As well from each vile Criminal,

Who Merits Justice' vengeant Rod, We might his Chriftian Name recall, Because a Rebel to his Go D.

By glorious Actions, you will fay,
Titles alone are to be gain'd,

And confequently wing their Way,
Unless by fuch like As maintain'd.

Honours, we own, by Merit won,

But that they're loft by Faults we doubt;

By intervening Might the Sun

May be Eclips'd, but not put out.

Extempore to a Lady, who ask'd fome VerJes on her Dog Toy...

P

UH! that's affronting ev'ry Mufe,

T' invoke 'em here is to abule.

For tho' by Chance they deign'd to play
With PETTICOAT, and TRIVIA,

Tho' other Ladies prize fuch Joys,
Yet they reject fo Trivial Toys.

An Epifle to Mrs. ANNE BSC--N. Occafioned by her Hoop's being difplay'd on White-Hall Chappel Stairs. A. D.

1717.

W

HY charming ANNE, why fo unkind,

And like the Tyrant Rogue that's blind;

To kill each Swain you meet withal,

Even in Verge of Old White Hall?

For

For fince, when veil'd, your Form Divine,
Can every Breaft to Love incline;

What Heart fo ftubborn muft not yield,

If naked you shou'd take the Field?

You who command us ev'ry Way,

Need not your fecret Charms difplay;

As when, with CHARLOT and your Coufins,

At Romps, the China Ware by Dozens,

Table and all Things fall before you,

As well as We who must adore you;

We might defcry on ev'ry Chair,
Some tatter'd Enfigns of the Fair,
Nay oft fome cruel Hand confeffes

The Rapture of your lovely Treffes,
Trophies more with'd, more glorious far
Then those in Hall of Weftminfter ;

For they with Blood and Treafure fought,
Too often are too dearly bought.
Your nobler Trophies oft' are found,

Tho' left neglected on the Ground,

Το

To raise our Spirits or infuse
Poetick Raptures; WALLER'S Mufe

Did once a circ❜ling Girdle chufe.

A facred Lock of ravish'd Hair

Was POPE's inimitable Care.

As in the genial Month of May,
I've seen young Kids and Lambkins play,
They frisk and ftrive (till tired quite,)
And seem to wage a dreadful Fight;
So, Charmer, you confume the Morning,
Till John comes up to give you Warning
That Tea is made, then ends the Fray:
Befides, 'tis ISAAC's hated Day;

For all his Toil and Pains, poor Man,
Alas! how he is frown'd upon;

Who with his tuneful Voice and Kit,

Car polifh even aukward Cit.

With little Reason Nymphs fo fair

Shou'd then defpife him; fince his Care
May mend their Motion, give an Air.
G

With

Without whofe Aid my Lady knows,

Tho' Nature choiceft Gifts beftows,

The readieft Mifs cou'd ne'er affume
Soft Minuet or Rigadoon.
Aftrologers have often told

Of ev'ry Mark, or Spot, or Mole,
Only by thofe which are in view,
Which your obliging Hoop prov'd true;
Your fine proportion'd Arm and Hand
Did well your Leg and Foot commend
And so your Eyes, your Lips, your Nose,

Your hidden Beauties all disclose.

By Heav'n! fuch a pleafing Sight,
I'd gladly gaze from Morn till Night.
Had not the Phrygian Youth of Old,
As we by antient Bards are told,
Survey'd the Goddeffes unveil'd,

The Queen of Beauty might have fail'd,

When the with Pallas and with Juno

For golden Apple ftrove, as you know,