by:
The Front lay open to the ample Heath:
Which from all Quarters sent a purer Breath
Than Towns enjoy.
Beset with Fern and Shrubs: Shrubs were as high
As th' humble Cottage: Taller Trees were nigh;
A House secur'd by being poor and low;
" O happy those who live secured so,
" Where no fierce Winds of Pride and Envy blow!
Before the Door stood an old Ash that made
By Nature, pleasant and convenient Shade.
Of which the Owner had contriv'd a Bower,
Enough to save poor Man from Sun or Shower;
But place, which Nature surely had design'd
For higher things, for shelter to the Mind.
For we, soon as we saw it, thought it fit
In such a Solitude to shelter Wit.
Here an old Dame came cleanly to the Door
'Soon as we knock'd, came cleanly, and no more,
But holding the small Door half-open, said,
"'Las! Sirs, 'tis late, and we're all going to bed.
[Page 8]"We see no Gallants here, nor entertain
"Such Men as you; we scarce think't worth our pain;
"Nor have I Linen clean, nor can I give
"You dainty Meats; on hardest Fare we live.
And then she told us what ill luck she'd had,
Not long ago, with Strangers as well clad:
Nor truly cou'd she, and so near to Night,
Receive Men so unknown, at the first sight.
But no such Men, reply'd our Learned Friend,
These honest Gallants are; the only End
That brings them hither, is but to retreat,
They for their quiet seek this Rural Seat.
But if with you these Verbal Motives fail,
This at least will (and shew'd some Gold) prevail.
" O what won't Woman for thee, Gold, forsake?
" For thee, Gold, what won't Woman undertake?
The good Dame had not for some time before
Seen such a sight, scarce hop'd to see it more:
Fixing her Eyes upon the Golden Gift,
"Well, said she then, come in, we'll make a shift.
Non quiet then she sought, nor trouble fear'd,
When the old Gold of Aesculape appear'd.
[Page 9]We enter, and the old Sylvestrian Dame
O'er lofty Thresholds follow, till we came
To that part of the Hovel, they call Hall,
Where she with Rural Majesty did call
Her Daughter first, and then her brawny Son,
And then the Maid: and when all that was done,
Oft going to and fro, at last she brought
A piece of Pye, of Hare, her Son had caught,
With fatter Mutton bak'd, which she had bought.
She pray'd us to sit down, nor did we spare,
But all each other invite to the cold Fare.
We sup, whilst the whole Family attends:
They wait like Servants, and they look like Friends.
Th'old Woman, and her Son, her Maid, his Wife,
The honest Consorts of that homely Life.
At last, to make amends for the cold Cheer,
Th'old Woman bids bring forth last Easter's Beer.
The Maid and Daughter draw: the Maple Cup
They briskly sill: we briskly drink it up.
All welcome us to all, as they may say,
Free of their Ale, as willingly we stay.
When we had supp'd, we all began to cast
Our Eyes on Acer; wou'd he not at last
Relate his Journey? tell us what had past?
[Page 10]Nothing cou'd be to us, and over Ale,
In such a House, more seasonable Tale.
Acer.
But he reply'd, "O Friends forbear to ask
"So hard a thing; It is no pleasant task
"For a tir'd Poet, twelve long hours immur'd,
"In such a Coach, to tell you what h'endur'd.
"Some things indeed hereafter, but scarce these
"Can be so well remembred, as to please.
Lael.
Then, Laelius spoke. "The Oxe when tir'd strikes strong,
"Makes surer steps: 'Tis now 'bove all we long,
If any ill accident have tir'd thy Wit,
To hear thy Satyr, here avenging it
With flaming Fancy, and a well-whet Pen;
That Fire and Sword of all Ingenious Men.
Acer.
"And can my Friends thus importune? must I
"To please, reiterate a Misery?
Said Acer,
" Lethe, rather let me sup
"Of thy forgetful Streams; fill up my cup,
[Page 11]"Since to the Pains Fate sent me, sure as well
"I may pretend to th' * Courtesie of Hell.
"And as great Reason to be wash'd have I
"As any of Anchise's Progeny.
"When I to this Etherial Life return,
"From that Death of bad Company; that Urn
"Of foetid Coach; ere I from Crew so curst
"Transmigrate well, I must drink Lethe first.
"Nor Wind, nor Water, nor the soaking Rain,
"Nor Tunbridge-Wells can cleanse from such a stain;
"Of such a Company, of such a Coach,
"Nothing but Lethe washes the Reproach.
Aesculape smiling then. "In Verse relate,
" Acer, said he, Satyr will expiate.
"Slay me those Vultures, which but now we saw;
"Some Portraict of those Dames thou'st brought us, draw.
"Let 'em to Phoebus fall; ere they devour
"Our Livers here, fall by Apollo's Pow'r.
"The God of Wisdom cannot chuse but prize
"Such Harpy-Vulture Dames in Sacrifice.
"And thus besides thou wilt Minerva please,
"Thus all th' Infernal Furies thou'lt appease.
[Page 12]"They'll go for Dainties, when thou'st giv'n the blow,
"Pickled in Satyr to the Gods below;
"Infernal Bitt. Tell then, for God's sake, tell,
"How and which way you came? I came from Hell,
"As once the pious Trojan did, said he,
"To this Elysium of good Company.
And when he saw we all attentive sate,
He drew us thus the Landskip of his Fate.
After that Night, great Aesculape, when we
Parted so late, so dolefully from thee,
Light rose, but broke not forth; 'twas gloomy Morn,
And Phoebus seem'd to look at me with scorn;
As if he'd turn'd his back: I seem'd to see,
He did not mean to shine that day on me.
Whilst I, contemplating the Omen, sate,
Curio rides up, interprets me my Fate.
Before my Window, on a raw-bon'd Steed
Sitting, he said, fierce in his Riding-weed:
Laziest of Men, thou art forsaken quite,
Thoul't bitterly repent it before Night.
[Page 13]You'll meet with Company, I hope, anon,
Will make you wish, you'd been more early Man.
Spurring his Horse, then presently he fled,
And left me with Prediction murthered.
" For the worst way the Heavens have to kill,
" Besides the stroke, is to predict the ill.
I, of thee, Aesculape, and these bereft,
Not to too hard, but too soft Fate was left
Of Stage-Coach-Company, and Gossips prate,
And one thing more which ten times more I hate,
Not of that lesser Curse of being alone,
But of a worse, Damnation, being one
Man 'mongst three Women; not the only Man
That three such Errant Dames hop'd to trepan:
But th'only that was to be damn'd that day,
For thirty six Miles, to such Birds of Prey.
Unhappy far, Prometheus, beyond thee,
Who but one Vulture had'st, for I had three.
I often chang'd my Mind, was loth to go;
Fate at last dragg'd me whe'er I wou'd or no.
The Coach appear'd, and Company I find,
All Women, but not of the Muses kind.
A Northern Lady, Madam God knows who,
Bonny and blith: Her brisk Companion too,
[Page 14]With a stale Maid. What cou'd one Gallant do
With three such Mistresses, who all wou'd wooe?
None cou'd be woo'd: Amaz'd awhile I stand,
O Fortune, here, expect thy helping hand:
Give some good Omen, Goddess, now I said,
Treble Virago well one Man may dread.
The Proverb means sure, two such Dames as these,
That says, Two are too much for Hercules.
For of meer Men, not Two of them, nor Three,
A Match for the God Hercules wou'd be,
'Less Woman too come in; by help of Dame
We know the dying * Centaure overcame.
He'd need be Trojan Hero at the least,
That but encounters such a Harpy's Nest;
But must be more that 'scapes, or can subdue
That foul bespattering foeminean Crew,
That, glorious Caesar, 'd be too much for you.
I, like Anchises, then began to pray
Against Celeno, 'and Harpyes of the day:
To any God, if sacrifice I may,
I offer Silence, or behind to stay.
[Page 15]Beseech then Fortune, that since she does make
The Fool oft happy, and the Coxcomb take;
She'd now do greater work, make Scholar be
Grateful to Ignorance; to Quean, Honesty.
Like Caesar then o'er Rubicon I go,
And Fortune leading, but yet startling too,
On some small Rules of Modesty I tread,
Not on all Laws, as 'twas of Caesar said,
My bogling Fancy boldly bid be gone,
And thee, ill Fortune, leading, I go on.
Into the Coach, yet with some hope, I stept,
Not without all hope, for I hop'd t'have slept:
Trepanning Fortune resolv'd to neglect,
I now apply'd to Somnus for effect;
Invoke for a deep sleep the pleasant God;
All pleasure I cou'd hope for whilst I rode;
Begg'd that since Romans in a pet cou'd dye
For Freedom, I might sleep for Liberty.
Like those who go to Tyburn, on my way
Then went, in hopes of Heaven the same day;
Ty'd to a Coach and Company as good,
As if I had been sent to th' Triple Wood.
As soon as we were off the jolting Stones,
First things they utter'd were some sighs and groans,
[Page 16]With Eyes turn'd up: The first shape they thought fit
T' appear in, was it seems the Hypocrite.
But then in Courtesie they all unmask
Their Faces, but not Hearts. Oh too hard task,
Too hard for * Davus, and much more for us;
Scarce to b' interpreted by Oedipus.
When Northern Madam 'gainst the sins of Man
Spoke zealously, but the old Maid began
'Gainst single life t' exclame, and did declare,
That for her part, she thought it a meer snare:
Went on in Zeal, with Humour and with Grace,
That made the most of a decaying Face.
Much time this Virgin unawares had spent
In sowre Virginity, more than she meant,
Or thought to do; which oft she did repent,
Oft had allay'd with soft divertisement;
Much had in Body suffer'd, much in Mind,
And much in Reputation for being kind.
Now at her last effort, all she cou'd do
Was, on grave Motives, godlily to wooe.
She prov'd, from God's own handy-work, that she
By Man's side always had a right to be:
[Page 17]All Women thence first torn, (she 'mongst the rest)
By re-conjunction were all to be blest.
She pleaded, as if forty Spirits mov'd,
Had given her Impulses to be lov'd▪
And flew in carnal Godliness so high,
She read upon Encrease and Multiply.
Stench'd with Love Theological, I choak,
For meer self-preservation should have spoke:
But yet averse from feminine dispute,
I 'admir'd the happy freedom of the Mute.
Which scarce allow'd, I in my own defence,
Declar'd sor Liberty of Conscience:
Thought that the likeliest, and the fairest way
To sweet repose; at least for one poor day.
But flaxen Madam, younger much than she,
Was kindled at the name of Liberty:
Lady indefinite, that of the many
She'd seen, and known, was not in Love with any.
Not this particular, but this, or that,
Her Love impartially still flying at.
True Venus, Goddess like, still unconfin'd,
Immensely was in Love with all mankind.
This blazing Lady at a modish rate,
Flesh thus opposing Spirit, urg'd her Fate,
[Page 18]And to the Lady who first silence broke,
These carnal thoughts she elegantly spoke.
Madam, your Plea is obsolete and vain,
Quite out of fashion, it leads back again
To th' House of Bondage, we're broke out from thence,
The Spirit uses now new Eloquence;
Aloud amongst the Godly daily crys
For Liberty, and opening of our Eyes.
In Matrimony Eyes are rather shut,
At least both Eyes with one poor Man you glut,
To one alone so dismally confin'd,
That with Obedience you are struck quite blind.
The * plea reduces to an evil thing,
Enslaves us to an Arbitrary King,
With power absolute to give us Law,
And keep our Property still under awe;
Our so-long-enjoy'd Liberties invades,
And spoils the sweetness of our pleasant Trades:
[Page 19]And therefore, though't be holy, needs must be
Still burdensome to long-us'd Liberty.
Ah! Pleasure cannot any where be found,
But where there's Liberty, does there abound.
Suppose all Blessings that you can in Wife,
Under confinement still you lead your life;
Now to a blessing to be chain'd and ty'd,
Is for the Blessed to be Devilify'd.
Besides, in Wedlock there is many a grief:
All you're confin'd to, and without relief;
To soak in sorrow, be consum'd in strife,
Boyl with Contention, wast away your life;
To stew in Marriage thus for'ought we can tell,
May be as bad as to be fry'd in Hell.
You've too vain thoughts of the Infernal pain,
Who thus compare it with those griefs ye fain,
Madam, said I: much more I wou'd have said,
But our dispute by Fate was stifled.
For Rhadamanth had harrassed our brains,
With dismal Jolts, and not unlike Hell's pains,
Which came then thick upon us, and 'twas Ill,
Not only rugged, but repeated still,
Not likely e're to end, nor yet cou'd kill.
[Page 20]We cou'd not on the Coachman's Rack dispute,
So, for some time, we all of us were mute.
Resolv'd, O Laelius, these things soon as we
Met, to discourse more thorowly with thee.
But we at last came to a fairer way,
Pleasant and broad, yet still down-hill all day,
I think we went: by th' way no Man cou'd tell
Nor Company, but we were going to Hell.
The Coach-man like a Rhadamanthus sate,
Hurried us downward at such Devilish rate,
And uncontroulable, the Plea, Hold, Hold,
Signify'd nothing, he was hot and bold.
Th' inexorable fury was come on,
His Breast by Ale, he whipt like Tisyphon.
* Ale a dull Liquor, where Hell's Brewers mix
Lethe's forgetful Streams with muddy Styx.
Black Juice that does from blacker Furnace flow,
('Tis thought the Nectar of the Gods below)
The never-quenching Drink of those abodes,
The irritating Liquor of our Roads,
That makes dull Coachmen stir, fat Burghers sit,
The more they drink, the more desiring it.
[Page 21]Some say 'twas Ceres Tears, when she in grief
Sought long in vain Proserpina's relief,
Which mixt with Styx, and Lethe, still in Hell,
They drink to th' Honour of that Maid that fell
To Pluto's share. —
And some of Bacchus Faction too there be,
Who say, with no less probability,
'Tis the now black Proserpina's gross sweat,
Caus'd in dark Shades by an Infernal heat,
Thence sent to us: But if a brisk Old Man,
Apollo's Servant, hater of the Can,
We will believe, if we may believe fame,
Ale first was Lake, Nymph who by Ceres came
To be ennobled; eclips'd Bacchus Name,
Oppos'd bright Phoebus Glory. Some gross Cloud
Threw oft on those Apollo had endow'd:
Hence the brown Nymph by angry Bacchus frown,
First was disgrac'd, by Phoebus, then damn'd down
To dark Abodes: Dwells since in Muddy Lakes
Of dirty Towns, where the long hissing Snakes
Infuse their Venome: Taken with th' abode
Of Croaking Frog, and of the Stygian Toad:
[Page 22]Near some great Town she still environ'd lies,
With Mists and Foggs, whence, O whence no sparks rise
Of Ingenuity. By 'infernal Flames
Of Acherontick Coal, her Waters, Dames,
Or Brewers, boil: by them convey'd, and sold,
They 'impower the old and ugly Queans to scold,
Young Whores to hiss: make all ill Women bold.
