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abaea you must strip Of all their sweets； for to supply her lip； And steal new fire from heav'n； for to repair Her unfledg'd scalp with Berenice's hair； Then seat her in Cassiopeia's chair。 As now you're in your coach： save you； bright sir； （O； spare your thanks） is not this finer far Then walk un…hided； when that every stone Has knock'd acquaintance with your ankle…bone？ When your wing'd papers； like the last dove； nere Return'd to quit you of your hope or fear； But left you to the mercy of your host And your days fare； a fortified toast。 How many battels； sung in epick strain； Would have procur'd your head thatch from the rain Not all the arms of Thebes and Troy would get One knife but to anatomize your meat； A funeral elegie； with a sad boon； Might make you （hei！） sip wine like maccaroon； But if perchance there did a riband come； Not the train…band so fierce with all its drum： Yet with your torch you homeward would retire； And heart'ly wish your bed your fun'ral pyre。 With what a fury have I known you feed Upon a contract and the hopes 't might speed！ Not the fair bride； impatient of delay； Doth wish like you the beauties of that day； Hotter than all the roasted cooks you sat To dresse the fricace of your alphabet； Which sometimes would be drawn dough anagrame； Sometimes acrostick parched in the flame； Then posies stew'd with sippets； mottos by： Of minced verse a miserable pye。 How many knots slip'd； ere you twist their name With th' old device； as both their heart's the same！ Whilst like to drills the feast in your false jaw You would transmit at leisure to your maw； Then after all your fooling； fat； and wine； Glutton'd at last； return at home to pine。 Tell me； O Sun； since first your beams did play To night； and did awake the sleeping day； Since first your steeds of light their race did start； Did you ere blush as now？ Oh thou； that art The common father to the base pissmire； As well as great Alcides； did the fire From thine owne altar which the gods adore； Kindle the souls of gnats and wasps before？ Who would delight in his chast eyes to see Dormise to strike at lights of poesie？ Faction and envy now are downright rage。 Once a five…knotted whip there was； the stage： The beadle and the executioner； To whip small errors； and the great ones tear； Now； as er'e Nimrod the first king； he writes： That's strongest； th' ablest deepest bites。 The muses weeping fly their hill； to see Their noblest sons of peace in mutinie。 Could there nought else this civil war compleat； But poets raging with poetic heat； Tearing themselves and th' endlesse wreath； as though Immortal they； their wrath should be so； too？ And doubly fir'd Apollo burns to see In silent Helicon a naumachie。 Parnassus hears these at his first alarms； Never till now Minerva was in arms。 O more then conqu'ror of the world； great Rome！ Thy heros did with gentleness or'e come Thy foes themselves； but one another first； Whilst envy stript alone was left； and burst。 The learn'd Decemviri； 'tis true； did strive； But to add flames to keep their fame alive； Whilst the eternal lawrel hung ith' air： Nor of these ten sons was there found one heir。 Like to the golden tripod； it did pass From this to this； till 't came to him； whose 'twas。 Caesar to Gallus trundled it； and he To Maro： Maro； Naso； unto thee？ Naso to his Tibullus flung the wreath； He to Catullus thus did bequeath。 This glorious circle； to another round； At last the temples of their god it bound。 I might believe at least； that each might have A quiet fame contented in his grave； Envy the living； not the dead； doth bite： For after death all men receave their right。 If it be sacriledge for to profane Their holy ashes； what is't then their flame？ He does that wrong unweeting or in ire； As if one should put out the vestal fire。 Let earths four quarters speak； and thou； Sun； bear Now witnesse for thy fellow…traveller。 I was ally'd； dear Uncle； unto thee In blood； but thou； alas； not unto me； Your vertues； pow'rs； and mine differ'd at best； As they whose springs you saw； the east and west。 Let me awhile be twisted in thy shine； And pay my due devotions at thy shrine。 Might learned Waynman rise； who went with thee In thy heav'ns work beside divinity； I should sit still； or mighty Falkland stand To justifie with breath his pow'rful hand； The glory； that doth circle your pale urn； Might hallow'd still and undefiled burn： But I forbear。 