the telling.
Excuse this boldness, for I can't avoid
Thinking sometimes, you are but ill Imploy'd.
_Fishing for Souls_ more fit, then _frying Fish_;
That makes me throw, _Pease Shellings_ in your _Dish_.
You have a study, Books wherein to look,
How comes it then the Doctor's turn'd a Cook?
Well _Doctor Cook_, pray be advis'd hereafter
Don't make your Wife the Subject of our Laughter.
I find she's careless, and your Maid a slut,
To let you grease your _Cassock_ for your gut.
You are all three in fault, by all that's blest;
Mend you your manners first, then teach the rest.

He was one who met with a great many Crosses and Afflictions in his
Life; and was (as I am informed) at last cast away at Sea, as he was
going to the Isle of _Wight_.

* * * * *

_JOHN PHILLIPS_.

_John Philips_, the Brother of _Edward Phillips_, the Famous
Continuator of Sir _Richard Bakers_ Chronicle; and Author of _The New
World of English Words_. He was also Nephew to the before mention'd
_John Milton_, the Author of _Paradice lost_, and _Paradice Regain'd_;
so that he might be said to have Poetical Blood run in his Veins. He
was Accounted one of the exactest of Heroical Poets either of the
Ancients or Moderns, either of our own or what ever other Nation else;
having a Judicious command of Style both in Prose and Verse. But his
chiefest Vein lay in _Burlesque_, and facetious Poetry, which produc'd
that Ingenious Satyr against Hypocrites.

He also Translated the Fifth and Sixth Books of _Virgils AEniedes_ into
English _Burlesque_; of which that we may give you a Draught of his
Method, take these few lines.

While _Dido_ in a Bed of Fire,
A new-found way to cool desire,
Lay wrapt in Smoke, half Cole, half _Dido_,
Too late repenting Crime _Libido_,
_Monsieur AEneas_ went his waies;
For which I con him little praise,
To leave a Lady, not i'th'Mire,
But which was worser, in the Fire.
He Neuter-like, had no great aim,
To kindle or put out the flame.
He had what he would have, the Wind;
More than ten _Dido's_ to his mind.
The merry gale was all in Poop,
Which made the _Trojans_ all cry Hoop!

He it was who wrote that Jovial Almanack of _Montelion_; besides
several other things in a serious Vein of Poetry. Nor must we forget
his Song made on the Tombs at _Westminster_; which for a witty drolling
Invention, I hold it to be past Compare, being Pri