This Drink clouds all Mens Brains, the darkned Mind
By the gross Nymph is to gross Thoughts inclin'd.
In common Men, does hideous Noises make,
Resembling Frogs, from whence it came, and Snake.
On Market-days, the heavy Country Clown
This rouzes up to moule his Landlord down.
Hence first Rebellion hisses in the street;
This makes the Uproar, makes the Rabble meet.
This makes the blunt and brawny Carmen croke,
And the exalted Coachman to provoke.
Charon's cold Tribe this fires, and makes 'em row,
This makes 'em sight, and give the fatal Blow.
The foul Tartarean Bawd this does inspire,
And teaches her how to exalt her Hire.
[Page 23]This metamorphoses at Country-Feast,
The Common Man into the shape of Beast.
To drunken Sow, turns th' Hostess of the Town,
And this turns Country-Gentleman to Clown.
For these great Feats, Infernal Pluto makes
This Nymph, they say, the Lady of all Lakes.
Resembling Styx; the Goddess of the Fen,
Of Grains, of Swine, and of all swilling Men.
Ten thousand Furnaces to her do smoke
In the dark North, where they great Cities choke.
Nor does the Nymph delight in purer Flame,
Well swollen Bellies do set forth her Name.
Where Bacchus fails, in shape of double Jugg,
This homely Goddess they are fain to hugg;
Yet build no Temples, but adore in Tub
The huge gross Sister of great Belzebub.
Thus spake the Poet, soaring in good Wine
Above dull Ale, a Liquor less Divine.
Had good Aeneas been a Pilgrim still,
And met us running down so steep a Hill
As here we did, and to a Vale so low,
What could he think, but that we meant to go
To Pluto's Regions, when we hurried so,
With such Proserpina's? —
[Page 24]He must have complimented, without doubt,
Furies within, and Rhadamanth without;
Nor would have needed Sibyl, nor the Bough,
To lead his Piety the right Way now,
To Styx or Acheron; for we had Three
As skilful Sibyls, who were all as free
Of Hell, by' another Golden Mystery.
The Morning spent thus dolefully; Day gone
Almost three Quarters, and Night coming on,
Se'n-Oak's small Town at last we stumble on.
The Inn appear'd, and as soon as we came
Within the door, and bonny Northern Dame,
With help of Coachman, the good Host had fixt
In Elbow-Chair, with no small State, betwixt
Her two Companions; she had wip'd off sweat.
Next care the House had, was to let us eat.
Hostess and Host advance, pursue us in,
With all the Houshold-Devils of an Inn.
My Landlord, who in Compliments abounded,
With Tapster, Chamberlain, and Maids surrounded,
Gave us of things both ord'nary and rare,
A very Tantalizing Bill of Fare.
But Northern Madam and her Dames afraid,
The Burden of a Dinner would be laid
[Page 25]Too hard on them, who had no Gallant there,
In Wisdom thought it safest to forbear
Their Hunger then; cry'd 'tis too late to eat,
What shou'd they do with all that greasie Meat?
And wanted Stomachs too, but what was worse,
My Landlord fear'd a greater want in Purse.
And so in cold Despair soon turn'd his Back,
Left his good Wife to make the next Attack.
But Rhadamant grown sierce, so vain excuse
Cou'd be 'gainst him and Hunger, of no use:
We join in Argument; what help, said I?
These Devils here of Dinner-time, defie,
By Nature fasting, we must eat or fly:
The Coachman sware, That he must eat, or dy.
In hungry Rage I conjure down the Host,
Of squeamish Fairies, raise my Landlord's Ghost,
Bespeak a Dinner; whilst they lay the Cloth,
I call for Wine, and lay great Bacchus wrath.
When Dinner came, in Courtesie we pray
Landlord and Landlady, who scarce obey;
Too full of bus'ness; busie with their Meat,
"That foul, but great Employment of the great!
Providing what to drink, and what to eat.
[Page 26]But came at last. My N'ost (hoping n'Offence)
T'enflame the Reckning: she with best pretence,
To wait upon the Dames in our Defence.
Of woolly Venison then came up a Loin:
Two Rabbets next: we'allay with cheering Wine
Bad Company: and plentifully dine.
We'd done, and Rhadamant began to call,
Dire Rhadamant, Determiner of all
Our Time, and Pastime, there was no Appeal,
When black Ambrosia had once sir'd his Zeal.
The Reckoning came, and Northern Madam read
A learned Lecture upon Beer and Bread,
Then on the Meat, saying, Indeed she could wish
A longer time to debate every Dish,
With the sharp Hostess: but that not allow'd
By Rhadamant, who call'd again aloud;
A short dispute how we shou'd pay, arose:
I offer all, but Madam too well knows
What Honour is; she presses, I obey:
Allow her half the Honour of the day.
Down stairs we come, take leave of Se'n-Oak-Town,
A little place, and of a small Renown,
[Page 27]Unless remember'd for the first Approach
Of Tunbridge-Fairies, who haunt every Coach,
There first; fair Dippers, who come fourteen Mile
To get a Promise, or a hopeful Smile,
Of any Lady, or of some fine Man,
To dip their Water for 'em, if they can.
These with Addresses we found at the door,
We answer'd them with Smiles then, and no more,
Leaving their farther Plea to th' Fountain's Head,
Their sweet Abode, there to be answered.
We all took Coach, when Rhadamant had spoke
Words of Command, and given the smart stroke;
Away we're hurried by two stout, swift Pair
Of excellent Horses, neighing through the Air;
And now we had some hopes that we might come,
At last beyond Hell, to Elysium.
The Road was gravelly, the Way was wide,
Enclos'd with Wood, and Pasture on each side;
Green Pastures here drest in their Flowers appear,
There Fields of Corn, as much as Ground can bear,
Commend the Soil, and prophesie the Year.
Beyond th' Inclosure, far as you can see,
Vast Woods, in looking wild, look pleasantly:
[Page 28]The Sun was chearful, and the Day was mild,
The Birds rejoyc'd, and the whole Country smil'd,
Welcoming of us all the way we went,
With pleasant Prospect, or with fragrant Scent;
Birds gave us wild, but sweet, Divertisement.
But Pleasure, like this World,'s too quickly gone,
Not till we lost it, known, or thought upon.
For on a suddain we to Tunbridge came,
For nothing memorable but the Fame
Of some few Bridges, whence it has that Name.
A low, a dirty, and ill-favour'd Town,
On which well-wishing Travellers might frown;
In Honour of the Country, wish it down.
Ill-favour'd Street, ill-favour'd Houses, Race
Of People, that might suit with such a Place:
Yet in this ugly Place, was one fair Wife,
One dainty Daughter, dress'd up to the Life.
No Coach past here, but Homage still was-paid
Or to fine Mistress, or to the fair Maid;
But that fair Day both Beauties were displai'd.
Fair Hostess, delicately dress'd, and fine,
(Far before Bear, or Bull, inviting Sign
To Ale; though no great Token of good Wine.)
[Page 29]First at the door; then made gentile Approach,
With th' Inn-Retinue, and attack'd the Coach.
Tapster on one hand, in Blue Apron fine,
And Lac'd Cravat, produc'd that, he call'd Wine.
Daughter remarkable for costly Face
To those who call there, and for costly Lace
She'd set it in; behind her Mother came,
But not at all behind her in her Fame.
The Mother march'd before: for both their sakes,
Went Gentlewoman-Sewer to her Cakes.
We look, We snap, but stay as little while
As wary Dogs do at the River Nile.
We call for Reckoning, find the low Expence
Reach'd not that Day unto the Seeing-Sence:
W'allow for Cakes and Ale, allow no more;
So left the Beauty-Treat upon the Score.
Wine we put by; "For where the Woman's sine,
"Where Tapster's Drawer, no Wise Man drinks Wine.
We pay, we go, stern Rhadamant gives Law
T' his nimble Horses with the Lash: they draw
Us quickly off from Tunbridge Remora.
We run the rugged Street, Rhadamant still
With Beauty sir'd, and Ale, whips up the Hill.
[Page 30]The Tunbridge Dames tormenting of his Breast,
Nor he, nor Horses now have any Rest.
The metled Coachman, metled Horses gain
Soon th' easie Hill, and run us to the Plain.
The Country opens, and a long, wild Heath
First entertains us there with purer Breath:
Then gives a Prospect, which with more Delight,
Pleases the Eye, than where it loses sight.
"Conducted to the farthest of its Sphere
"By Nature, Nature recreates it there,
"And treats it by the way too ev'ry where;
"Feasts it with Objects; ev'ry pleasant Green
"Which in the distant Woods and Fields are seen,
"So softly fill, so sweetly please the Eye,
"Sight does not, as in endless Prospect, dye,
"But satiates with the Variety.
Nearer the Way, upon the Mother-Ground
Of all choice Simples, Mother-Time is found,
Adorn'd with forty sorts of Flowers round;
A little farther shelter'd with the Green
And Shady Wood, some rarer Herbs are seen.
Wood-Sorrel, wholsome Betony, does grow,
"Which has more Vertues than Physicians know.
[Page 31]Forty sorts too, which the Old Woman well
Knows, we in gross discover by the Smell;
With many more a Solomon might name,
But not found in the Catalogue of Fame.
Just by the side of this so pleasant Way,
Some Pye-bald Houses stand, and strangely gay,
So differently colour'd, you would think
Each Pane of Wall there, were to sell you Drink.
As slight, as if built only for one Day,
Nor 'bove Three Months of Twelve can Men there stay
For Wind and Weather; five Rooms scarce one Hearth,
Of other Necessaries as great Dearth.
Sure the wise Founder hardly could suppose,
'Twould still be Summer there, when he built those
Fine Bowers for Houses, but hop'd he might make
A Twelve-month's Rent in Three; so save his Stake.
Here we alight, and of the Price enquire,
Having first view'd; but finding Week's Rent higher
Than Month's at London, we soon thence retire;
[Page 32]Leaving, as many had done, the dainty House,
For splendid Castle, to the Country Mouse:
We hasten thence, and not a hundred Yards,
But we see more; fair Houses still of Cards.
We view, and pass; each pretty Three-month's Seat,
Bound by Foundation to be Nine-months Cheat:
We praise 'em yet, and for most sine and fair
Dwellings commend 'em to the Birds of th' Air.
But Rhadamant, now come within the Smell
Of the good Ale, and the good Dames o'th' Well;
Hurries us down with such a furious speed,
He's Rhadamantine Galloper indeed.
Just as the Kite that hov'ring in the Air,
Falls, waving something; And then pitches fair,
Near the Outhouses of some scatter'd Town,
To snatch the Chicken for which he comes down.
So tow'ring Rhadamant whirles down the Hill,
Circling a little, and glorying in his Skill,
Pitches and stops, at last, near a fair Way,
And there exposes his two Birds of prey,
On a small Platt betwixt the Church and Well;
The fittest place for the Impure to dwell;
The fittest place for such Pure Dames to sell
Hypocrisie. —
[Page 33](Now only two; for th' Elder Lass was lent
By th' way for some Gentile Divertisement)
But two were here expos'd; they look about,
Soon find an old and ugly Hovel out.
Where a declining Lady of the Mode,
Th' Mode not declining yet, lodg'd near the Road.
A House it was, if yet a House; or Cave,
Or such a House, as Savages might have.
A place, that sometimes entertain'd some Men,
But was indeed but a foul Harpy's Den,
Where, all come in, none whole come out agen.
'Tis Death for Worth to come within the Door;
Repute, if 't once come there, 's ne'er heard of more.
Th' ignorant Traveller here unawares
Oft falls into th' inhospitable Snares.
Hither our Dames, by instinct led, wou'd go,
They enter, meet; at sight acquainted grow,
By' apparent Sympathy each other know.
Like Qualities appear in Eyes and Face;
Words jump with words. "Oh! what enchanting Grace
Has like to like? How sweetly art thou blest,
Villany, when thou jump'st too with Interest?
[Page 34]The Proverb holds not here, though Two, nay Three
Of the same Trade meet, yet they may agree.
So greatest Trades have taught, Rich Paul's Church Row,
Har'd Turn-stile, silken Pater Noster too;
Th' Exchanges both; who from that Practice grow:
All with Advantage, all together wooe
Next Man that comes. So here to fair Trepan
Fair Dames pretend. Catch she, that best catch can.
Thus settled are the excellentest Three
That could be join'd in a Sorority.
The once fam'd, and still useful Rhodothe,
Fond Megara, cunning Tisyphone.
The first was settled there, th' two last came in.
Rhodothe match for forty Lads had been,
Skilful in Sores of Love and Spots of Sin.
Dame that had sometimes amorous heats of Zeal,
In which some Scars of Fame she us'd to heal,
Would any Crime conceal for the distress'd,
Especially when 'twas her Interest.
Sometimes had Raptures, in which she wou'd tell
Abroad the dark Occurrences of Hell:
[Page 35]All and more than she knew: When Zeal and Wine
Had rais'd her Breast to Fury not Divine.
Dame, Age, and Ugliness, from Toyls of Love
Long since had eas'd: her Spirit now above
The Pleasure, not the trade, flown to the height
Of black Despair, Remorse had turn'd to Spight;
A Pillar of salt Malice: had such Touch
Of a dire Sect too, that she was so much,
And great in th' Eyes of many Reverend Dames,
She came to be Determiner of Fames.
What she thought fit to say, or what she wrote,
The rest wou'd very reverendly quote.
Her Life was such, she was in Calumny
Of undeniable Authority.
And judging others Faults still by her own,
She was in Sins to that Perfection grown,
She impos'd her own on any: she had none.
In short, this holy Momus Off-spring cou'd
Bespatter what, and where, and whom she wou'd.
These were the Three, but these Three were not all,
Poetick Fury here might Furies call.
[Page 36]In Hell w' have heard of some, but Tunbridge-Well
[...] now a greater Sisterhood than Hell.
Of metamorphos'd Virgins, who shreud Tash,
[...] Amours in vain come here to wash.
[...] need they all be now just by such Names
As we give these, known; they're known by their Fames.
And if not Furies all, yet all may be
True Harpies in our modern Poetry.
"A flutt'ring sort of Dames, trepanning Race,
"High-flying Women, that devour the place,
"Bespatter all the Banquets with Disgrace.
"Of, all Sorts these are, and some of every Sect,
"Some of the Reprobates, and some of the Elect,
"Which in Debauch speak all one Dialect.
All here in pleasant Principles agree,
Though not in sowre ones, of Divinity.
Nor Anabaptist, nor sowre Presbyter
E'er thinks true Flesh and Blood in Love can err.
Whether Church erre or not, they follow still
In Love, th' instinct of Nature and Free-will.
Though for true Speculation, and Right,
And Practice of our Pieties we sight.
