'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd-
He'll fuffer for it when he's marry'd.
Thus Sal, with tears in either eye,
While victor Ned fat tittering by.

Thus I, long envying your fuccefs,
And bent to write, and study lefs,
Sate down and scribbled in a trice,
Just what you see and you despise.
You who can frame a tuneful fong,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a fprig of bay;
Accept the verfe, howe'er it flows,
From one, who is your friend in profe.

What is this wreath, fo green! fo fair!
Which many wish, and few must wear?
Which one man's indolence can gain,
Another's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what muft Sal or Poet fue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verfe? for luck at Loo?
Ah no! 'tis Genius gives you fame,
And Ned through skill secures the game.

WRITTEN AT AN INN ON A PARTICULAR OCCASION.

BY THE SAME.

O thee, fair Freedom! I retire,

From fattery, feasting, dice, and din;

Nor art thou found in domes much higher
Than the low cot, or humble inn.
'Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champaign;
For Freedom crowns it, at an inn.
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from Falfhood's fpecious grin;
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chufe my lodgings, at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my fordid ore,
Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,

It buys me Freedom, at an inn.

And now once more I shape my way
Through rain or shine, through thick or thin,
Secure to meet, at close of day,

With kind reception-at an inn.

Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his various tour has been,
May figh to think how oft he found
His warmest welcome-at an inn,

THE

THE PRICE OF AN EQUIPAGE.

BY THE SAME.

Servum fi potes, Ole, non habere,
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.

ASK'D a friend, amidst the throng,

I whofe coach it was that trail'd along:

The gilded coach there--don't you mind?
That with the footmen ftuck behind.”

"O Sir, fays he, what, ha'n't ye seen it?
'Tis Timon's coach, and Timon in it.
'Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot
Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not?
Your old acquaintance, Timon!"-"True
"But faith his equipage is new.

"Blefs me, faid I, where can it end ?

"What madnefs has poffefs'd my friend?

"Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest!
"Their ftomachs, doubtlefs, not the fmalleft!
Can Timon's revenue maintain,

"In lace and food, so large a train?
"I know his land—each inch o' ground-
"""Tis not a mile to walk it round-

MAR.

"And if his whole estate can bear

To keep a lad, and one-horfe chair,

"I

"I own 'tis past my comprehenfion!"-
Yes, Sir; but Timon has a penfion.
Thus does a falfe ambition rule us;
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flickering knaves,
He grows himself the worst of flaves.

F

A BALL A D.

BY THE SAME.

-Trabit fua quemque voluptas.

VIRG.

ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young fquire,

To bring down a wife, whom the swains might admire:

But, in fpite of whatever the mortal could fay,

The goddess objected the length of the way!

To give up the op'ra, the park, and the ball,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country hall :
To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor lace-man to plague in a morning-not fhe!

To relinquish the play-house, Quin, Garrick, and Clive, Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive; To forego the full box for his lonesome abode !

O Heav'ns' she should faint, the should die on the road!

Το

To forget the gay fashions and gestures of France, And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance; And Harlequin too!-'Twas in vain to require it— And she wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it!

She might yield to refign the sweet fingers of Ruckholt", Where the citizen-matron regales with her cuckhold; But Ranelagh foon would her footsteps recall,

And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux-hall.

To be sure she could breathe no where else than in town. Thus she talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown: But while honest Harry despair'd to fucceed,

A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

44444

THE EXTENT OF COOKERY.

WH

WHEN Tom to Cambridge firft was fent,
A plain brown bob he wore;

Read much, and look' as though he meant

To be a fop no more.

a Ruckholt-house, in the parish of Lowleyton, in Essex, was used as a place of publick diverfion between the years 1740 and 1750. It was an ancient and venerable building purchafed by Earl Tylney for one of his fons, but has now been pulled down many years, and the materials of it fold.