Samuel Garth

“ All eager to unviel the Face of War.
Their Chiefs lace on their Helms, and take the Field,
And to their trusty Squires resign their Shield:
To paint each Knight, their Ardour and Alarms,
Wou'd ask the Muse that sung the Frogs in Arms.
And now the Signal summons to the Fray;
Mock Falchions flash, and paltry Ensigns play.
Their Patron God his silver Bow-string twangs;
Tough Harness ruthless, and bold Armour clangs
The piercing Causticks ply their spightful Pow'r;
Emeticks ranch, and keen Catharticks scour.
The deadly Drugs in double Doses fly ”

“ What Fool for noysie Feuds large Fees wou'd leave?
Ten Harvests more wou'd all I wish for give.
True Man, reply'd the Elf; by Choice diseas'd,
Ever contriving Pain, and never pleas'd.
A present Good they slight, an absent chuse,
And what they have, for what they have not, lose.
False Prospects all their true Delights destroy,
Resolv'd to want, yet lab'ring to enjoy.
In restless Hurries thoughtlessly they live,
At Substance oft unmov'd, for Shadows grieve.
Children at Toys, as Men at Titles aim ”

“ Let Quinsies throttle, and the Quartan shake,
Or Dropsies drown, and Gout and Colicks rack;
Let Sword and Pestilence lay waste, whilst we
Wage bloodless Wars, and fight in Theory.
Who wants not Merit needs not arm for Fame ”

“ His motly Mail scarce cou'd the Heroe bear,
Haranguing thus the Tribunes of the War.
Fam'd Chiefs,
For present Triumphs born, design'd for more,
Your Virtue I admire, your Valour more.
If Battel be resolv'd. you'll find this Hand
Can deal out Destiny, and Fate command.
Our Foes in Throngs shall hide the Crimson Plain,
And their Apollo interpose in vain.
Tho' Gods themselves engage, a [6] Diamed
With Ease cou'd show a Deity can bleed.
But War's rough Trade shou'd be by Fools profest,
The truest Rubbish fills a Trench the best. ”

“ Stentor undaunted still, with noble Rage
Sprung thro' the Battel, Querpo to engage.
Fierce was the Onset, the Dispute was great,
Both cou'd not vanquish, Neither would retreat;
Each Combatant his Adversary mauls.
With batter'd Bed-pans, and stav'd Urinals.
On Stentor's Crest the useful Chrystal breaks,
And Tears of Amber gutter'd down his Cheeks.
But whilst the Champion, as late Rumours tell,
Design'd a sure decisive Stroke, he fell:
And as the Victor hov'ring o'er him stood,
With Arms extended, thus the Suppliant su'd.
When Honour's lost 'tis a Relief to die ”

“ That shakes your Soul, and troubles your Repose.
Mistakes in Practice scarce cou'd give you Pain,
Too well you know the Dead will ne'er complain.
What Looks discover, said the Homicide,
Wou'd be a fruitless Industry to hide. ”

“ Alike their Features, and alike their Flame.
As simpling ne'er fair Tweed each sung by turn,
The list'ning River wou'd neglect his Urn.
Those Lives they fail'd to rescue by their Skill,
Their [8] Muse cou'd make immortal with her Quill. ”