[Page 37]Yet all Perswasions do too oft agree,
Here in the Practice of Impiety.
Ill Women of all sorts here hope to be
Mistress or Devil to 'every thing they see.
All Hunt, all Court, if any chance to fail
Of what all aim at, all by Nature rail.
If you're acquainted once, like those, you're gone,
Whom * Fairies snatch for being Companion.
And gone to such a Sister-hood, as well
New Poets think, out-strips the old one's Hell.
For all, that cruel Fate condemns to these,
Are plagu'd as much, and have as little ease.
Not only Tisyphon, each Sister makes
Her Tongue a Whip here, of a thousand Snakes.
And though none of these wear the bloody Coat,
These Tisyphons yet anger'd cut your throat.
Th' Acquaintance kills; which yet if you wou'd fly,
They'll shoot you flying, kill you with a Lye.
Such as from David's time, the wicked Darr.
To murder in the dark the Right in Heart.
[Page 38]Some base Reproach, so either way ye dy
By a Dilemma of Iniquity.
Thus these sweet Ladies pass the Summer here,
And do again at Winter grow as clear
As London Fires can make 'em; here well try'd,
But at return so Spiritually dy'd,
Under Protection of some holy Sect,
They turn again into the pure Elect;
To publick Shame, so private Interest
Makes Saint of Quean, too oft amongst the best.
But if they're happy whose Iniquity
Is not imputed, happy then is she
'Bove all the Tribe of downright sinful Lovers,
Whose blest Amours shew of Religion covers. —
Then Aesculape stood up, and with some wrath
Said, Horrid Journey, Acer, by my Troth.
But thou hadst some Diversion now and then,
And all has now well furnished thy Pen.
But that which pleas'd us most, thou didst so trace,
So claw those devilish Harpies of the Place,
They'll tumble now sure hence to Hell apace.
This pretty Paradise, O may'st thou free,
With thy Satyrick Ingenuity,
From this foul and foeminean Enemy.
[Page 39]Then Laelius spake—
Thou 'st shewn us, Acer, thy Satyrick Wit,
Something of Encomiastick too with it.
A Harpy here, alas! is not a Foe,
With all its Feathers, proof against thy Blow.
Though they car'd little for Aeneas Swords,
Anchises Prayers, yet they'll feel thy Words.
Harpies took this time, Wrong Sow by the Ear;
They'll tremble hereafter at a Poet here.
But yet that younger Lady of the Coach,
Acer, methinks deserves no great Reproach.
You promised but now to answer me
In her behalf. O let me Champion be,
In so delighful Cause. Most willingly,
Acer reply'd. After day or two's rest,
Now 'tis too late, and I'm with Sleep opprest.
All favour the Excuse, loth to delay
Acer's Repose, adjourn'd from Night to Day.
Third Day was set, but Aesculape desir'd,
Since Acer cruel Fortune had so tir'd,
With Contraries to Wit, and we so late
Had kept him up, repeating of his Fate;
That Curio'd first survey, and then reherse
That pleasant Wildness in well polish'd Verse.
[Page 40] Acer and Laelius not till the fourth Day
Shou'd have their Dialogue: The Witts obey.
Our Friends take leave, but merrily admire
The Cottage first, and Hostess, so retire.
By this time the good Dame with Ale reviv'd,
Something of a poor Lodging had contriv'd:
We all good Beds, and all clean Linen had,
Though all things poor, yet nothing that was bad:
Far'd as well as the Rich, with fewer things,
And in poor Beds slept better than great Kings.

THE Second Dialogue.
Tunbridge-Wells AND Place Described.

Metellus.
TWice since we came, we in this lit­tle place
Early had seen bright Phoebus chearing Face.
And now the Sun within the Cottage door,
Seen all the Morning long, shin'd there no more.
Near shady Trees the horned Cattle stood,
Beating off Flies, and chewing of the Cud,
Horses sought shelter in the Neighbouring Wood.
Sheep, holding down their Heads, together run,
Exposing their thick Fleeces to the Sun.
[Page 42]The pretty Birds in leavy Groves were hid,
Nor sing they now, as some hours since they did.
The old and younger Cocks begin to crow,
And that 'twas Noon let their old Mistress know.
When the good Dame yet looking at the Sun,
And seeing that the wonted space was run,
Which made the first half day, set on the Board
Such Meats as her poor Cottage cou'd afford.
We fed on Bacon, and on Coleworts well,
And drank in Maple, Ale that did excel,
Not Brewers mixture, but the drink of Tale,
Brisk Salutiferous Old Woman's Ale
Soon as we'd Din'd, Curio took up his Lute;
This said he, Acer, now the best will suit
With wearied minds, at this time of the day,
And walking 'bout the Room began to play.
He sung of Ebbing and of Flowing Seas,
And of that Power that does such things as these,
Whence Rivers come, and whence sweet Fountains flow,
And how their Origins we best may know;
Almost two hours, (nor did we think it long)
We'd sate attentive to the Learned Song.
[Page 43]When Aesculape and Laelius coming in
Began to tell us at what Treat they'd been.
The Heath-poult Critically they compare
With other Fowl, what Wheat-ear was, how rare,
They tell; and then commend the well-grown Fish,
Reading us Lectures upon every Dish,
Admire at last the Plate, in which they eat
And drank so splendidly, beyond the Meat:
When Curio excellently thus began;—
Curio.
"That Care, great Aesculape's scarce wor­thy Man;
"To be so great a Critick in good Meat,
"And with such Curiosity to eat.
"Prodigal Luxury! how dost thou waste
"The World in Dinners? At a Meal we taste
"The Sea and Air, nor are we yet content,
"Unless we see too half the Continent.
"O too ambitious hunger of the Great!
"Who thus wou'd treat us with the sight of Meat;
"Nature's desire, alas! is but to eat.
"With many mock'd, with much choak'd up, we die,
"Not for want of, but with Variety.
[Page 44]"Were Health or Nature ask'd, which wou'd accord
"To that vain-Glory of so splendid Board?
"The Sick are not reliev'd with so much Wine,
"Nor to be well, need we use Cups so fine.
"The Drink's no wholsomer in Gold, than Wood,
"And to the Thirsty the cold Stream's as good.
"Great Courts the Cottage but in this excel,
"That those eat more, but these eat oft'ner well.
"The great in their great Palaces have less,
"Than the poor Cottage has, of happiness.
Aescul.
These Stoick thoughts, said Aesculape, do well
Become thee, Curio, in this lowly Cell.
But that which we came hither now to see,
Is Landscape of this Place, and drawn by thee.
W'entreat thee therefore that thou would'st re­hearse,
And give us Yesterday's Survey in Verse.

The PLACE.

Curio.
SInce 'tis your pleasure, Wits, and you command,
'Twould be in me ill manners to withstand.
Not many hours I had enjoy'd of rest
In that sweet habitation of the blest,
Where Solitude and Poverty to those
Who there inhabit, give a sound repose.
But fresh Aurore dispos'd the World to light,
Phoebus arising, banish'd from our sight
The glimm'ring Moon, and every lesser light;
Forcing my Window, importun'd my Eyes,
With chearful beams, invited me to rise.
The Larks were up, already, mounted high,
And with their chearing Notes had fill'd the Sky.
The Sparrows chirp'd, the Thrush and Blackbird sung,
With Bird's sweet Musick all the Countrey rung.
Whilst Nature's soft Musicians sing and play
Thus round about me, without Fidlers pay,
More natural, less mere'enary than they;
[Page 46]I dress apace, not like the Men that woe;
But clap on Cloaths, as Men of business do.
Dress'd, I went forth, and took the path that brings
Me after a short walk unto the Springs.
I cross the wild, but sweet, and pleasant Heath;
And as I go, I quicken with the breath
Of Air, perfum'd with fresh and fragrant Earth
Something descending, till at last I came
Unto that little place of so great fame;
The Walks and Wells of Tunbridge, which both joyn,
Rude, till of late beginning to be fine.
Each way you come, some new built Houses stand,
You'd think some little City were at hand,
So plac'd, so pretty, that as you come down,
They look like Suburbs of some pleasant Town.
Taverns appear at first, with costly Signs,
And better token of good Town, good Wines.
Through these Preliminaries then you go
To th' Upper Walk, divided with a Row
Of shady Trees, from that which is below.
Trees, which since any, pity there's so few:
Pity we give not th' Healthy Soil its due.
Doubtless if till'd, place that as well might bear.
All sorts of Trees, as those few we see there.
[Page 47]For that Omission, Art makes this amends,
That this one Row of Trees both Walks defends
From Phoebus Beams, and something from the Rain,
Art, it seems, here does nothing too in vain.
The Upper-Walk's a rich and pleasant Street,
Gentile as any, more than any sweet:
Where pleasures of the Town and Country meet.
The Shops, like those of fam'd St. Germain's Fair
For Plate, for Sweet-Meats, but beyond for Air.
Nor in the choice of Ware wou'd be behind,
Might these such Chapmen here, as there are, find,
Beyond that, and th' Exchange, in pleasant shade,
Which always here by verdant Trees is made,
Far beyond both for Sights: The Buyer sees
City in Countrey, Cheapside among Trees.
Turn from the Shops, you see some pleasant Hill:
Turn back, green Trees, which Complement you still,
Bending their Heads, obliging you with shade;
To look into the Shops seem to perswade.
The Shops not only entertain with Toys,
But th' Buyer there good Company enjoys;
Some by a well-contriv'd and happy chance,
Fortune, by Raffling, does to Plate advance,
[Page 48]At no great Hazard; these buy Gifts to send,
Those sell to give: All time with pleasure spend.
Ah, were we so well govern'd in delights,
As most t' affect that place that most invites!
Amiable Tunbridge, how soon then might we
Make more than a St. Germain's Fair of thee.
Decaying Trades revive by coming down,
Abroad enjoy the pleasures of the Town.
'Midst of the Trees Apollo has a Quire,
Nor can we, Phoebus choose, but here admire.
'Mong all thy excellencies these soft Arts
Of thine, with which thou recreat'st our hearts,
Easest our Cares, that sick minds too here may,
Whilst well set Tunes thy skilful Musick play,
Chearfully pass the Morning of each Day.
Our Bodies, Crystal Springs would cleanse in vain,
To lit [...] purpose purifie the Brain,
Did not these Harmonies of Phoebus do
With them still some part of the wonder too.
Nor is the Gentle God in pleasure dear,
To those who do frequent his Pastimes here.
The smallest Sacrifice of half a Crown,
Offer'd by each at first, when they come down,
[Page 49]Propitiates that half year the skilful Quire,
Nor take they all that Summer other Hire.
But when these see bright Phoebus Rays decline,
And the gay Troop below no longer shine;
When Day grows short, when Birds and they descry
Approaching cold, these Nightingales too fly
To warmer Regions, there their Fortune try.
This pleasant Street is all the Morning long,
A great, gentile, and not unruly Throng;
A sober Multitude of ev'ry Sort
Except the Mean, who seldom there resort,
Epitome of Country, Camp, and Court;
Grave here till Noon, then go elsewhere to sport.
Dire Sects may here of grim Devotion talk,
Whilst Moderater-Men just by 'em walk.
Th' Enthusiastick with his Brain as full
Of Fury as Geneva Pulpit-Bull,
Yet here walks quiet, peaceable and dull.
Here the unfortunate of Loss complain,
Here rich Curmud geons plot t' encrease their Gain;
And here soft Lovers do each other chear,
Nor does Love find what can offend it here.
Best Independent Meeting; you may say,
Or sing, or read, or meditate, or pray.
[Page 50]Each as inspir'd; and thô you 'have not that Grace,
The Musick makes it yet a Heavenly Place.
The Underwalk runs parallel with this,
But something lower, and of lower Bliss;
Place Rural Gods did not intend to bless
With more, it seems, than Market-Happiness.
Design'd to be but Larder to the great
And nobler Walk; Fair Magazine of Meat.
O, were I Painter now, how well cou'd I
Describe this pretty Market to the Eye?
But Airy Language cannot shew so well,
Nor what's bought, nor how prettily they sell.
There is a Row of Trees that does divide
The Upper Walk and Lower: There the Pride
Of City stands: the Country here abide
In Walk, though Low, as pleasant and as plain
As th' other is, but sitter for the Swain.
Great numbers here of well-clad People stand,
Both Men and Women; none with empty hand;
Each brings you Dainties: Dainties you command,
At a low Price: when you have pleas'd your Eye,
With sight of Plenty' as easily you buy.
The nicest stomachs at no Market find
Of England, sooner Dainties to their Mind.
[Page 51]Wheat-Ears and Quails which every where are sought,
Here are the oftnest and the cheapest bought.
Heath-poult and Pheasant, ev'ry thing the Year
And Season can afford, they' afford you here.
The Lady, without wetting of her Shooe,
May chuse her Dinner, while her Gallants wooe.
Appears more lovely in the low Employ,
Whilst the' amorous Friend presents the welcome Toy:
The Tunbridge Bisket or the Country Cake
Which with great Care here cleanly Houswifes make
So well, That they with City Palates take.
Baskets of choicest Fruits the Gallants bear
To Ladies hence; fair Presents and not dear.
Excellence, such Gifts no where have, but here
The want of Garden is so well supply'd,
No Fruit is to the' Inhabitants deny'd.
The Market's Garden, where though none can sow,
None need to plant, none take the pains to mow.
All Crops all reap: All Fruits seem there to grow.
As fair as well-prun'd Trees this untill'd Field
The best of Fruits does without Gardiner yield.
[Page 52]Under the fragrant Leaves of yonder Trees
You ready gather'd find fresh Strawberries.
With Odoriferous Rasps, beneath that Tree
Shaded with Poplar Leaves you Cherries see,
As fresh as if they grew there, but more rare,
As if just grown, where none grow, they appear.
All Kent's the Garden, this fair place may be
Call'd with great Reason Kent's Epitome.
Kent all conspires to feed ye, the best Plum,
Best Pears they have, from their best Gardens come.
Women, not more ambitious to sell
Than to be seen, are all of 'em dress'd well,
In plain, but most becoming Country Clothes;
Plain Modesty, adorning more than those,
Sets of the Rural Nymphs, and makes 'em show
Beyond what City Art or Cost can do.
Beauty in Cities is disguis'd, but here
The Goddess does without her Masque appear.
* Hence, O hence learn, ye Beauties of the Court,
And, ye fair Citizens, who here resort,
At how much cheaper Rate you may be fine,
And how ye may restore those Looks Divine,
[Page 53]Which that great God, that made you, did bestow,
But now no vestige here of his can know.
Too vain those Arts are which teach thus to dress,
They do but make, what Nature gave you, less.
Ye hide in borrow'd Looks the noblest Part
Of God's best Work, disparaging his Art.
Can Women's Art great Nature's Skill out-do?
What, 'bove fair Nature, can in Woman wooe?
