Short Poems

For art of memory, signs on Planets set,
Teach men themselves, and Planets to forget.
Are plac'd on Sigils, maladies to cure;
By monsters, Ague-like they'r frighted sure.
If 'tis in matter, in all metalls power.
If in the form, the scorpion may devour.
More wisely Theophrast did ╬£¤ë¤ü╬╣╬▒ write
On's Sigil; and for foolery it endite.

FOR DEAN SWIFT'S MONUMENT .

Say , to the Drapier's vast unbounded fame,
What added honours can the sculptor give?
None — 'tis a sanction from the Drapier's name
Must bid the sculptor and his marble live.

Who's both sequestred here of state and wit,
He in revenge to th' world would murder it;
Cries destiny, God Author makes of ill,
When by a cruel ignorance he doth kil.
Jure divino will this calling have;
Luke a Physician the prerogative gave;
Yet sure learn'd Bard , it will the contrary teach,
Not you Physitians, make Physitians preach.

Hic gliscit ars . Art may in vain intend,
Her nervs for knowledge, Glisson not her friend.
Knowledge enervate did and strengthlesse lye,
Til Glisson use did to the nerves supply.
The spirit more refin'd may now in vain,
Knowledge ith' circle, not progresse, complain:
Harvy , and Glisson , will force all confesse
Knowledge by circling, now's in the progresse.

FOR A CERTAIN LADY .

T O an old dotard's wretched arms betray'd,
The wife (miscall'd) is but a widow'd maid.
Young, and impatient at her wayward lot,
If the dull rules of duty are forgot,
Whatever ills from her defection rise,
The parent's guilty who compell'd the ties.

Pure Water, the emblem of Life,
Has been chosen and blest from above:
Pure Woman, the maid and the wife,
Is the source and the fountain of Love:
Pure thought, in the depths of the mind,
Rises cool and refreshing and clear.
May you have all these blessings combined!
One, at least, is awaiting you here.

A T last kind death has plac'd thy bones
With thy own precious worms and stones!

ON THE SEXTON WHO RUNG HIS own KNELL .

Let no rude profligate dare laugh
At th' head-piece of this epitaph;
'Tis true — — for as old John-a-Nokes
Peal'd out the bell with solemn strokes,
It fell, — (no hand was by to save!)
Announc'd his death, and form'd his grave.

In Venice once they lived and loved —
Fair women with their red-gold hair —
Their twinkling feet to music moved,
In Venice where they lived and loved,
And all Philosophy disproved,
While hope was young and life was fair,
In Venice where they lived and loved.

As a cloud, O Lord, let me float!
Over the village let me go
And into the village, like fine rain
Let me fall, far below
How my child is dressed I fain would see;
She sits in the Orphan's seat, I know;
But she's robed as a lady of high degree!