What though her highness and her spouse,
In Antwerp[1] keep a frugal house,
Yet, not forgetful of a friend,
They'll soon enable thee to spend,90
If to Macartney[2] thou wilt toast,
And to his pious patron's ghost.
Now manfully thou'lt run a tilt
"On popes, for all the blood they've spilt,
For massacres, and racks, and flames,95
For lands enrich'd by crimson streams,
For inquisitions taught by Spain,
Of which the Christian world complain."
Dick, we agree — all's true thou'st said,
As that my Muse is yet a maid.100
But, if I may with freedom talk,
All this is foreign to thy walk:
Thy genius has perhaps a knack
At trudging in a beaten track,
But is for state affairs as fit105
As mine for politicks and wit.
Then let us both in time grow wise,
Nor higher than our talents rise;
To some snug cellar let's repair
From duns and debts, and drown our care;110
Now quaff of honest ale a quart,
Now venture at a pint of port;
With which inspir'd, we'll club each night
Some tender sonnet to indite,
And with Tom D'Urfey, Philips, Dennis,115
Immortalize our Dolls and Jennys.
- ↑ Where the duke of Marlborough then resided.
- ↑ General Macartney, who killed duke Hamilton.
HORACE,