Pictures, not Beauties, ye aspire to be;
Men wou'd not th' Artificial Woman see,
But that which Nature fram'd, your self in you,
Nor can they be in Love, but with the true.
Nature forbids: Men naturally hate
All in Mankind that is Sophisticate.
Colour's not all the Beauty of the Face
That renders amiable our Humane Race.
Our Nature is with more Perfection seen
In the sweet Humour, and the taking Meen,
And sparkling Wit, live Features from within
Shining, than in an Artificial Skin.
O ye, that have such Gifts as those, disgrace
Not Nature thus by a Pigmalion Face.
[Page 54]True Love's not gain'd by Face which Art has made,
Nor can those artificial Looks perswade.
Affection's natural: whom ye abuse;
Nature it is that must True Love infuse;
Who' in this new Eden surely must have meant
Adam's lost Paradise to represent.
And if the World at first from Atomes came,
Why may n't these Atomes here too do the same
In this small World? —
By accidental Concourse, give us twice
The Happiness of earthly Paradise?
A Thought more probable, Lucrece, than thine,
Excellent Poet, but prophane Divine.
Here are the Rarities of that blest Place,
These look like Primitives of Humane Race;
Here's Adam's first Felicity, nay, more,
They' have something Adam had not heretofore:
No Mortal here, for Fruit he eats, is chid,
Or Meat; no Meat or Fruit is here forbid.
Better then, from this Concourse, Paradise
May, than the World cou'd, from small Atomes, rise.
[Page 55]Beyond this Walk, but on a lower Ground,
Butchers, scarce seen from hence, are to be found,
In little, but clean Shops, where they conceal
The sweetest Mutton, as good Beef, white Veal,
And Lamb, from Fly, and you; lest ere you eat,
Your Stomach dine, cloy'd with the sight of Meat.
'Soon as you come, the bloody Merchants smile,
And in their pleasant sanguinary Stile,
Tell of what Mutton they are there the Death,
That woolly Venison of their fragrant Heath,
Which, had it but its due, ought to be here
Preferr'd before the Wild and Fallow Deer.
In Rural Eloquence they' express as well
Savo'ry Perfections of their Beef and Veal.
But so accommodating this rough Trade
By sweet Place, and sweet Interest is made;
That for small Money, and some Amity,
To sit you, they'll divide one Joint in three.
Help with fair Words the Bargain: make an end
With smooth Prognostick how their Meat will spend.
On one side of this Walk, Fish always stand,
And not far off, on a dry Platt of Sand,
[Page 56]So fresh, they' offend no Nose; the Eye they please
To see on so dry Land such Fish as these.
All sorts are sold; all sorts of Men here buy:
All Appetites vote Uniformity.
With Popish Conscience godly Stomachs join,
As well as those, on Crab and Lobster, dine.
Though not so well affected to the Chair
Of Peter; yet in Appetite keep fair
With Brethren of the Trade; the Popish Meat
Protesting 'gainst the' Injunction, they may eat:
To' advance on good Considerations,
Not Peter's Inte'rest but the Nation's.
The Lobster, Oyster, and the Crab, we see
Good honest Heathens eat as well as we.
"But 'tis Religion that is nought with Fish;
"What need the day prescribe to us the Dish?
Now Superstition is all cast behind,
If we' eat but what, and when we have a mind.
Shell-fish created seems, for wary House,
By Nature wears its Cupboard 'gainst the Mouse.
Two or three days untouch'd, till Dame command,
Or have a mind, conveniently they stand;
Then are eat savingly, boyl'd to their hand.
[Page 57]These Fish, no wonder if the Godly spend
For publick Interest, and private end;
But superstitious
Haddock has Spots on either side, which are said, marks of St. Peter's Fingers, when he catch'd that Fish for the Tribute.
Haddock, which appear
With marks of Rome, St. Peter's Finger's here,
I wondred more to find amongst th' Elect,
And so Predestinated to the Sect.
Twice snatcht from us to feed the godly Man,
Whilst we poor wicked starve by the Trepan.
O superstitious Dainty, Peter's Fish,
How com'st thou here to make so godly Dish?
And yet such Fish as these can't safely dine
The Lady whom Religion does confine.
'Gainst Church and Fathers, if Physician join,
With Appetite, the plausibler Divine.
Behind this Market on a rising ground,
Under the Hill a pretty House I found,
Not finish'd yet, yet that did give us then,
Of what it wou'd be no small Specimen.
'Tis situated where the pleasant Vine
It self wou'd flourish; well design'd for Wine.
The House invited, and the Wine as much,
The Master more; I wish all Vintners such.
[Page 58]Merchant, with whom Friends and fine place pre­vail'd,
That here by' himself his Wine might be retail'd;
Gentile young Man, if Fortune deal as well
As Nature with him, born to give, not sell.
The Drawer pleas'd, but above all the Cook,
Skillful and pleasant by' Art and Nature, took.
Here I meet Friends; and here, though late, we dine,
And here we stew new Fish in good old Wine.
We well were treated both in Wine and Fare,
And in fair Reckonings, a great deal more rare.
Hence I cross'd back through th' Market, to the end
Of th' Upper Walk, thence to the Wells descend.
These, Acer, I familiarly rehearse,
This subject bearing not a higher Verse.
"Where th' Objects are unequal, lye so low,
No Fancy there to any height can go.
Acer reply'd.
It is the greatest Art
To humour th' Object: That makes Verse both smart
And elegant. Therefore with more delight
We've heard this Verse, than if 't had flown to height.
[Page 59]But now thou 'rt at the Wells, let fancy go
To higher strain, smooth like the Fountain flow.
We all of us shall think it worth our while,
To hear Wit with variety of Stile.
Curio.
Too much, O Friends, ye now expect from me,
That give me such a Task of Poetry.
Curio reply'd, at this time of the day;
But if you'll have it, and I must obey,
O, be thou then my Helicon, inspire,
Prodigious Fountain, thy steel'd streams have fire.
I' have drunk: the' inspiring draught compels to fly,
And th' force of this new Helicon to try.

The WELLS.

BEyond the pleasant Street, that shady Row
Of Greenest Trees, confronting Shops; below
That gloomy Walk, there is some sandy ground,
With Heath, and Rocks, and Hills encompass'd round.
[Page 60]Yet not too high, too horrid, nor too near,
But at a distance, as if with some fear,
And Reverence, Rocks stood admiring there.
In mid'st of Rocks, within that sandy space,
Fam'd Well, the ancient Mother of that place,
Nature has plac'd; from her at first the name
Of the small Village, and from her the Fame:
From her, th' Inhabitants and Houses came.
Had she of old done, what she now has wrought,
She wou'd by th' Ancients have been Goddess thought.
But with more truth the wise contemplate now
His Finger there, to whom all Mortals bow.
Angels of old, when God from Heaven sent
To Cure us, yet 'twas by this Element.
Though Cures were then by Angels to be wrought,
The Paralyticks to the Pool were brought.
With greater grandeur powerful God does here
In Nature, his great Substitute, appear,
Now in these Fountains, than by Angels there.
Nature, the Soul of the great World, we see
Demonstrating here the Divinity.
Whilst she supported by th' Almighty hand,
Works daily wonders by great God's Command.
[Page 61]And whether we admire her by the Name
Of Goddess, God, or Nature, 'tis the same.
We see Effects that can be none but his,
Adore great God in what great Nature is:
Who e'er thou art, that on us Men below,
Such Gifts as these art able to bestow,
In thee sure some Immortal Powe'r must live,
None but the' Omnipotent such Gifts can give;
Nature is but God's Representative.
Conceal'd, yet known; Invisible she sits,
Appearing to us but in Benefits:
By great Effects, as God is wont to do,
(For God in Nature appears greatly too.)
Here Goddess-like, though under Fountain's Name,
She does those Wonders which give Fountains Fame.
Plac'd with her Back to the wide Heath and Hills,
As 'if conscious that her Busi'nefs were our Ills,
She looks into the Walks, where splendid Throng
Of Patients do attend all Summer long.
These all the Morning from that pleasant Place
She daily does receive with open Face.
Wall'd in, whether for Beauty, or for State,
Or both, she always keeps an open Gate;
[Page 62]Thro' which she sees that Crowd of Patients walk;
And seems to hearken how the' afflicted talk;
When they declining groan, when they complain,
Hence she sends Water that revives again.
Twice twenty Nymphs still round about her stand,
Fair Country Maids, each with a Glass in hand,
Reaching her Bounty forth, give with good Grace.
Full Cups, bestow'd by th' Goddess of the Place.
Here sits her Power, and hence her Bounty flows,
And hence a Torrent of her Kindness goes,
Encreasing still, extending the small Flood,
As if ambitious to diffuse the Good
Through the dry Valley of that scorched Heath,
Prolongs Life there, and saves from cruel Death.
Cures something still, though not Men as at first,
Saves pining Cattle from the Plague of Thirst.
Something in Virtue at a distance less,
But Fountain every where ordain'd to bless.
Whether her Learned Doctours thought the fair
Fountain shou'd so have Benefit of Air,
Or Favourite of Heaven, it was fit
It shou'd have Way to' Heave'n, and Heav'en to it.
[Page 63]This Divine Fountain, though 'tis walled in,
Yet has no Covering: still by Heaven seen,
Still Heaven sees: beholds each glorious Star,
Of which it feels the Influence so far.
But, O ye Muses all, inspire me now,
That I the Bowels of the Earth may plow;
Too hard a Task for any Muse alone,
Requires more Powe'r than all the Nine dare own.
Too dark those Paths are, for a Muse to fly,
The Secret's scarce reach'd by Philosophy.
Whether they only Luminaries are,
That can produce a Miracle so rare,
Or, by a Powe'r Divine, some brighter Star
Does pierce so deep, and influence so far;
From the dark Caverns of Eternal Night
And Earth, this Spring comes first; but Face so bright,
Such Excellencies has, it can't but be
From something more than earthly Pedigree.
Our Common Mother, though she had a share
In the great Geniture, yet Birth so rare
Claims God or Star for Parent; here are two
Such Works as these, or God or Heave'n must do.
[Page 64]Whether that God that rules both Sea and Land,
From Seas first sent these Waves by his Command,
Or else by frequent Showres from above
Well purify'd they come; the Star of Love,
Great Governness of amiable things,
Some Powe'r must needs have on these lovely Springs.
By her sweet Conduct they so softly flow,
And by her Softness they delight us so.
Her Kindness leads 'em gently through the Ground,
Brings 'em to Mars his Steel, that makes 'em sound.
The powe'rful Luminaries both here join,
And in the Caverns of the Earth combine,
To influence the Salutife'rous Flood,
So great a Medi'cine, and so great a Good.
Mars with Coelestial Heat warms from above,
The lowly Wave receives Coelestial Love.
She gently steals it through the Parent's Veins,
Seeking the Light, and as it goes, it gains,
Imbibes the Tincture of the powe'rful Steel,
Sweet Waves and healthful, Mars and Venus feel.
By her they cool and moisten the hot Vein,
He with his Warmth enlivens them again.
[Page 65]The stubborn Steel affects the Water so,
The Waters temper that too as they go,
Till here at last both Luminaries bring
Out of the Earth this wonder-working Spring.
Ill-natur'd Earth! how cou'dst thou so long hide
Such Powe'rs as these? Was 't thine, or Nature's Pride?
Cou'd she, our Mistress, thou a Parent bee?
Not for so many Ages let us see
This Antidote of our Mortality?
Or was Nature afraid that we shou'd live
Beyond her Limits, therefore wou'd not give?
What-ever 'twas, ye both kept secret long;
Though you bless now, ye did past Ages wrong.
Nature of Secret surely was too shy,
For so great Mistress of Morality,
And of thee, Earth, thy Children sure deserv'd,
That that Life which thou gav'st, shou'd be pre­serv'd.
But thou, great God, that saw'st much more than we,
Know'st more than Earth or Nature cou'd foresee,
Reserv'd'st this Medi'cine, like good Wine, till last,
Saw'st no such need of it in Ages past.
[Page 66]Now is the Time Chalybeates shou'd be seen,
The World devolv'd is to an Age of Spleen,
Beyond that so long talkt of Iron Age,
A Time that brings forth such a rusty Rage,
As none of the known Medi'cines can asswage.
This saving Fountain surely comes at length
With Venus Beauty, and with Mars's Strength,
To cleanse and mollifie; from Heaven sent
Plenipotentiary of the' Omnipotent.
She with her Sweetness makes th' hard Potion please,
And gently softens the morose Disease.
He does his Strength 'gainst tough Diseases try,
Till with his tougher Steel he makes 'em fly.
Fountain impower'd by both's ordain'd to cure,
As far as Mortal Bodies can endure.
O might such Stars work on our Morals too,
And on our Minds yet greater Wonders do!
But metamorphos'd Mars, why is't that thou
From God of War turn'st here Physician now?
Whilst we turn Ploughs to Swords, here how comes all
The Steel thou mak'st to be so medi'cinal?
[Page 67]Wast thou to Mortals so severe of old,
That their Devotion was almost grown cold,
Now with more grateful, and more God-like Skill,
To please, thou sav'st more, than thou 'rt wont to kill?
Or is't, That Men grown worse than heretofore,
Need thy old Skill in Villany no more,
But Artists grown, can kill, can rob, can lye,
Without the help of Devi'l or Deity?
Or rather is 't, That we of late endure
Those Plagues of Mars, no Drugg, but Steel can cure;
Which Divine Providence now to asswage
Prepares, by thee, some Antidote for the' Age?
And with that Sword of thine that hurt before,
At last designs to cure a great deal more.
What-ever 'tis in Mixture so Divine,
Some greater Work, great God must sure design,
As much as the' Ancients, Aeson, said of thee,
This Fountain does, renews us bodily:
Like Ghosts at first we here the living meet,
Muffled in Cap, cloak'd in long Winding-sheet,
If yet alive, not like the living go,
As if they liv'd whe'er Nature wou'd or no.
[Page 68]Like Spi'rits they look; hollow, like Ghosts, they talk,
Amongst the living, just like dead Men, walk.
When on a suddain a strange Change is made,
They flourish all who did so lately fade.
As if the Fountain had a Power to call
Back from the dead, they who seem'd buried all
Walk and arise from living Funeral.
In all parts of the Body Omens are,
That Strength and Health now openly declare.
All Symptoms change, the late weak Pulse grows strong,
All Parts reviv'd give hopes of living long:
No sooner we imbibe the God-like Flood,
But Vitals all revive; corrupted Blood
Obstructed, which for want of passage stood
Stagnant almost, new Spirits now make good.
The Spleen is cleans'd, the Liver open'd so,
To reinforce all Parts the Blood does go:
Each Limb partakes, and now that Vigour comes,
To every Part, that every Part becomes:
Whole Man renew'd, seems to be born again,
In the New Man no Place has the old Pain.
