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Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
The world from juftling feeds arofe,
Which, mingling with prolific strife
In chaos, kindled into life:

So your production was the fame,
And from contending atoms came.
Thy fair indulgent mother crown'd
Thy head with fparkling rubies round:
Beneath thy decent fteps the road
Is all with precious jewels ftrow'd.
The bird of Pallas knows his post,
Thee to attend, where'er thou goest.
Byzantians boaft, that on the clod

Where once their Sultan's horfe hath trod,
Grows neither grafs, nor fhrub, nor tree:
The fame thy fubjects boaft of thee.
The greatest lord, when you appear,
Will deign your livery to wear,
In all the various colours feen

Of red and yellow, blue and green.

With half a word, when you require,
The man of business muft retire.
The haughty minister of state

With trembling muft thy leifure wait;
And, while his fate is in thy hands,
The bufinefs of the nation ftands.

Thou dar'ft the greatest prince attack,
Canft hourly fet him on the rack;
And, as an inftance of thy power,
Inclofe him in a wooden tower,

With pungent pains on every fide:
So Regulus in torments dy’d.

From thee our youth all virtues learn,
Dangers with prudence to difcern ;
And well thy fcholars are endued
With temperance, and with fortitude;
With patience, which all ills fupports;
And fecrefy, the art of courts,

The glittering beau could hardly tell,
Without your aid, to read or spell;
But, having long convers'd with you,
Knows how to write a billet-doux.

With what delight, methinks, I trace
Your blood in every noble race !
In whom thy features, fhape, and mien,
Are to the life distinctly seen!
The Britons, once a favage kind,
By you were brighten'd and refin'd,
Defcendants to the barbarous Huns,
With limbs robuft, and voice that stuns
But you have moulded them afresh,
Remov'd the tough fuperfluous flesh,
Taught them to modulate their tongues,
And fpeak without the help of lungs.
Proteus on you bestow'd the boon
To change your vifage like the moon
You fometimes half a face produce,
Keep t' other half for private ufe.
How fam'd thy conduct in the fight,
With Hermes, fon of Pleias bright!

Out

Out-number'd, half encompafs'd round,
You ftrove for every inch of ground;
Then, by a foldierly retreat,
Retir'd to your imperial feat.

The victor, when your steps he trac❜d,
Found all the realms before him waste :
You, o'er the high triumphal arch
Pontific, made your glorious march;
The wondrous arch behind you fell,
And left a chafm profound as hell:
You, in your capitol fecur'd,
A fiege as long as Troy endur'd.

MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.

WELL, if over I faw fuch another man fince my

mother bound my head!

You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred.

I'm fure fuch words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give fuch language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my mafter a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a fhame

For a parfon, who should know better things, to come out with fuch a name.

Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a fhame and a fin;

And the Dean my mafter is an honefter man than you

and all your kin :

He

He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body:

My master is a parfonable man, and not a spindle-fhank'd hoddy-doddy.

And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excufe,

Becaufe my mafter one day, in anger, call'd you goofe; Which, and I am fure I have been his fervant four years fince October,

And he never call'd me worse than fweet-heart, drunk or fober :

Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,

Though you and your come-rogues keep him out fo late in your college.

You fay you will eat grafs on his grave: a christian eat grafs !

Whereby you now confefs yourself to be a goose or an afs::

But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye;

Well, well, that 's as God pleases; and I don't believe that 's a true ftory:

And fo fay I told you fo, and you may go tell my mafter; what care I?

And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil;

I am but a poor fervant; but I think gentlefolks fhould

be civil.

Befides,

Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here;

I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man fays you are always jefting and mocking:

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Mary, faid he, (one day as I was mending ny mafter's flocking ;)

My mafter is fo fond of that minifter that keeps the fchool

I thought my

mafter a wife man, but that man' makes him a fool.

Saunders, faid I, I would rather than a quart of ale 'He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a difh-clout to his tail.

And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this letten;

For I write but a fad fcrawl; but my fifter Marget, fhe writes better

Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my mafter comes from prayers;

And fee now,

fairs;

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it ftrikes ten, and I hear him coming up,

Whereof I could fay more to your «verfes, if I could write written hand:

And fo I remain, in a civil way, your fervant to com

mand,

MARY.

A NEW

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