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In pain and anguish Night and Day,
I faint, and melt away :
In vain against my Grief I strive,

My Entertainment now is crying,
And all the fence I have of being alive,

Is that I feel my self a dying.

A Description of Fortune.

By the Duke of Buckingham. Ortuné made up of Toys, and Impudence, F That common Jade that has not com

mon Sense, But fond of Business, infolently dares Pretend to Rule, yet Spoils the World's Affairs: She's fluttering up and down, her Favour

throws On the next met, not minding what she does, Nor why, nor whom she belps, nor Merit

knows Sometimes she smiles, then like a Fury raves, And feldom truly loves but Fools and Knaves. Let her love whom she will,I scorn to woo her, While she stays with me, I'll be civil to her

3 But if she offers once to move her Wings, Ill fling her back all her vain gewgaw things; And armed with Vertue, will more glorious

stand, Than if the Bitch still bent at my Command. I'll marry Honesty tho'ne'er so Poor ; Rather than follow such a dull blind Whore.


Ypon Felton, that was hang'd in Chains for the Murder of the Duke of Buckingham, in the Reign of King Charles I.

By the Duke of Buckingham.

Ere uninterr'd suspends, tho' not to save,

Friends th’Expences of a Grave, Felton's dead Earth, which to the Worldwill be, Its one sad Monument;

his Elogy, As large as Fame, which whether Bad or Good I say not, by himself 'twas wrote in Blood; For which his Body is intomb'd in Air, Arch'd o'er with Heaven, set with a thousand

fair And glorious Stars a noble Sepulcher, Which Time it self can't ruinate, and where Th'impartial Worm (that is not brib'd to spare Princes corrupt in Marble) cannot share His Flesh, which oft the charitable Skies Imbalm with Tears, daining those Obsequies, So long to Men shall last, "till pitying Fowl Contend to'reach his Body to his soul. A Confolatory Epiftle to Captain Julian

the Muses News-Monger in his Confinement.

By the Duke of Buckingham. EarFriend, whenthosewelove are in distress Kind Verse maycomfort, tho‘it can't redress


Nor can I think such Zeal you'll discommend,
Since Poetry has been so much your Friend:
Onthat thou'st liv’dand flourish'dall thy Time;
Nay more, maintain'd a Family by Rhime;
And that's a Mark that Dryden ne'er could hit.
He lives upon his Penfion, not his Wit:
E'engentleGeorge(flux’dboth intongue&purse)
Shunning One Snare, yet fell into a worse.
A Man may be reliev'd once in his Life,
But who can be reliev'd that has a Wife?
Otway can hardly Guts from Gaol preserve,
And, tho' he's very fat, he's like to starve:
And Sing.fong Durfey (plac'd beneath abuses)
Lives by his Impudence, and not the Muses:
Poor Crown too has his third days mix'd with

He lives so ill, he hardly lives at all.
Shadwell and Settle both with Rhimes are

fraught, But can't between 'em muster up a Groat: Nay, Lee in Bethlem now sees better Days, Than when applauded for his bombast Plays; Heknows noCare,norfeelssharpWant nomore, And that is what he ne'er could fay before: Thus while our Bards are familh'd by their Wit, Thou who hast none at all, yet thriv'st by it. Were't possible that Wit could turn a Penny, Poets might then grow rich as well as any : For 'tis not Wit to have a great Estate, The blind Effect of Fortune and of Fate: Since oft we see a Coxcomb dull and vain, Brim-full of Cash, yet empty in his Brain:


Nor is it Wit that makes the Lawyer prize
His dagled Gown: it's Knavery in Disguise:
Nor is it Wit that makes the Tradesman great,
'Tis the Compendious Art to Lye and Cheat.
The base Strumpet still may rant and rail,
'Tis not her Wit she lives by, but her Tail:
Nor is it Wit that drills the Statesman on
To waste the Sweets of Life, so quickly gone:
For 'tis not Wit that brings a Man to hanging,
That goes no farther than a barmless

banging. How justly then dost thou our Praise deserve, That got'lt thy Bread where all Men else did

starve? But whats more strange, the Miracle was

wrought Byone that ha'nt the leaft pretence to Thought: And he that had no meaning to do Wrong, Can't suffer sure, for his no meaning, long. And that's the Confolation that I bring ; Thou art too Dull, to think a treach'rous

thing, The thoughtfulTraytor'tis

, offends theKing. A Character of an Ugly Woman: Or, A

Hue and Cry after Beauty. Written by the late Duke of Buckingham, in the

Year 1678.
Here being lately lost, while the Devil

was removing Housholdstuff at St. James's, a certain She-Animal of prodigious Quality, and unknown Virtue; 'tis thought fit



to give the World a Description, and Ear mark of the Beast, that if any fortunate Bully, or doughty Esquire, in Town or Country, happen to stumble, or tumble upon such a Bara gain, he may be furnished with a particular Inventory of his Purchase. It should have been an Advertisement in the Gazette, but that of late few People regard it.

Imprimis, As to her Defcent, some Heralds derive her Pedigree from that of the Scotch Barnacles, and say, that she dropt from some teeming Gallows, or sprung up like Mandrakes from the of some gibbited Raggamuffian; others averr, she was begot by a Glister-pipe; because, she calls Sir Sanney Do Muckle, her Sire, a foolish Quack, who by the Recommendations of his Country-men, of mighty Logger-sconce, is become Knight of the Southsaying Piss-pot; nor is it any Wonder that an Epidemical Plague should bring a Doctor to Preferment. This whifling Scabbado has long been famous at Court, for much practice, and no Success, except of curing Ladies of with Sack-possets, and assisting old Ones past buman Sport, with well try'd D- The subtlest A& he ever did, was begetting this Madam Pandora, thereby causing an infallible Plot for future Businesses; for where ever she comes, Diseases do as naturally follow her, as Debauchery does the Court; and she alone is able to make Work for a whole College of Phyfi iuns. She takes upon her the venerable


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