[Page 69]The hard, incurable, and cruel Stone,
Which wou'd make Heart, as hard as it, bemoan
Man's Misery, here with the subt'lest Stroke,
Like that of Thunder, shatter'd is, and broke.
The rooted Griefs all Parts begin to leave,
All Parts their pristine Nimbleness receive.
You see the Countenance begin to clear,
The Hands are fresh, the Goddess Looks appear
In every Face; Ladies her Waters drink,
That they had drank her Beauty too, you'd think:
A fresh Complexion, and that greater Grace,
Brisk Chearfulness enlivens every Face.
Where Features are, it gives of Beauty more
Than Nature eve'n at Birth bestow'd before.
Not only cures, but it does too improve,
Repairs Love's Object, and encreases Love.
The Heart, that is so great a Fountain too
Of Life, this saving Fountain does out do.
From that, bare Life, and sickly; from this, we
Of Health and Life receive Security.
Not only cleansing; rather we shou'd call
This Water the Chalybeat Cordial.
Whilst Venus thus and Mars together bless,
All noisome Vapours both of 'em suppress
[Page 70]All Apoplectick Fumes. What can we dread,
When two such Luminaries clear the Head?
Other great Medi'cines cure, but each apart:
This the whole Man; the Liver, Head, the Heart,
And every Limb renews with God-like Art:
Relieves the almost stupified Brain,
Works off its Clouds, and gives it Life again.
Quickens with Spirits the quite-blunted Wit,
With new-enabled Fancy helpeth it.
Wit that before absconded, now 's not shye,
Shines in the Look, and sparkles through the Eye,
With quick Look shews restored Memory.
The Scholar struggling feels recover'd Brain,
Imbellish'd Fancy speaks strong Lines again,
Thinks freely of all Objects, fills with Sense,
And uses his old native Eloquence.
Choak'd Lungs respire, now first we feel, 'tis true,
That we [...] are alive: we feel our selves all new.
Our Souls in sickly Bodies tir'd so long,
Transinigrate here into the sound and strong.
As if with Lethe wash'd, no more they fret
At Sorrows past, but all their Pains forget.
Leaving the gloomy Shades then from the fair
Fountain, they go into the opener Air;
[Page 71]There dwell all day in green and pleasant Fields
(Such Places too this new Elysium yields)
At perfect Ease. In this sweet Place they walk,
In that they dance, by the Wood-side they talk,
Some excellent Poet yonder makes his Verse,
Another here takes pleasure to reherse;
The Wits that hear, admire; all Wits delight,
These hear with Pleasure, those with Pleasure write.
Here Friend meets his old Friend, the amo'rous Lad,
Fond Lover, finds his Mistress, and is glad.
Under that Oak contemplating we see
Some great Improver of Philosophy.
A little farther, by that Maple sits
Yet harder Student straining of his Wits;
Studying the Globe, the Elements and Plants;
And casting up what our short Knowledge wants.
Near these, great Heroes, of a higher Fate,
Settle in Solitude Affairs of State,
Having laid down the Burden of ill Health,
Now with Delight support the Commonwealth.
Free from that Throng of Clients, and alone,
Their Time and Health here first can call their own.
[Page 72] Atlas's of the Land, much better bear
The burden here, than if at Court they were.
Not far from these, but in more gloomy walk,
Grave Citizens, gravely delighted, talk
Of their own little Commonwealth at home,
How they to helm of Merchandise may come.
In all conditions each one to his mind
Does here the pleasure he affecteth find.
The Ladies round the pleasant Country fly,
As if they had kind of Ubiquity.
No pleasant place, but the gay Troop are there,
Daily they meet, and they meet every where.
The Musick follows 'em; as Angels do,
They carry Heaven about with 'em too;
At the appointed place they meet a train
Of Glorious Gallants ready on the plain,
And so well dress'd appear, Jewels and they
Out-smile the Meadows and vye with the day.
In graceful postures Men the Ladies meet,
In solemn dance advance their nimble feet,
To exact steps; with all the grace that can
On Earth belong to the Corporeal Man.
Some Banquet hard by these, one on the Lute
Plays a choice Tune, whilst all admire, all mute.
[Page 73]Some Lady with rare Voice a well-set Song
Sings to the Rest, and ravishes the Throng.
"A Heave'n on Earth; cou'd such small pastime sill
"Man's mighty mind; and cou'd it be so still.
Nor now dear bought, though precious time, be price
Once in a Year of such a Paradise.
Pity that every Winter shou'd deface
That which at Summer is so sweet a place.
Pity just pleasure shou'd no longer hold
Than Summers heat, and with the Year grow cold.
The sober Man might here at Winter be,
The Wit and Scholar wou'd be then more free.
The Air as well as Water does revive,
This makes us live, and that keeps us alive.
Nor cou'd God, that saves thus by Water 'have meant
T' assist us less with higher Element.
Great Earth, concern'd in both, by steel impowers
Water to Cure; the Air, with Herbs and Flowers.
The Soyl as fertile as can well be sweet,
As much invites us to dwell there, as meet.
The ground is warm, and it is shelter'd so,
That all things there, if 'twere manur'd, might grow.
[Page 74]Here choicest Flowe'rs, and there the pleasant Vine
The Soil wou'd yield us; though not rich, yet fine,
If once improv'd, this wholesome place wou'd be,
Rudeness adorn'd might rise to Rarity.
It wants but Soil, which Company would bring:
Had it but Subjects, it might please a King.
The pleasant Bottom, dry and sandy ground,
Lies shelter'd with small rocky Risings round.
Some steeper, some of easier Ascent:
Those, with the pleasant Soil to give, were meant,
These to facilitate Divertisement.
Tops of the Rocks are hardly to be seen,
But all with Heath are cover'd, or all Green.
Some distance off, all sorts of Trees there are,
Better so plac'd than if they nearer were,
By Nature's great Contrivance, not to hide
The pleasantness a Heath has in being wide.
The Heath, though on its Surface little grow,
For Use, yet it has Storehouses below,
By Nature fill'd: Materials of its own
To build a City; Iron, Steel, and Stone;
Too much Sand to be useless, there is hill'd,
And heap'd by Nature, all given us to build.
[Page 75]Take hence an Omen then: Nature's design
Sure must have been in time to make it fine.
Though now but scatter'd place, yet we may know
What 'tis to be, we see 'tis like to grow;
Already future Cities Embryo.
The pretty Walk, the Crowd, the splendid street
Of Shops above, the Market Folks that meet,
The frequent People, Gentry mixt-with Clown,
Makes up a something, something like a Town.
That 'tis no more built yet, to the sweet place
Can be no shame; to us is more disgrace,
Who hitherto to so benefick Spring
Have made no better Free-will-Offering.
Not all new Towns for Wealth, but some for Fame
Are built, or Health; some to preserve a Name.
Let these bright Springs some brighter name pre­serve
Than dirty Tunbridge; better they deserve.
For Health, the Miracles which here are done
By Air and Water, methinks should have won
The cur'd in Gratitude; the sick at least
Shou'd be convinc'd by their own Interest,
[Page 76]To finish these beginnings of a Town,
Which thus unbuilt bring such a concourse down.
These Fundamentals, London, with thee strive,
Already which keeps most of thine alive.
The place thus urges thee, where can thy Wealth
Be better spent, than where 't's repay'd with Health?
Of all thy Principals, (though here be least)
'Twoud pay yet the best sort of Interest.
From Vulture's flying the' Founder of great Rome
Conceiv'd first hopes of what was then to come.
The place was mark'd to 'Aeneas by white Swine,
A prosperous Colour, but no hopeful Sign.
Who wou'd have thought, that ruiner of ground
Shou'd show, where Gods still-standing Rome wou'd found?
We here have better, whiter Signs in sight,
The fairest prospect of a fair delight.
No rav'nous Vulture invites, nor Swinish wealth,
Nor brutish pleasure, but thou, candid Health:
And all those rural pastimes which agree
With Innocence and Ingenuity.
[Page 77]Nor does Heaven now its Will by Brutes declare,
Or flying Vultures: Elements here are
Both cause and Omens of our future bliss:
Air with the Water does prognostick this.
Earth too concurrs; Three of the Four agree
T' invite us with auspicious Augury.
The Springs that cause our Health, do Health fore tell,
The Air gives Hopes we may continue well.
The Earth, though no such fertile Crops it give,
Yet by its Barrenness helps us to live,
Perfumes and purifies the Air we breath,
The Soil, though barren, fragrant is beneath.
Where Nature three parts of her Fabrick draws
Into' one efficient conglobated Cause,
Of what her Wisdom here means to bestow,
Fore-shews the' Effects in Causes whence they flow.
From so great Omens, sure we may divine;
Predict Felicity from greatest Sign.
Our future Health, Experience does foretell:
Where oft we have been, we may still be, well;
We as great Omens of our Pleasure might
Take from what is, to what will be, Delight.
[Page 78]A Place where City' and Court divert as well
As any where; where Poet yet might dwell
On a Parnass; near as Divine a Well,
As Helicon; and in a Muse's Oell. —
Then Acer spake.
You 'have so with Wit improv'd this barren Ground,
The Town, which you there prophesie, you found:
With Fancy' embellish'd, and with Verse adorn'd,
For th' Muses sake it can no more be scorn'd.
What-e'er that Something be, thou 'st made it seem
Already something worthy of Esteem.
In Mens Opinion the small place will grow,
And soon come to be more than Embryo.
Nature's Example moves; the Muses wooe,
Fortune's oblig'd to be propitious too,
What may n't that Goddess, when so courted do?
Cities, at first, they say, from Poets came,
Why may n't this Helicon do here the same,
And thou raise Walls by raising of their Fame?
Metell.
[Page 79]
We all then thank him briefly, let him know
How much to him this Place and Fountain owe.
But Laelius, who was to have next Debate
With Acer, we entreated to Translate
Th' Fourth Book of Virgil first: then he shou'd be,
'Gainst Acer, Advocate for Liberty.

THE Third Dialogue. OF Translation.

Metell.
WE met again, when with Poetick Rage
Acer incens'd, exclaim'd against the Age;
Said some of our new Poets had of late
Set up a lazie Fashion to Translate.
Speak Authours how they please, and if they call
Stuff they make Paraphrase; that answers all.
Pedantick Verse; effeminately smooth,
Rack'd through all little Rules of Art to sooth.
The soft'ned Age industriously compile,
Maim Wit, and cripple Fancy all the while.
[Page 82]A Licence far beyond Poetick Use,
Not to Translate old Authours, but abuse
The Wit of Romans; and their lofty Sense
Degrade into new Poem made from thence,
Disguise old Rome in our New Eloquence.
Aesculape said he was of the same mind,
And thought it fit Wits shou'd be more confin'd
To Authour's Sense, and to their Periods too,
Must leave out nothing; every Sense must do.
And though they cannot render Verse for Verse,
Yet every Period's Sense they must reherse.
Then Curio spake.
O do not reprehend
Too sharply, Acer, Speak more like a Friend:
Time and Experience many Faults may mend.
Though Vertue' in Stoick, yet of modern Crimes
It is the worst to contradict the Times.
Aesculape then.
It cannot be amiss
That we, Metellus, yet inculcate this
To modish Laelius, that he do it so,
The Draught may Virgil more than Laelius show.
Metell.
[Page 83]
We all then bid translate it the old way,
Not A-la-mode, but like * George Sandys or May;
Shew Virgil's every Period: not steal Sense,
To make up a new-fashion'd Poem thence,
In our New Tongue, speak his old Eloquence.
Lael.
But Laelius bowing. Too much ye injoin,
O Friends, said he, to such a Wit as mine,
To render truly' in Verse, Verse so Divine.
The Roman speech for highest things design'd,
Can scarce be to our English Tongue confin'd;
No modern Language now-a-days can bear
So high a Sea as Virgil raises here:
The Spanish and Italian † shipwrack there.
Our most applauded * Poets, though they touch
Here with their Pencils, yet han't drawn us much:
And those who on this Book thought fit to spend
Some of their Pains, nor yet begin 't, nor end.
But since in something they have shewn the way,
And ye command, I'll venture to obey;
[Page 84]Hope to speak Virgil, and speak English too,
May not be more than 's possible to do.
But Wits, remember, 'his nobler Latin Clothes
He now puts off, ours wo'n't adorn like those.
Metell.
So he took leave; We left him to his pain
For fourteen Days, then all return again;
When Laelius with an answerable Meen,
Grief and Compassion, eminently seen
Both in his Looks, read his Deserted Queen.
Laelius reads the following Translation.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL In ENGLISH.
THE Deserted Queen.

The ARGUMENT.

Virgil in his first Book of Aeneids describes Aeneas his Voyage by Sea, from lost Troy to Carthage, and his Reception there; where, after a great Supper, Dido desiring him, he elegantly relates the Destruction of Troy, and then his Voyage from Troy to Carthage; which Relations are the Subject of Virgil' s Second and Third Book. The Queen, whilst he is telling his Sto­ry, falls in Love with him. That Love of Dido' s is the Subject of this Fourth Aeneid.

MEan while the Queen, inflam'd with great desire,
Full of Love-cares, burns with a secret Fire,
Fond of her wound, indulges the sweet pains:
The secret grief is nourish'd in her Veins.
His Countrey's worth, his looks and words bereave
Her of her Rest, and great Impression leave.
Soon as the Morning brake, and the light shin'd,
Thus to her Sister she disclos'd her mind.
O Sister! what sad Dreams have I? they fright
And keep me waking almost all the night.
What Hero's this we have? How he's been blest?
What meen he has? How 'invincible a Breast?
'Twixt him and Deities there's little Odds,
Truly 'I believe he's of the Race of Gods.
Base minds still shew some fear; How boldly he
(Toss'd with what Fates?) has broke through misery?
What Wars he tells?—
O had I not resolv'd to love no more,
Nor ever Hymen's Power to implore,
Bereav'd of my Sichaeus, that is dead;
Did I not hate all Thoughts of Marriage-Bed,
[Page 87]I might perhaps have yielded to this one,
This only fault, and one Love more might own.
Yet, Dearest Sister! I must needs confess
Since my Sichaeus dy'd, no object less
Than such a Hero cou'd e'er move my mind,
But now, again, Oh! my first Flames I find.
Yet may the Earth first swallow me; may 'I go
Struck with a Thunderbolt to shades below,
Before or Man, or any thing shou'd draw
Me, Modesty, to violate thy Law.
No, thou, whose Fortune first it was to have
My Love, shalt keep it, keep it in thy Grave.
Thus spake the Queen, nor at these words forbears,
To bath her Bosom with a showre of Tears.
Her Sister answer'd; Dearer than the light,
Whilst Venus Blessings do so much invite,
Sister, will you here solitary spend
Your Youth in sorrow thus to your lives end?
By such a Husband, and such hopes of Son,
As you have now, you shou'd methinks be won.
