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Whether, as Epicurus shows,
The world from juftling feed's arose,
Which, mingling with prolific strife
In chaos, kindled into life :
So your production was the same,
And from contending atoms came.

Thy fair indulgent mother crown'd
Thy head with sparkling rubies round:
Beneath thy decent steps the road
Is all with precious jewels strow'd.
The bird of Pallas knows his post,
Thee to attend, where'er thou goeit.

Byzantians boast, that on the clod Where once their Sultan's horse hath trod, Grows neither grass, nor shrub, nor tree : The same thy subjects boast 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 must retire:

The haughty minister of state
With trembling mult thy leifure wait;
And, while his fate is in thy hands,
The bufiness of the nation stands.

Thou dar’st the greatest prince attack,
Canst hourly set him on the rack;
And, as an instance 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 discern;
And well thy scholars are endued
With temperance, and with fortitude;
With patience, which all ills supports;
And fecresy, 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, shape, and mien,
Are to the life distinctly seen!
The Britons, once a savage kind,
By, you were brighten'd and refin’d,
Descendants to the barbarous Huns,
With limbs robust, and voice that stuns:
But
you

have moulded them afresh,
Remov'd the tough superfluous flesh,
Taught them to modulate their tongues,
And speak without the help of lungs.,

Proteus on you bestow'd the boon To change your visage like the moon; You sometimes half a face prodụce, Keep t other half for private use.

How fam'd thy conduct in the fight With Hermes, son of Plejas, bright!

Outa

Out-number'd, half encompass'd round,
You strove for every inch of ground;
Then, by a soldierly retreat,
Retir'd to your imperial seat.
The victor, when your steps he trac'd,
Found all the realms before him waite:
You, b'er the high triumphal arch
Pontific, made your glorious march;
The wondrous arch behind you fell,
And left a chalm profound as hell :
You, in your capitol secur'd,
A fiege as long as Troy endur'd.

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MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723. WELL, if over I saw

fuch another man fince my mother bound

my

head! You a gentleman't marry' come up! I wonder where

you were bred. I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you callid my master a knave : fie, Mr. Sheridan!

'tis a shame For a parson, who should know better things, to come

out with fuch a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame

and a fin; And the Dean my master is an honester man than fou 1, "and all your kin:

He

He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have

in your whole body : My master is a parsonable man, and not a spindle-Shank'd

hoddy-doddy. And now, whereby I find you would fain make an

excuse, Because my master one day, in anger, callid you goose ; Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four

years since O&ober, And he never called me worse than fweet-heart, drunk

or sober : Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to

my knowledge, Though you and your comc-rogues keep him out so late

in your college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a christian cat

grass ! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an

ass:: 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 story : And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my

master; 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 thamç

the devil; I am but a poor fervant; but I think gentlefolks should be civil.

Besides,

Besides, you found fault with our vi&tuals one day that

you was here ; I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and

mocking: .. Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending iny master's

stocking :), My master is fo fond of that minister that keeps the

school I thought my mafter a wife-man, but that man' makes

him a fool. Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a

dish-clout to his tail. And now I must go, and get Saunders' to direct this

letten ;. For I write but a fad scrawl; but my fister Marget, she

writes betters: Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my

mafter comes from prayers';. And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up,

ftairs; Whereof I could say more to your verfes; if I could

write written hand: And so I remain, in a civil way; your servånt to command,

MARY.

A NEW

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