XVII.

To medals there and books of tafte
Those moments you consign,
Which barren minds ignobly wafte
On dogs, or cards, or wine.
XVIII.

Whilft Imid rocks and favage woods
Enjoy these golden dreams

Where Avon winds to mix her floods
With Bladud's healing streams.

PANACEA:

Or, The Grand RESTORATIVE.

By the Same.

ELCOME to Baia's streams, ye fons of spleen,

WE

Who rove from fpa to fpa-to fhift the scene. While round the ftreaming fount you idly throng, Come, learn a wholfome fecret from my fong.

Ye fair, whofe roses feel th' approaching froft, And drops fupply the place of fpirits loft:

Claverton near Bath, 1750.

Ye

Ye 'fquires, who rack'd with gouts, at heav'n repine, Condemn'd to water for excefs in wine:

Ye portly cits, fo corpulent and full,

Who eat and drink 'till appetite grows dull:
For whets and bitters then unftring the purse,
Whilst nature more oppreft grows worse and worse
Dupes to the craft of pill-prefcribing leaches:
You nod or laugh at what the parfon preaches :
Hear then a rhyming quack,-who fpurns your wealth,
And gratis gives a fure receipt for health.

No more thus vainly roam o'er fea and land,
When lo! a fovereign remedy at hand :

'Tis Temperance-ftale cant!-'Tis Fafting then;
Heav'n's antidote against the fins of men.
Foul luxury's the cause of all your pain:
To scour th' obftructed glands, abstain! abstain!
Faft and take reft, ye candidates for fleep,
Who from high food tormenting vigils keep:
Fast and be fat-thou starveling in a gown:
Ye bloated, faft-'twill furely bring you down.
Ye nymphs that pine o'er chocolate and rolls,
Hence take fresh bloom, fresh vigour to your fouls.
Faft and fear not- -you'll need no drop nor pill:
Hunger may starve, excefs is fure to kill.

The

I

The HEROINES, or Modern Memoirs.

By the Same.

N ancient times, fome hundred winters paft,

When British dames, for conscience fake, were chaste,

If fome frail nymph, by youthful paffion fway'd,

From Virtue's paths unhappily had stray'd:
When banish'd reason re-affum'd her place,
The conscious wretch bewail'd her foul difgrace;
Fled from the world, and pass'd her joyless years
In decent folitude and pious tears;

Veil'd in fome convent made her peace with heaven,
And almost hop'd-by Prudes to be forgiven.

Not fo of modern wh-res th' illuftrious train,
Renown'd Conftantia, P-ton and V—ne;
Grown old in fin, and dead to amorous joy,
No acts of penance their great
fouls employ.
Without a blush behold each nymph advance,
The luscious Heroine of her own romance.
Each harlot triumphs in her lofs of fame,
And boldly prints and publishes her shame.

1751.

The

The PARTING.

By the Same.

Written fome Years after Marriage.

I.

HE rifing fun through all the

THE

Diffus'd a gladfome ray:

My Lucy fmil'd, and talk'd of love,

And every thing look'd gay.

II.

But oh the fatal hour was come

That forc'd me from my dear:

grove

My Lucy then through grief was dumb,
Or spoke but by a tear.

III.

Now far from her and bliss I roam,

All nature wears a change:

The azure sky seems wrapt in gloom,

And every place looks strange.

IV. Those

IV.

Those flow'ry fields, this verdant scene,
Yon larks that towering fing,

With fad contraft increase my spleen

And make me loath the fpring.
V.

My books that wont to footh my mind

No longer now can please :

There only those amusement find

That have a mind at eafe.

Memory! celestial maid-!

Who glean'ft the flow'rets cropt by time;

And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime ; .