Alas! d' you think Ghosts of the buried care
What we do here, or what our Actions are?
Suppose you did not yield to some before
You cou'd not like, must you ne'er marry more?
[Page 88]Because Iarbas and such, did not take,
Therefore must you this Hero too forsake?
The Man you like deny? One so above
Those wild Barbarians, and oppose sweet Love?
'Pray think but where you are, and on what ground
Your City stands, and who your Realm surround?
On this side of you, the Getulians lye,
Unconquer'd Men; on that, you have hard by
The wild Numidians, who live most by Theft,
And Robberies. Yonder's a Land that's left,
Not habitable for the scorching heat;
Of Savage Beasts the formidable Seat.
A little farther the Barcaeans live,
A Warlike Nation; each of these may give
You trouble 'enough, but none will e'er relieve.
Nor have you cleared with Pigmalion yet
Old scores, who may pretend still to his debt,
And to Revenge.
Th' Immortal Gods and Juno must have meant
A match sure with us, when they wisely sent.
These Warlike Trojans to 'our unsetled state,
What cou'd they come for, but to urge our Fate?
And if such City now be rais'd by thee,
Sister, alone; how glorious will it be,
[Page 89]When Trojan Arms thou by this match shalt join,
And Trojan glory too unite with thine?
Go, pray the Gods to pardon you, and bless
Your good Intentions, then entreat your Guests
To stay a while yet, (there is reason enough)
Whilst Winds are boysterous, and whilst Seas are rough.
When she'd spoke thus, the Queen was in a flame,
Conceiv'd such hopes, sh' had little care of shame.
They go before the Images, obey
The Sister's Counsel, at the Altars pray.
To Ceres, Phoebus, and too Bacchus Sheep
They kill; and a great Holiday they keep
Unto the God of Liberty; but move
'Bove all the
Juno.
Goddess of all Marriage-Love
Beautiful Dido most devoutly stands
Before the Altar, with Cup in her hands
Of Wine, she pow'rs betwixt the white Cows Horns,
Then stately walking, she the place adorns,
Before the Images, and then she brings
And offers up some other costly things.
With the wise Augur greedily she pryes
Into the Intrails of the Beast that dies.
[Page 90]O, what to such Curiosity could move?
How vain, alas! is Augury in Love?
Ah, what can Temple, what can Image do;
Or Praye'rs, when Women are resolv'd to wooe?
When the soft Flames of Love in Heart are found
Within, inflaming of the hidden Wound:
Unhappy Dido smitten, burning so,
Like one that 's mad doth 'bout the City go,
Just as a Hind which Shepherd who has shot
Knows not h' has hit, nor kill'd upon the Spot;
Gall'd with the Dart, runs all about the Wood,
The Forest, Fields, where nothing does her good:
Sometimes near the known Paths, and sometimes wide,
Still with the deadly Arrow in her side:
So does the Queen; Sometimes upon the Walls
She walks the Heroe; suddenly she calls
Him down again, and all her Riches shows;
Abroad with him to see the City goes:
Begins to speak, but then breaks off again,
All things she does, but Love, she does with Pain.
The self-same Day a Banquet she will have,
There but to hear his great Exploits does crave;
[Page 91]She hears, and is transported with his Praise;
Hangs on his Lips, admiring all he says.
Soon as she sees he and his Friends are gone,
And the dark Night apace is coming on,
Musing she sits in the forsaken Room,
Pleas'd with the Thought, That he again may come;
Sits on the Bed, where they so lately were,
And wishes still the brave Aeneas there.
She hears him absent, and she sees him too:
(O what Perswasion won't Love bring us to?)
His little Son she to her Lap does take,
And hugs Ascanius for his Father's sake.
With the' Heroe quite tak'n up, no Work goes on,
All thought of finishing the City's gone;
No Towers rise, nor Bulwarks now of War:
Nor work they at the Haven there, nor are
The Youth c'er train'd now under strict Command:
The great Designs are all quite at a stand.
Which soon as Heaven's Queen had understood,
Saw Fame in Fury cou'd do little good,
All Sense of Honour, Reputation gone,
Venus at last then thus she fell upon.
Great Spoils indeed, a mighty lasting Name
You and your Son will get, and a great Fame;
[Page 92]If one poor miserable Woman is
Vanquish'd by the' Craft of two such Deities.
I well enough perceive what 'tis you fear,
How jealous you of me at Carthage are,
Of my Powe'r there. But what needs such Dispute?
Your Interest with mine, I hope, may sute.
Let's make a lasting Peace, and a Match too,
You 'have done all you can ever hope to doe.
Dio 's on fire; your Fury 'has pierc'd the Bone,
Come let us make then these two Nations one,
And jointly rule. Let Dido, if she's won
With all her Dowry, have your Trojan Son.
But Venus, well perceiving what she thought,
That so the' Italian Empire might be brought
To Carthage too, with great Aeneas Fate;
Reply'd thus: Who 'is so mad, as to debate
All this with you? Who, think you, wou'd con­tend
In War with Juno? Rather make an end.
Provided Fortune follow what you say;
And what you wou'd do, Jove will grant you may.
But who can tell whe'ther that dear Son of mine,
Jove does intend, shou'd with his, Tyrians join;
[Page 93]Whether those Nations Mixture he wou'd like,
Or give 'em leave a lasting League to strike.
You are his Queen, you best may know his Mind;
Begin, I'll second you. That I will find,
Juno reply'd. But that which for your Son,
And Dido is at present to be done,
How to contrive, but hearken, and I'll show.
Poor Dido with Aeneas means to go
To hunt to morrow: as soon as his Rays
Titan on the enlighten'd Earth displays.
Whilst they beset the Wood, and whilst the Court
Are all engag'd, and eager on their Sport,
I'll rain and hail, and cover all with Night,
With Thunder then the Company so fright,
I'll make 'em fly.
Then Dido and Aeneas both shall come
To the same Cave, I'll there give 'em their Doom,
And marry 'em, if I have your Consent.
But Venus quickly finding what she meant,
Smil'd at her Craft, but wou'd not yet dissent.
Soon as 'twas Day, the brisk Youth of the Court
All at the Gate were ready for the Sport.
[Page 94]With Toyles, Nets, Spears, and a great strength of Hound;
Massilian Horse too prancing on the Ground:
The Tyrian Nobles all attend the Queen,
Till she come forth. The' Horse at the Door is seen
In Gold and Purple, on which she 's to sit,
Trampling the Ground, and champing on the Bit.
The Queen comes forth with a great Train, at last,
In Tyrian Habit, which Embroidery grac'd.
Her Quiver Gold; Gold her fair Hair did hold,
The Button of her Vestment too was Gold.
The Trojans with their brisk Iulus go:
Aeneas above all Men you might know,
When he came up his Countrymen to join,
He in his Meen had so much of Divine.
Just as the God Apollo when he goes
From Lycia to Delos where all those
Cretes, Dryopes, and Agathyrsians sound
Aloud his Praise, appears his Forehead bound,
On Cynthus Hill, with Gold and nobler Bays,
Resplendent, glorious, and in all his Rays.
As he is seen, whilst all those Nations sing,
Whilst briskly walking, all his Arrows ring;
Just in such Splendour went the Trojan King.
[Page 95]But when the Hunters were got up the Hill,
Had beat the Woods; whilst they were beating still,
They saw first some wild Goats, ignoble Game,
Which skipping o'er the craggy Mountains came.
On the' other side came down a Herd of Deer;
Crossing the Plain, the dusty Staggs appear:
But young Ascanius in the Vale below
Sports, and the Mettle of his Horse to show,
Now these out-rides, and now those wou'd out-go.
Aspires to higher Sport, desires more
Than Hart, to' encounter Lyon or wild Boar.
When, the Clouds murmu'ring, a fierce Storm arose,
Heaven drowns with Rain, and Hails a Showre of Blows.
New Rivers rise from Top of eve'ry Hill;
Run down like Seas; The Vales begin to fill.
The Tyrians, Trojans, all to the' Tempest yield,
And fly half-drown'd or ston'd out of the Field.
Some to one Cottage, some to' another fly,
Stand under Trees; some in dark Caves do lye.
Whilst all disperse, all strive themselves to save,
Dido and Aeneas light on the same Cave.
[Page 96]The trembling Earth gave an unlucky Sign
To the' wicked Act, and though great Juno join,
The Air yet thunde'ring then might well be thought
(It light'ning too) ill Omen to the Fault;
The Mountain-Nymphs howl out loud as they can;
That Day all Dido's Misery began.
Honour and Fame prevail with her no more
To hide her Fault, as she had done before.
She calls it Marriage now, easily taught
By Love, alas, to colour so her Fault.
But Fame that suffers no such Fault to lye
Long hid, through Libya with the News does fly.
"Fame, far the swiftest Evil that we know,
"Going gets Strength, in stirring quickens so.
"Small first and fearful: then begins to try
"Her Strength in the' Air, and greater grows on high.
"She walks first upon Earth, then hides her Head
"Among the Clouds, as wide as Heaven spread.
"Offended with the Gods, the angry Earth,
"Gave to this monstrous Goddess first her Birth.
"Sister to Enceladus, Caeus, no less
"Than her huge Brothers, is the Gyantess.
[Page 97]"Fleetest of Foot above all mortal things,
"Her Mother made her; gave her nimblest Wings.
"A horrid Monster 'and huge; you may descry
"Under each Feather which she has, an Eye.
"As many Mouths she has, as many Ears,
"As many Tongues to tell the things she hears.
"By night she flies shrill through the Air, below
"As swiftly does, and always tatling, go.
"Sleeps not at all, she watching sits by day
"On noble Roofs, hears what the great ones say,
"Or on high Towers: and telling what is Right,
"Oftner what's Wrong, great Cities does affright.
"Gigling abroad, she all this did unfold,
"As well what was not, as what was she told.
"That great Aeneas, of the Trojan Race,
"Was come to Carthage; Dido did embrace
"Him as a Husband: That they both pretend
"The Winter all in Luxury to spend.
"So take'n up both with Love, the Queen here quite
"Neglects all Busi'ness; he his foreign Right.
"This Fame had spread where-ever Men resort;
"At last she came quite to Iarba's Court,
"Incens'd that King.
[Page 98]This high-born Prince was Son to mighty Jove,
And got on ravish'd Garamant his Love.
Within his Realm, he' a hundred Temples built,
And so much Blood of slaughter'd Beasts had spilt
Daily to the' Earth enriching it, it soak'd,
Daily to Jove his hundred Altars smoak'd.
He Temples deck'd, preserv'd the Sacred Fire,
And had done all his Father cou'd require.
Vext at the Rumour which ill Fame had brought,
And much inrag'd, thus he great Jove besought:
"O powe'rful King! whilst Mauritanian Lords
"Are feasting to thy Honour at their Boards;
"Dost thou see this? Whilst we adore thee thus,
"Dost thou look down no better upon us?
"Or do we only fansie that you reign,
"Father, and fear your Thunderbolts in vain?
"A rambling Woman some ill Fortune toss'd
"Upon our Shore; here at a little Cost
"She' has built a City: All their Lands to plow
"I gave. I gave 'em too their Laws, and now
"She scorns to marry such a Man as me,
"Her only Lord Aeneas is to be.
"That fond, lewd Paris with 'his unmanly Train
"And butter'd Hair, the Lady does obtain.
[Page 99]"Whilst we, like Fools, make all these Altars flame,
"And idly here adore an empty Name.
" Jupiter saw him, and had heard him pray,
Holding the Altar (so much Prayers sway)
He turn'd towa'rd Carthage, casting of his Eye
On the fond Lovers, call'd for Mercury;
And thus commands; "Make haste, my Son, and goe
"Call the' Western Wind, and slip to those be­low;
"The Trojan Chief that out of a Respect
"To Dido, all his Fortune does neglect,
"Speak to, with speed, from me; Tell him I see
"He's not the Man his Mother promis'd me.
"He was not at Troy's Siege twice sav'd for this,
"To aspire only to a Lover's Bliss.
"She told me, He would be a Man might sway
"The Italian Sceptre, and prepare the way
"To the' Empire of the World. He that does spring
"From Teucer, shou'd be born to no less thing.
"But if the Glory of such things as these
"Cannot prevail to draw him from his Ease:
[Page 100]"Nor Sense of Honour, nor Desire of Praise
"Can make him stir, nor's Thoughts 'bove Carthage raise;
"Though Latium he forget, had rather wooe;
"He shou'd not grudge his Son Ausonia too.
"What does he mean? With what Hopes can he stay
"Thus among Foes, and never look that way?
"Bids him set Sail; that's all; Mercury, see
"You quickly give him this Command from me.
As soon as Jupiter had spoke, he goes,
And takes his Wings, tyes on his Golden Shooes,
With which he us'd to fly ov'er Sea and Land,
In all his Rays, his Wand too in his Hand,
With which he does ev'en Hell it self controul,
Can call up, or can send down any Soul:
Can cause Sleep, or can hinder: those that lye
In too long Pangs, with this can help to dye:
Condense or dissipate the Clouds at ease;
Call and make use of any Wind he please.
Away he flies, and in his Flight the Top
Of Atlas sees, and there makes his first stop.
That Atlas, which here holds its Head so high,
It's thought to bear the Burden of the Sky.
[Page 101]This Mountain's clad in blackest Clouds: the Rain
And fiercest Winds beat its hard Sides in vain.
Tall Pine-Trees cover 'his Head; his Shoulders, Snow:
His Beard's all Ice, from his Chin Rivers flow.
When bright Cyllenius had made here some stay,
Down towa'rds the Sea, through the' Air he slides away.
Just as that Bird of Prey, which we oft see
Low for a Fish, near Rocks and Shallows flye:
Just so, a way to Libya, through the Winds
'Twixt Heave'n and Earth, the swift Cyllenius finds.
Soon as he came to Carthage there he found
Aeneas busie setting out of Ground
For Forts, and Towers which he meant to build,
And Town to be with both the Nations fill'd.
In Tyrian Mantle, which the Queen had sent,
Richly with Gold embroider'd the' Hero went.
His Sword was set with Jaspers, and inlaid
With finest Gold, to whom Cyllenius said:
"You're founding here, uxorious Man, a Town
"That wo'n't be yours, nor will be your Renown;
"Forget, mean while, your Business, and that place
"That is design'd for you, and for your Race.
[Page 102]"The King of Gods, that does with Smile or Frown
"Rule Heave'n and Earth, from Heaven sends me down:
"Bids bring you these Commands: bids you obey;
"What's your Design? Jove wou'd know why you stay
"At Libya thus, and do n't the Fates obey?
"If Glory cannot to great Actions move
"You for your own sake, at least let the love
"You bear Iulus not be wholly vain,
"Give your Son leave in Italy to reign.
"From that great Glory which the Gods design
"You and your Race, O hinder not your Line.
Which when Cyllenius had said, he quite
Vanished at those Words from mortal sight.
