Earl of Rochester. 151

Which he admir’d, and prais’d at ev’ry Line;

At lad it was so sliarp, it mud be mine.

I vow’d I was no more a Wit than he,

Unpractis’d and unbless’d in Poetry :

A Song to Phillis I perhaps might make,

But never rhym’d but for my--Sake;

I envy’d no Man’s Fortune, nor his Fame,

Nor ever thought of a Revenge so tame.

He knew my Style, he swore; and ’twas in vainThus to deny the Issue of my Brain.

Choak’d with this Fiatt'ry, I no Answer make,

But silent, leave him to his dear Mistake.

Of a well-meaning Fool I’m most afraid,

Who sillily repeats what was well said.

But this was not the worst; when he came Home,

He afk’d, Are Sedley, Buckhurf, Saville, come ?

No, but there are above Half-wit and Huff,

Kickum, and Dinghoy. O ! his well enough,

They’re all brave Fellows, cries mine Host, let’s dine,I long to have my Belly full of Wine ;

They’ll Write and Fight, I dare assure you, O !They’re Men tarn Marti quam Mercuria.

I saw my Error ; but ’twas now too late,

No Means nor Hopes appear of a Retreat;

Well, we salute, and each Man takes his Seat.

Boy, (fays the Sot,) is my Wife ready yet ?

A Wife, (good Gods!) a Fop, and Bullies too !

For one poor Meal what must I undergo?

In comes my Lady strait; ihe had been fair,

Fit to give Love, and to prevent Despair;

But Age, Beauty’s incurable Di'case,

Had left her more Desire than Pow’r to please;

As Cocks will strike, altho’ their Spurs be gone,

She with her old blear Eyes to smite begun:

H 4 Tho’