A Valiant Lyon, now grown old, His Limbs and Jaws benumb'd and cold, Lay thinking on his Royal Bed, With scarce a Tooth in all his Head: And Claws worn to the Stumps with Tearing: (But every thing's the worse for wearing) And whilst he labour'd to repent, Complaining of his Youth mispent, His Rebel Subjects paid no more, That Honour, which they gave before, But treat him with Contempt and Scorn: The Bull does push him with his Horn, The Horse affronts him with his Heels: No Tongue can tell what grief he feels From these insulting Enemies. In comes the Ass; but when he sees, That Coward too forget his Duty, He dying said, _Tu quoque Brute?_
Two graduate Physicians, Of many Years Experience, With Coaches to proclaim their Skill, Are sent for to a Man that's ill. One feels his Pulse and gives him over: But th' other says he may recover; I have great hopes, we'll give him some Of my _Antithanaticum_. No, cries the first, he is too weak; Yes truly Sir, I'm very sick, Replies the Patient; down they sate, And enter'd in a deep Debate: One quotes four Words of _Arabick_, Th' other an Aphorism in _Greek_. They're very hot, and every one Sticks to his own Opinion. The Upshot was, they writ a Bill, Which neither lik'd of very well: They visit him some Days, and vent Many a learned Argument; But as his Life went on full Speed, He could not stay till they agreed, And so march'd off; and when he's dead, Both still are in the right; one said, I told you so, his very Eye Prognosticated he would dye: And th' other cry'd, had I been believ'd, I'm very sure, he would have liv'd.
The charming God, that with his Bow, So many Thousand Years ago, Came to that troublesome Employ, He serves in still, is but a Boy: His Art is so mysterious, That to explain his business, His Tackle, Arrows, Quiver, Taper, Would take up several Reams of Paper; Which being more than I've a mind To fill; I'll only, since he is blind, Tell you which way he lost his sight, With what came on't, and so good Night. Folly and Love took one another Aside, as Boys will run together, And crept into a Nook of Heaven, To play at Seven or Eleven; And here good People, Gamesters may Behold what mischief comes from Play: There 'rose a quarrel about the Main, Its Eight says Love, and thought 'twas plain; Quoth Folly, but I'm sure 'tis Nine, You Little Cheat, the Game is mine: At last Words growing very high, Love gives his angry Foe the Lie; Then up starts Folly, flings the Dice At Love, and beats out both his Eyes. _Venus_ would be reveng'd, bawl'd out, And shed so many Tears about The Peepers of her little Son, That she was like to have spoil'd her own. She would have Justice done, she swore, Call'd Folly Rogue and Son 'f a Whore: How did you do't; I'll make you dance? Indeed said Folly, 'twas by chance. Cry'd _Cupid_, you're a punning Cur, And snobb'd. In comes the Thunderer, With all the Gods and Goddesses, To sit upon the Business, Between Love and the Boy at Bar. The Cuckold and the God of War Were very hot, they'd have him dye; But when _Minerva_ ask'd him, Why? They said, because----Be free from rage, Ye Gods, said _Themis_, mind his Age, And then the Council seem'd to incline To make him only pay a Fine To Love. But the injur'd Mother cries, That won't do, I'll have both his Eyes, _Secundum legem Talionis_, He shall pay _Corpore non bonis_. _Apollo_ bids her to be civil. T'have two blind Boys would be the Devil, Said _Juno_, and this gave the hint To _Jove_, t'inflinct a Punishment, That might ease Love; what must he do? He could not walk alone; and so 'Twas fixed by all the Gods above, That Folly should be guide to Love.