Aeneas at the Vision senseless struck,
His Hair stood up, his Voice fail'd, his Words stuck.
Now he'd be gone, now the sweet Place wou'd leave,
Him of vain Love the God's Commands bereave.
What can he do? He dares not tell the Queen:
Which way cou'd he begin? Or with what Meen?
[Page 103]His Mind divides, he thinks now this, now that,
But cannot yet resolve which way, nor what.
At last, whilst with these Doubts he had no Rest,
This Resolution seem'd to him the best.
He calls Sergestus, Cloanth, and some more,
And bids 'em get their Men unto the Shore,
Provide the Fleet, and there be ready all,
But keep all secret; till their Leader call.
Sometime before the thing cou'd take effect,
Before the Queen cou'd have cause to suspect,
To open 'it fairly, he'd try eve'ry way;
At softest times the softest things wou'd say.
Mean while the Trojans his Commands obey.
The Queen perceiving, That they meant to go,
(For who, alas! can cheat a Lover so?)
Suspecting more than she had Causeto fear,
And fearing eve'ry thing that she cou'd hear;
Like Woman frantick, runs about, and falls
Into worse Madness than at Bacchanals
A Thyas does.
At last Aeneas hasting to be gone,
She thus in highest Passion falls upon:
"And cou'd you think, perfidious Man, to hide
"So great a Wickedness? and wou'd you slide
[Page 104]"So silently too thus at last from me?
"Is all our Love so out of Memory?
"And sha' n't that Promise, that Right Hand of thine
"So firmly, as I thought, once join'd to mine,
"Shall no Remembrance of our dearest Love,
"Nor sha' n't your dying Dido neither move?
"Can't all this make you stay, till Winter's gone?
"And but till favourabler Spring come on?
"Cruellest Man! though you sought your own Land,
"Though ancient Troy in Splendour yet did stand,
"To' invite you home: yet who through so rough Seas
"Wou'd venture at Winter, with such Winds as these?
"Or is it me you fly? By these sad Tears,
"By that Right Hand of thine, by all my Fears,
"By' our Marriage, or if that Word speak too much,
"By those Beginnings of what shou'd be such,
"I beg, if ever I deserv'd of thee;
"If ever any thing did please in me,
"Pity my ruin'd House; be n't so unkind,
"If Prayers can prevail, put off that Mind.
[Page 105]"Me, for thy sake, Numidian Princes hate,
"For thee, with the' Libyans I am at Debate.
"I 'have lost the Tyrians Love only for thee,
"For thee alone I 'have lost my Modesty.
"O, and for thee I 'have lost my former Fame,
"That had as high as Heaven rais'd my Name.
"But since I can to no more now pretend
"Than friendly Names, and since I thus must end,
"To whom, Oh, dost thou leave thy dying Friend?
"O why do 'I stay? What till Pigmalion come
"Up to my Walls, and bring me my last Doom?
"Or till Iarbas Armies hither move,
"And take me to revenge his slighted Love?
"Hadst thou but left me any thing of thee,
"A Son to have reviv'd thy Memory,
"A young Aeneas playing in my Hall,
"That had been thine, and might me Mother call,
"A Child that had but something of thy Look,
"I had not been so totally forsook.
Though she spake thus, Aeneas, as 't behov'd
One, Jove had call'd, never so much as mov'd
His fixed Eyes. But when he had supprest
What in him lay, the Trouble of his Brest,
Briefly at last thus he himself exprest:
[Page 106]"I never shall deny, Queen, but to you
"From me, much you may reckon up is due;
"Nor shall I ever, whilst this Soul's the same,
"Whilst I'm my self, forget Eliza's Name.
"Thus much with Truth, I think may be reply'd,
"This Flight of mine I never meant to hide.
"(Do n't fansie it) or ever did pretend
"To Husband's Rites, or to be more than Friend.
"If I might lead my Life as I desire,
" Troy then would all, that I can do, require.
"Thither first I shou'd go, and there with Joy
"Repair the Ruines of my dearest Troy.
"But now Apollo, whom I must obey,
"And Lycian Lots direct another way,
"To Italy. That Place must be above
"All Places now, that Country I must love.
"If you, that by your Birth Phoenician are,
"Fair Carthage Towers cou'd invite so far;
"How can you think it much Trojans shou'd try
"Their Fortune, when thus call'd, in Italy?
"To wander alike to you and us is due;
"We may as well seek foreign Seats as you.
"Besides, the great Anchises every Night
"Sollicites this; does eve'ry Night affright.
[Page 107]"And then the Injury of my dear Son,
"The Wrong that to Ascanius wou'd be done;
"Who must not lose whatsoe'er those fatal Fields,
"And what the rich Hesperian Kingdom yields.
"And now Heave'ns Messenger with Jove's Com|"mand
"At last is come. I saw the' God enter, stand,
"Appear by day: the same Command he bears
"I heard it plain, I heard it with these Ears.
"Vex not thy self with such Complaints, nor me,
"I go to Italy unwillingly.
With great Averseness all this while the Queen
Had heard him speak, and shew'd it in her Meen.
Casting about this way, and that, at first,
Her earnest Eyes, at last enrag'd, she burst.
"No Goddess was thy Mother, thou 'art too base
"To be descended from the Dardan Race,
"Persidious Man: on Caucasus thou 'rt bred,
"And must have been by Milk of Tigers fed.
"Why shou'd I hide my Rage, and still reserve
"My self to Injuries I do n't deserve?
"Did he so much as sigh to see me weep?
"He all this while his Countenance cou'd keep.
[Page 108]"Did he ev'er offer but to shed a Tear?
"Or but to pity what was once so dear?
"O what shall I say first? Nor Juno can
"Nor Jupiter ev'er look upon this Man,
"With any Favour or Esteem agen,
" There is no Faith nor Honesty in Men.
"Cast on my Shore, a shipwrack'd Man, and poor,
"I yet receiv'd, and wou'd I'd done no more.
"Mad as I was, afraid to rule alone,
"I foolishly too plac'd him on my Throne,
"And made my self but Sharer of my own.
"I sav'd the Remnant of his Fleet from Wrack;
"From the' Jaws of Death I brought his Trojans back.
"O, I 'am enrag'd. By Apollo he must tell,
"And Lycian Lots now which way to do well.
"Now Mercury from the high Heave'ns must come,
"And from great Jupiter to bring his Doom.
"The Gods, it seems, concern themselves so much
"About us here. Are the' Cares of Heaven such?
"I must confess, I understand not well
"The things you say, nor ever will refell.
[Page 109]"Go, sail to Italy through the wide Seas,
"Seek Kingdoms that may please you more than these.
"I hope the Gods (if any thing they can)
"Will split upon the Rocks so vile a Man.
"Where, both by Gods and Men at last forsook,
"The Name of Dido thou shalt oft invoke.
"And when my Soul shall from these Limbs retire,
"I'll follow and pursue thee with dark Fire.
"When I 'am a Ghost, I'll eve'ry where appear,
"And thou shalt pay, Wretch, for thy Falseness dear,
'Whilst I below shall of thy Torments hear.
Whilst thus she speaks, nor whilst she speaks can bear
The raging Mixture of her angry Fear,
Her Life and Spirit fled: turning away
She left Aeneas thinking what to say,
And fainting fell.—
The swooning Queen the Ladies quickly led
To the' Marble-Room, and laid her on her Bod.
Aeneas, though he wish'd her all Relief,
And fain with Words would have appeas'd her Grief,
[Page 110]Though 'he deeply sigh'd, felt all the Pangs of Love,
Yet his great Mind the Gods alone can move.
Them he obeys, his Fleet again reviews.
Again the Seamens Courage he renews.
They bring, for haste, Oars with their Branches on,
And Oak half-wrought to work again upon.
With lofty Ships along the pleasant Shores
They gently slide, and stoutly ply their Oars.
You see the Trojans now come swarming down
Like Troops of Ants, from all sides of the Town.
As those small Creatures having in their Eye
The Cold of Winter, and its Scarcity,
The small black Troop goes through the dusty Field,
Bearing through little Paths what Seasons yield;
Some heavy loaded, some thrusting behind,
Some driving those which they more lazy find,
Some chiding others for the least delay:
So Trojans urge the Work in every way.
What thought'st thou, Dido, when from thy high Tower
Thou saw'st thus active all the Trojan Power?
How did'st thou sigh? How was thy Sight annoy'd?
Thy Shore to view, when it was thus employ'd.
[Page 111]How must that noise confus'd then needs displease
Of flying Mariners, and roaring Seas?
But wicked Love! what dost thou not compel
Us Mortals to?
Again she's forc'd to weep, again she'll try
What humble Prayers may do before she dye.
Again Love sways; and loth to dye in vain
She first tryes all the ways she can to gain.
"Sister, said she, you see what hast they make,
"How fast they sill the shore; how they betake
"Them to their Ships, their Sails already spread
"Their Ships are Crown'd; Had I had any dread,
"Or any thoughts that he'd have left my Bed,
"This greatest grief with which my Soul is torn,
"Foreseen perhaps I better might have born.
"But do this one thing now, dear Anne, for me
"To succour thy poor Sister's misery.
"This most persidious Man to thee was kind,
"And us'd to make thee privy to his mind;
"You best the times of speaking to him know.
"Go, Sister, once more speak to the proud Foe.
"I ne'er was thought, tell him, nor was of those
"Who 'against his Troy conspired with their Foes;
[Page 112]"Nor sent I Ships, nor any thing t' annoy
"The glorious Empire of that ancient Troy.
"Why won't he hear at least but what I say?
"And let me speak my grief while yet I may?
"Where does he run? Let him but one thing grant,
"For all my Love, for all I am to want,
"Expect a smoother flight, Winds too that may
"More than these seem to do, his Gods obey.
"I do not plead, alas, a Marriage-Vow,
"Or any Promise he's retracting now,
"Him of fair Latium I wou'd not deceive,
"Nor wou'd I have him such a Kingdom leave:
"I ask him but this pittiful relief,
"He'd give me time to mitigate my grief;
"Time but till my hard Fortune make me know,
"Since I must suffer, how t' endure my woe.
"Sister, 'tis all I ask, do this for me:
"I will not die without rewarding thee.
Thus begg'd the grieving Queen; her Sister goes
With as much feeling represents her woes.
But he's not to be mov'd with Womens tears,
Untractable, without Compassion hears:
The Fates oppose, and Jove had stop'd his Ears.
[Page 113]Just as those Winds which striving to confound
An ancient Oak well setled in the ground,
Wresting it this way 'and that, but strows his leaves,
With all that noise and force, whilst it still cleaves
Fast to the Rock, where its Roots as deep go
As its top's high into the Earth below.
Just so the Hero with such Speeches prest,
Though highest Passions violently wrest
This way and that, and shake his lofty Breast;
He weeps indeed, but weeps alas, in vain:
His resolutions still unmov'd remain.
Unhappy Dido hurryed with hard Fate
To her sad end, now grows quite desperate.
She shuns the light; to see the glorious Sky
Is tedious to her, she desires to dye.
Wonders confirm her thoughts; for whilst she stands
At th' incens'd Altar, th' offering in her hands
She seems to see grow black (wonder we shou'd
Scarce speak) the Wine turn'd into filthy blood.
This sight the Queen discovered to none,
Nor wou'd unto her dearest Sister own.
A Marble Chapel in the Palace stood,
Where she Sichaeus honour'd like a God:
[Page 114]Which she had drest with Cloaths of finest Wool,
With Boughs and Crowns: and 'twas of Garlands full.
Here she thought still she heard a dismal Noise,
And cou'd distinguish her first Husband's Voice,
Calling her to him. As soon as 'twas Night
The fatal Screech-Owl often did affright
From the House Top; Remembers then, of old,
This Fate to her by Wizards has been told:
And frights the more.
Aeneas terrifies her in short sleeps,
Sleeping, she sees him leave her, dreams she weeps.
Fansies she goes long Journies all alone,
And through long Desarts seeking of her own
Attendants lost.—
Just so mad Pentheus frighted sees two Suns,
Sees double Thebes: from Troops of Furies runs.
Just in such Case Orestes on the Stage
Frighted, amaz'd, and tortured with Rage,
From Mother arm'd with Torch and Serpents flees,
Revenging Furies watching of him sees.
At last with Fury sill'd, opprest with Grief,
And quite out of all Hope, of all Relief,
[Page 115]Resolves to dye, the Manner, Time, and Place,
By 'her self contrives: but with a chearful Face
Dissembling Hope, and cove'ring her Intent,
Her Sister not suspecting what she meant;
Rejoice, dear Ann, said she, perhaps I may
Have found at least a sure and the 'only way,
Which, or will bring me to my Love again,
Or else, at least, will ease me of my Pain.
By the' utmost Ocean, in the farthest Place,
That is inhabited by the' Moorish Race,
Where the Sun sets, where mighty Atlas bears
Upon his Shoulders both the Stars and Sphears;
A certain Priestess that came thence of late
Was brought to me, and told me all my Fate.
They say, she's that Massilian born and bred,
Who the' Dragon in the' Hesperian Temple fed
With Hone'y and Poppey: that the sacred Tree
Might by that Dragon so preserved be.
This Woman says, she can, when-ev'er she please,
Afflicted Minds from any Grief release.
All sorts of Wonders she is said to do,
As she can ease, so she can torture too,
Can stop a River's Course, turn Planets back,
And from below she fetches up the black
[Page 116]Nocturnal Ghosts. —
From Mountain's Top she can make Trees come down,
And the' Earth must groan, if she stamp on 't and frown.
But I call God to witness, Anne, and thee,
I use such Arts as these unwillingly.
Yet, Sister, go, and privately erect,
In the' Inner Court, a Pile: 'tis to be deck'd
With the Spoils o' the' Impious Man; his Arms, his Clothes
That hang above, bring down, lay upon those
What-ever else he left. Place that sad Bed
On Top of all, in which I perished.
For so the Priestess told me I must do,
Abolish with him all his Reliques too.
Here suddenly she stopp'd; her Face ov'er-spread
With Paleness, look'd as if already dead.
By' her Sister 'twas not all this while believ'd,
That Dido cou'd to so great Height have griev'd;
Or meant these Fune'ral Rites shou'd be her own,
Or cou'd have felt more Grief than she had shown,
When she her dear Sichaeus did bemoan.
[Page 117]Therefore obey'd. A mighty Pile, and high,
Within they raise, and open to the Sky,
Of Oak and Pine; the Queen adorn'd it round,
Had it with Wreaths of Cypress-Branches crown'd.
Resolved still upon that Pile to dye,
To have Aeneas in Effigie by.
When on the Pile she'd plac'd his Sword and Clothes,
She laid his Statue on the Bed, and those
Several Altars 'bout this Pile of Wood
For Sacrifices new erected stood.
At these the Magick Priestess, with loose Hair,
To every God begins to make her Prayer.
