John Philips

Thomas Newcomb, in Bibliotheca, 1712; Nichols, Select Collection of Poems (1784) 57-58.

See Rag on Phillips still attends;
In life, in death, harmonious friends;
Pleas'd his lov'd Isis to forego,
To meet the darling shade below.
Who in th' Elysian fragrant bowers
Beguile each day the smiling hours,
With more delight than wine or love
Ere gave the Bards in realms above;
Each here transported to behold
Rich branches bloom with radiant gold,
(Strangely surpris'd to view an ore
They ne'er on earth once touch'd before),
No more refulgent to their eyes
The Splendid Shilling's charms surprize;
Once the sole bliss of Heaven implor'd
For that alone, by each ador'd;
That ale or oysters could command,
The noblest boons of sea or land,
And bid them, to enjoy a friend,
From lonely garret oft descend:
No longer to their cells restrain'd,
Where Want and dismal Darkness reign'd,
With harmless pun, and clinches gay,
They now repeat each smiling day;
Nor dreadful reckoning trembling fear,
As if kind Herbert too was there,
For vile mundung and fumy ale,
Incense and odours, now exhale,
And, sipping nectar from each stream,
No more of Tiff and Viner's dream;
Convinc'd their Isis could bestow
No cups to soft as those below.
No longer now the modish gown
In ropy shreds hangs quivering down,
Tuck'd close, but gently, round the side,
Some dismal breach beneath to hide;
Or else protesting from the air
Some parts, as nature form'd them, bare.