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Show 46 <P 0 E M S. But as that Beauty were as truly fweet, Were there no Tongue to praife, no Eye to fee't j And 'tis the Privilege of a native Spark, T o fhed a conftant Splendor in the dark : So Honour is its o w n Reward and End, And fatisfied within, cannot defcend T o beg the fuffrage of a vulgar Tongue, Which by commending Virtue doth it wrong. It is the Charter of a noble Action, That the performance giveth fatisfaction. Other things are below't 5 for from a Clown Would any Conquerour receive his Crown ? 'Tis reftlefs Cowardice to be a drudge T o an uncertain and unworthy Judge. So the Cameleon, who lives on Air, Is of all Creatures moft inclind to fear. But peaceable reflections on the Mind, Will in a filent fhade Contentment find. Honour keeps Court at home, and doth not fear T o be condemn'd abroad, if quitted there. While I have this retreat, 'tis not the noife O f flander, though believ'd, can wrong m y Joyes. There is advantage in't: for Gold uncoin'd Had been unufeful, not with Glory fhin'd : This ftamp'd m y Innocency in the Ore, Which was as much, but not fo bright, before. Till an Alembic}^ wakes and outward draws, The ftrength of Sweets lies fleeping in their Caufe : So this gave m e an opportunity T o feed upon m y own Integrity. And though their Judgment I muft ftill difclaim, W h o can nor give nor take away a fame : Yet I'll appeal unto the knowing few, W h o dare be juft, and rip m y heart to you. T 0 E M S. 47 \ To AntenOr, o^kt Paper of mine which J. J. threatens to publifo to prejudice him. M U f t then m y Crimes beeorhe thy fcandal too > W h y , fure the Devil hath not much to do. The weaknefs of the other Charge is clear, ft W h e n fuch a trifle muft bring up the Rear* But this is mad defign, for w h o before J Loft his repute upon anothers fcore ? M y Love and Life I muft confefs are thine, But not m y Errours, they are only mine. And if m y Faults muft be for thine allow'd, It will be hard to diflipate the Cloud : For Eves Rebellion did not Adam blaft, tin till himfelf forbidden Fruit did tafte. 'Tis poffible this Magazine of Hell (Whofe name would turn a verfe into a ipell, Whofe mifchief is congenial to his life) M a y yet enjoy an honourable Wife. Nor let his ill be reckoned as her blame, Nor yet m y Follies blaft Antenor s name. But if thofe lines a Puftifhment could call Lafting and great as this dark Lanthorn's gall 5 Alone I'd court the Torments with content, T o teftifie that thou art innocent. So if m y Ink through malice prov'd a ftain, M y Bloud fhould juftly wafh it off again. But fince that Mint of flander could invent T o make fo dull a R y m e his Iriftrurrient, I et Verfe revenge the cjuarrel. But he's worfe Than wifhes, and below a Poet's curfe \ And more then this W i t knows not how to give, Let him be ftill himfelf, and let him live. Rofania . |