Flames； that are wildly thrown At sacred heads； curle back upon their own； Sleep； heavenly Sands； whilst what they do or write； Is to give God himself and you your right。 There is not in my mind one sullen fate Of old； but is concentred in our state： Vandall ore…runners； Goths in literature： Ploughmen that would Parnassus new…manure； Ringers of verse that all…in…chime； And toll the changes upon every rime。 A mercer now by th' yard does measure ore An ode； which was but by the foot before； Deals you an ell of epigram； and swears It is the strongest and the finest wears。 No wonder； if a drawer verses rack； If 'tis not his； 't may be the spir't of sack； Whilst the fair bar…maid stroaks the muses teat； For milk to make the posset up compleat。 Arise； thou rev'rend shade； great Johnson； rise！ Break through thy marble natural disguise！ Behold a mist of insects； whose meer breath Will melt thy hallow'd leaden house of death。 What was Crispinus； that you should defie The age for him？ He durst not look so high As your immortal rod； he still did stand Honour'd； and held his forehead to thy brand。 These scorpions； with which we have to do； Are fiends； not only small but deadly too。 Well mightst thou rive thy quill up to the back； And scrue thy lyre's grave chords； untill they crack。 For though once hell resented musick； these Divels will not； but are in worse disease。 How would thy masc'line spirit； father Ben； Sweat to behold basely deposed men； Justled from the prerog'tive of their bed； Whilst wives are per'wig'd with their husbands head？ Each snatches the male quill from his faint hand； And must both nobler write and understand； He to her fury the soft plume doth bow： O pen； nere truely justly slit till now！ Now as her self a poem she doth dresse。 And curls a line； as she would do a tresse； Powders a sonnet as she does her hair； Then prostitutes them both to publick aire。 Nor is 't enough； that they their faces blind With a false dye； but they must paint their mind； In meeter scold； and in scann'd order brawl； Yet there's one Sapho left may save them all。 But now let me recal my passion。 Oh！ （from a noble father； nobler son） You； that alone are the Clarissimi； And the whole gen'rous state of Venice be； It shall not be recorded Sanazar Shall boast inthron'd alone this new made star； You； whose correcting sweetnesse hath forbad Shame to the good； and glory to the bad； Whose honour hath ev'n into vertue tam'd These swarms； that now so angerly I nam'd。 Forgive what thus distemper'd I indite： For it is hard a SATYRE not to write。 Yet； as a virgin that heats all her blood At the first motion of bad understood； Then； at meer thought of fair chastity； Straight cools again the tempests of her sea： So when to you I my devotions raise； All wrath and storms do end in calm and praise。
Louis XI。 of France was the prince here intended。 See MERY TALES AND QUICKE ANSWERS； No。 23 （ed。 Hazlitt）。 I fear that if Lovelace had derived his knowledge of this incident rom the little work mentioned； he would have been still more sarcastic； for Louis； in the TALES AND QUICKE ANSWERS； is made to give； not 500 crowns for a turnip； but 1000 crowns for a radish。
Perhaps Lovelace is rather too severe on Sannazaro。 That writer is said to have occupied twenty years in the composition of his poem on the Birth of the Saviour； for which he probably did not receive a sixth part of the sum paid to him for his hexastic on Venice； and so he deserved this little windfal； which came out of the pocket of a Government rich enough to pay it ten times over。 See Corniano's VITA DI JACOPO SANNAZARO； prefixed to the edition of his ARCADIA； published at Milan in 1806。 Amongst the translations printed at the end of LUCASTA； and which it seems very likely were among the earliest poetical essays of Lovelace； is this very epigram of Sannazaro。 As in the case of THE ANT； I have little doubt that the satire was suggested by the translation。
The battle of Lepanto； in which Don John of Austria and the Venetians defeated the Turks； 1571。
The Turkish crescent。
Close； or shut up。
i。e。 write as a means of subsistence。
Unrefined。
Flay； excoriate。
Original reads ALL MARKS。
A hard toasted crust。
A fee or gratuity given to a poet on a mournful occasion； and made more liberal by the circumstances of affliction in which the donors are placed。
Generally； a mere coxcomb or dandy； but here the poet implies a man about town who is rich enough to indulge in fashionable luxuries。
The ribbon by which the star of an order of knighthood was attached to the breast of the fortunate recipient。 It sometimes