Vast Chaos she calls on, and Erebus,
Three hundred Names of Gods she thunders thus.
And triple Hecate's 'as many Names,
As she has for her Vertues different Fames.
Sprinkling black Drops suppos'd to come from Hell,
Resembling those of the Avernal Well.
Those poisonous Magick Herbs by Moon-light shone,
Which with the brazen Scythe are to be mown,
The' Excrescence on Colts Foreheads too they use,
And Love snatch'd from the Dam. —
The Queen her self before the Altar stands,
Holding a Piece of Leaven in her Hands,
[Page 118]With left Foot bare, and with the other shod,
Her Garments loose, to witness eve'ry God
She calls; and being now to dye, besought
All Powe'rs that cou'd be privy to her Thought,
If any 'have Care of ill-requited Love,
That they wou'd now revenge her for above.
"'Twas Night, the Time when humane Bodies take
"Their usual Rest, and nothing was awake.
"The Seas were quiet, and the Woods were still,
"And the Night-Stars were gone down half their Hill.
"Cattel lay quiet in the silent Field,
"All the fine Birds, all Fish the Waters yield,
"All Beasts the Forests feeds, all things we see
"In quiet Night from all their Labours free,
"Were casing of their Care. —
But miserable Dido's troubled Mind
Admits no Sleep, nor any Rest can find.
Her all this while, her dismal Thoughts affright,
Nor does she' injoy the Solaces of Night.
Her Cares increase, and Love renews its Toyl,
Her Breast begins with furious Rage to boyl.
Thus she torments her self. What shall I do?
Those I so oft refus'd shall I now wooe?
[Page 119]To wild Numidians, so oft scorn'd, go bow,
And court Barbarians for a Husband now?
Or leaving Kingdom, like a Captive go,
And basely follow my insulting Foe?
Men so ungrateful, when I heretofore
Befriended 'em: I'll trust such Men no more.
But though I cou'd to Trojans stoop so low,
Wou'd my own Tyrians ever let me go?
Wou'd Trojans carry me? Of all bereft?
A Person whom their Leader thus has left?
Ah! hast thou not sufficiently yet known
That falsest Race of base Laomedon?
What shall I do then? Fly with such as these
Triumphing Foes, alone through the vast Seas?
Or else my old Sidonians again,
Which I from home brought hither with such Pain,
Draw forth? Pursue? —
No, rather dye than hope for such Relief,
Thou hast deserv'd it, let Steel end thy Grief.
Ah! Sister, you betray'd me to all this,
Mov'd by my Tears help'd me to [...]o amiss.
Mad that I was, I might have still been free
As the poor dullest Brutes by Nature be;
[Page 120]And then I had been still until this time,
Without my Trouble, and without my Crime.
But Oh, I broke the Vow which I had made,
My dear Sichaeus, to thy sacred Shade.
With such Complaints as these tortu'ring her Brest
Continually, she never was at rest.
Mean while Aeneas, while the Queen thus weeps,
Shipt, and resolv'd to go, securely sleeps;
When once again a God from Heave'n was seen
By him asleep, in Shape he had been in
Not long before. —
He came like Mercury; his Colour, Hair,
His Voice and Limbs had a Mercurial Air;
Who spake to' him thus; "And canst thou, Goddess Son,
"So soundly sleep when so near be'ing undone?
"Art thou so foolish, as not yet to see
"In how great danger thou must quickly be?
"Do you not hear how fair a Wind you have?
"What have you more then of the Gods to crave?
"She 's plotting Mischief, what Crime wo' n't she try,
"What wo' n't she do, who is resolv'd to dye?
"Wo'n't you be gone whilst yet you safely may?
"If till to morrow Morning you delay,
[Page 121]"The Sea all cover'd with her Ships you'll see,
"And this Shore flame with Fire to ruine thee.
"O flee, or to your Sorrow you will find
" Nothing so' inconstant as a Woman's Mind.
Having thus spoke, he mingled with the Night;
Aeneas at the Vision in a Fright,
Starts from his sleep, prepares his Men for Flight.
Make haste, said he, all to your Places, Row,
Hoise all your Sails, Gods from above do show
We must cut Cables, and with speed be gone,
This is the Second Time we 'are call'd upon.
We come, O sacred God, we follow thee,
We chearfully obey who ev'er thou be.
O be propitious to the Trojan side,
And through all Dangers be thou still our Guide.
With that he drew, soon as he'd spoke the Word,
And cut the Cable with his glittering Sword.
The lusty Trojans all with one accord,
Fall to their Work, quickly put off from Shore,
The Sea with their tall Ships is cover'd o're,
They cleave the Deep, and make the Ocean roar.
But now Aurore leaving her Scarlet Bed,
New Light began upon the Earth to spread.
[Page 122]'Soon as the Queen perceived it was day,
Saw from her Towers the Trojans on their way,
Under full Sail: And when she saw no more
Of Trojan Fleet left on the Tyrian Shore;
Then she began to beat her comely Brest,
Tearing her Hair, Thus she her Grief exprest.
"And shall this Stranger, Jupiter, said she,
"Delude thus basely both my Realms and me?
"Sha' n't I pursue with Arms? With all the Town?
"With all my Ships? O let 'em all fall down.
"Go, bid 'em hasten, let 'em row apace,
"Carry Fire quickly, burn 'em in the Place.
"But where am I? What do I say? I 'am mad,
"Unhappy Dido, now thy Fortune 's bad.
"Then you shou'd have pursu'd, when first he came.
"When you gave Sceptres, when you lost your Fame,
"Is this his Faith? And is this all the Odds
"'Twixt other Men, and him that carries Gods
"About with him? —
"Is this he, who whilst Foes Troy burn and sack,
"Brought his old Father out upon his Back?
"Why cou'd not I that Body' of his have tore,
"And thrown his scatter'd Limbs about the Shore?
[Page 123]"Have slain his Trojans? Why did I not cut
"The Son in pieces, and the Father glut
"With the Boy drest? I shou'd have made him eat,
"His darling Son instead of dainty Meat.
"But the' Fight, perhaps, wou'd have been doubtful then;
"I that will dye, what shou'd I fear from Men?
"I shou'd have burnt the Fleet, and all on sire,
"My cruel Rage shou'd have gone one step higher.
"I shou'd have slain together Fathe'r and Son,
"Have thrown my self among 'em when I'd done.
"But you, O Phoebus, that with glorious Light
"Viewest the Earth, of all things hast a sight;
"You, Juno, privy to the Lover's Care,
"Judge of all Injuries that Spouses bear;
"Nocturnal Hecate', I invoke you all,
"Ye Furies too, revenge Eliza's Fall.
"Receive these Praye'rs of mine, apply your Power
"To do me Justice, in this fatal Hour.
"If this abominable Man must gain
"The Hav'en he seeks; and if Jove so ordain,
"Yet there let him be curs'd, be vex'd with Arms
"Of a bold Nation, and with all the Harms
[Page 124]"That War can bring. Let his Iulus be
"Torn from him; banished in Misery.
"Let him behold the lamentable Ends
"Of all his dear, and best deserving Friends.
"Let him beg help, and be deny'd; submit
"On base Conditions to what is not fit:
"And when he shall have ended thus his Strife,
"Let him enjoy neither his Throne, nor Life:
"But long before his Time unhappy dye,
"And on some Shore let him unburied lye.
"This, Gods, I beg; let me be understood,
"This my last Prayer I pour forth with my Blood.
"But you, O Tyrians, with that cursed Race
"Of Trojans, Friendship never more embrace.
"Hate still that Nation mortally you must,
"And with that Enmity oblige our Dust.
"'Twixt them and us, O, never let there be
"Or League, or any kind of Amity.
"May from our Bones some fierce Revenger rise,
"With Fire and Sword to' invest their Colonies.
"And whensoev'er it be, when we in length
"Of Time, hereafter shall have gotten strength,
[Page 125]"Our Shores, their Shores; our Fleets their Fleets oppose,
"And let our Sons be born each other's Foes.
This said, the Queen with Anguish look'd about,
As if her Soul had strugled to get out,
Thinking which way she now might get from light,
She hated so, and from all mortal sight;
She spoke to 'her Husbands Nurse, her own was dead,
( Barce they call'd her) thus she briefly said:
"Go, dearest Nurse, with all the hast you can,
"Fetch hither presently my Sister Anne.
"Go bid her sprinkle 'her self and come away,
"And bring the Sheep and Victims I'm to pay;
"And you, pray dress your self in such a Veil
"As fits this Service, in which we bewail
"My loss—
"I mean to sacrifice to Stygian Jove,
"As I've design'd, so put an end to Love;
"Burn the Dardanian where his Reliques lye,
"Here in Effigie that my love may dye.
So spake the Queen, but the good Nurse did go
Creeping and slowly as old Women do.
[Page 126] Dido mean while enflam'd with wild desire,
And with mad thoughts, her Face was all on sire.
Her colour came and went, resolv'd to dye,
Pale with the thought, does in a Fury fly
Up the high Pile. —
That fatal gift for no such use bequeath'd,
The Trojan's Sword there presently unsheath'd:
Then casting of her Eyes upon his Cloths,
And that known Bed; where they us'd to repose,
Pausing a while, cou'd not ev'en then forbear
To sacrisice to those dear spoils a Tear.
Throwing her self on the beloved Bed,
Kissing the Garments, these last words she said:
"Dear Reliques of my Love, whilst Fate thought sit,
"And whilst the Gods were pleas'd to suffer it,
"Let me here ease all Cares of what is past;
"Hore upon you breath forth my Soul at last.
"I've liv'd, finisht that course that Fortune gave;
"I shall go great enough into my Grave.
"My Husband I've reveng'd, and of my Foe
"My Brother, I have had just Vengeance too.
"I've built my City, I have rais'd a Wall,
"That is in no great likelyhood to fall.
[Page 127]"Happy, thrice happy, I might still have been,
"If Trojans never had my Kingdom seen.
These words when the unfortunate had said,
Then groveling with her Face upon the Bed,
"But must we dye too unreveng'd? said she,
"Yet let us dye, thus to the shades we'll flee.
"'Tis in this manner we delight to go,
"Thus, thus, we'll pass unto the Gods below.
"And let the cruel Trojan from the deep
"Behold this Funeral of mine, and weep.
"And let him too as long as he hath breath
"Bear with him these ill Omens of my Death.
'Soon as she'd spoke, the Attendants saw her fall,
With the Sword thrust quite through her, reeking all
With her warm Blood: she fell with her Arms spread,
And thus she lay upon the fatal Bed.
'Soon as they'd seen her fall, there went a cry
Through Palace, Town, as 'if all had been to dye.
The news so dismal was, all Carthage shook
As 'if Foes had entred, Carthage had been took.
Or just as if at taking of old Tyre,
The Town and Temples too had been on sire.
Her Sister heard it, half dead with the fright,
Breaks through the tumult (a most doleful sight.)
[Page 128]Beating her Breast, and tearing of her Face,
Gets quite at last unto the dismal place.
She calls her dying Sister by her name,
"Is it for this, Sister, said she, I came?
"Was it to get an opportunity
"You sent your Nurse so falsly then to me?
"Nought else, it seems, these Altars, Piles and Fires
"Were to obtain, but this worst of desires.
"What shall I first complain of? That I'm left?
"Or that I'm lost, or that I am bereft
"Of you, dear Sister? Why did you not make
"Me now Companion? Why don't I partake
"In this Fate too? Why was't not in my power
"By the same Sword to die too the same hour?
"Did I with my own hands this Pile erect?
"Did I invoke the Gods to this effect?
"That I might now be absent at the last,
"And not suspect the mischief till 'twas past?
"I've slain you, Sister, and my self withall:
"Our Peers, our People: I've been all your fall.
"O let me wash your Wound, Sister, your breath,
"If any 's left, receive too at your Death.
With such like words as these grieving, she past
The high Piles stairs, and being got up at last,
[Page 129]Her dying Sister, on her Arms she rests,
And sighing dryes her blood up with her Vest.
Dido mean while, to open strives, in vain
Her heavy Eyes; still swoons away again.
Thrice she lifts up her self, some little stay
Her Elbow gives, thrice again swoons away;
Seeks with her wandring Eyes bright Heaven's light,
Sighs when she finds it at th' ungrateful sight;
But powerful Juno pitying her long grief,
And too hard pangs, sent Iris t' her relief,
To loose those Bands of Life 'twixt Body and Soul,
From so great misery to ease the whole.
For since she fell by no just Laws of Fate,
But furious, did her Death anticipate,
Nor did deserve to die for any Crime,
Proserpina cou'd not before her time
Cut off her yellow Hair; nor cou'd condemn
Her Soul so hastily to be with them.
And therefore Iris with her ruddy Wings
All Colours which an adverse Sunshine brings,
Flies down, and standing on the dying head;
"This fatal Lock, as I am bid, she said,
"I bear to Dis, and so I set thee free,
"Confined Soul, from all thy misery
[Page 130]This said, she cut, with her right hand, her Hair,
And presently the Soul went into Air.
Metell.
We heard as if we all concern'd had been
In the sad Fate of the Deserted Queen.
But he had done, and hardly we forbear
To shed with great St. Austin here a tear.
Curio upbraided, thought no love could be
Heroick Love without Fidelity.
Acer thought Love whereever it was seen,
With falseness cou'd have little of Love's meen.
Laelius on Dido as on Spouse did look:
Wondred she cou'd by a 'Hero be forsook.
Aesculape thought of Hero 'twas ill done,
To leave a Queen, nay Mistress, when once won.
Metell that long had honour'd Virgill's Wit,
Thus much thought fit to say 'in defence of it.
"We all to Heav'n owe all: a call from thence
"To higher Love, might with a less dispense.
"The greatest Hero, and bravely enough, might leave
"Mistress at such a Call, and not deceive.
But Curio said, he much desir'd to show
How much worse now, without Call, Christians do
[Page 131]Thou shalt next meeting have thy just desire,
Metellus said. We 'have matter will require
Thy curious pains. —
We all were startled, and began to muse
What matter 'twas the learn'd Metell wou'd choose
When Acer said. Let's boldly attack the Age,
And with the times dispute Concubinage.
Strike not at Persons, said Metellus, then,
Only at Vice, for we our selves are Men.
And if thou dost, and exce'llent well, but that;
That is enough yet to be hooted at.
'Tis true, said Acer, Curio yet and I
Learn'd Aesculape and Laelius both defie
In this great Cause, if but Metell be by.
Metell.
Scorn Censures then: by Mortals be not aw'd:
More than Metell, all Heaven will applaud.
But you must here submit to hardest Fate,
Such as belongs to Vertue's Advocate.
You, Laelius, and, you, Aesculape, shall be,
Th' plausible Advocates of Liberty.
Metellus rose, and we all went away,
Resolv'd to meet on the appointed day.
FINIS.

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