From W. Tunftall in the Marshalfea, to C. Wogan in Newgate.

Tune, To all ye Ladies.

FROM me, dear Charles, infpir'd with ale,

To thee this letter comes,

To try if fcribling can prevail

To moderate our dooms:

Tho' pent in cage the blackbird fwings,
Yet ftill he hops, and ftruts, and fings.
With a fal lal, &c.

Perhaps you'll wonder why I chose,
At this unlucky time,

To quit the loose and easy profe,
To tie my thoughts in rhime:

For why, you'll fay, fince we're confin'd
Shou'd we lay fhackles on the mind?

But fince, tho' bound on Barnet-tits,
So lately we aftride,

Thro' hir'd fhouts of wide-mouth'd cits

Without a rein could ride;

Sure Pegafus, without a bit,
To pinion'd poets may submit.

But,

T 3

But, if the winged fteed fhou'd rear,
And start into a freak,

We'll fend for jolly grenadier

To lead him by the cheek.

Then we with corded arms may ride,
And fit, and think, and thump his fide.

For Pegasus, whilst he cou'd foar,

No

poets ever made,

He flew Boatia o'er and o'er,

Until he turn'd a jade;

His tired hoof then fpurn'd the rock,
And Helicon purfu'd the stroke.

So, when from Highgate-Hill I came,
In triumph thro' the town,

And jaded palfrey, dull, and lame,
At Marshals' fet me down:

Without the wings, he had the heel;
Thence, ale and beer, and beer and ale!

Thus ftrutting, full of heavy grout,
With belch and flegm replete,

I fend my mufe to find thee out
At Newgate, or the Fleet;

Such eructations fure demand.

Some fpeedy comfort from thy hand.

For now, dear Charles, (my freedom gone)
This prifon feems my wife,

I no man fee to aid my moan,

Hear nought but noise and strife:

For

For (after all that can be faid)
A goal's a kind of being wed.

Now I this tale, to thee, have told,
(Sure naught's a greater curse)
That I this goal must have and hold
For better and for worse.;.

Judge then, how bravely I fhall quit
The marriage noofe for Tyburn twitt..

Nay, if old Mopfa, who has loft
Her love, in battle slain,

Shou'd beg me from the three-leg'd post;,
To fix me to her twain.

So long fufpended I fhou'd ftand,
The cart wou'd drive. and I be hang'di

The

The Preston Prisoners to the Ladies about Court and Town.

By Way of Comfort, from C. Wogan to W. Tunftall.

OU fair ones all at liberty,

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We captive lovers greet;

Nor flight our tears and fighs, 'cause we

Can't lay 'em at your feet:

The fault's not ours, and you may guess
We can defire no greater bliss.

What, tho' pack'd up in prisons base,
With bolts and bars reftrain'd,

Think not our bodies love you lefs,
Or fouls are more confin'd:

Each was, to its utmost power, your slave,
Nor freedom took, but what you gave.

Thus doubly captive, in this cause
Your prior title pleads;

The goal's high-treafon 'gainst your laws,

And property invades:

Wherefore, fince prifons are our due, 'Tis just we be lock'd up by you.

From

From hence to those most blissful bowers,
Left we should miss our way,
Those beauties that display'd their powers
The last triumphant day,

As most expert in Cupid's wars,
Shall guide us on like grenadiers.

Thus we'll to th' innocent and fair,
That fhun indecent fights,

From purchas'd fhouts, and noisom air,
To whispers and delights:

Then all our pains shall pleasures prove,
And pinion'd arms be wings of love.

But, if our stubborn keepers still
Shou'd chain us to our dens,

In difobedience to your will,

And fov'reign influence;

Spite of their fhackles, bolts and doors,
Our hearts are free, and they are yours.

Mean while, within thefe walls immur'd,
Think not our fpirits loft,

The vileft ale our goals afford

Is nectar with a toast:

And if fome wine creep in by stealth,
It has its relish from your health.

Our