FRAGMENT AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS
For He, that made, must new create us,
Ere Seneca, or Epictetus,
With all their serious Admonitions,
Can, for the Spleen, prove good Physicians.
The Heart's unruly Palpitation
Will not be laid by a Quotation ;
Nor will the Spirits move the lighter
For the most celebrated Writer.
Sweats, Swoonings, and convulsive Motions
Will not be cur'd by Words, and Notions.
Then live, old Brown! with thy Chalybeats,
Which keep us from becoming Idiots.
At Tunbridge let us still be Drinking,
Though 'tis th' Antipodes to Thinking:
Such Hurry, whilst the Spirit's flying,
Such Stupefaction, when 'tis dying:
Yet these, and not sententious Papers,
Must brighten Life, and cure the Vapours, &c.
THE PRODIGY
A poem written at Tunbridge wells Anno 1706, on the admiration that many expressed at a Gentleman's being in love, and their endeavours to dissuade him from it, with some advice to the young Ladies, how to main[tain] their natural prerogative
Protect the State, and let Old England thrive,
Keep all crown'd heads this wondrous year alive ;
Preserve our palaces from wind and flame,
Safe be our fleets, and be the Scotchmen tame ;
Avert, kind fate, whate'er th' event might prove,
For here's a prodigy, a man in love !
Wasted and pale, he languishes in sight,
