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Come, sixpence a-dozen, to get me some bread,
Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.

ORANGES.

COME buy my fine oranges, sauce for your veal,
And charming, when squeezed in a pot of brown ale;
Well roasted, with sugar and wine in a cup,
They'll make a sweet bishop when gentlefolks sup.

ON ROVER, A LADY'S SPANIEL.

INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER.

*

HAPPIEST of the spaniel race,
Painter, with thy colours grace:
Draw his forehead large and high,
Draw his blue and humid eye:
Draw his neck so smooth and round,
Little neck with ribbons bound!

And the muscly swelling breast,
Where the Loves and Graces rest;
And the spreading even back,
Soft, and sleek, and glossy black;
And the tail that gently twines,
Like the tendrils of the vines ;
And the silky twisted hair,
Shadowing thick the velvet ear;

* In ridicule of Phillips's poem on Miss Carteret; and written, it has been said, "to affront the lady of Archbishop Boulter."ANDERSON.

Velvet ears, which, hanging low,
O'er the veiny temples flow,

With a proper light and shade,
Let the winding hoop be laid;
And within that arching bower,
(Secret circle, mystic power,)
In a downy slumber place
Happiest of the spaniel race;
While the soft respiring dame,
Glowing with the softest flame,
On the ravish'd favourite pours
Balmy dews, ambrosial showers.

With thy utmost skill express
Nature in her richest dress,
Limpid rivers smoothly flowing,
Orchards by those rivers blowing;
Curling woodbine, myrtle shade,
And the gay enamell'd mead;
Where the linnets sit and sing,
Little sportlings of the spring;
Where the breathing field and grove
Soothe the heart, and kindle love,
Here for me, and for the Muse,
Colours of resemblance choose,
Make of lineaments divine,
Daply female spaniels shine,
Pretty fondlings of the fair,
Gentle damsels' gentle care;
But to one alone impart
All the flattery of thy art.

Crowd each feature, crowd each grace,

Which complete the desperate face;

Let the spotted wanton dame
Feel a new resistless flame!
Let the happiest of his race
Win the fair to his embrace.

But in shade the rest conceal,
Nor to sight their joys reveal,
Lest the pencil and the Muse

Loose desires and thoughts infuse.

F

EPIGRAMS ON WINDOWS.

SEVERAL OF THEM WRITTEN IN 1726.

I. ON A WINDOW AT AN INN.

WE fly from luxury and wealth,
To hardships, in pursuit of health;
From generous wines and costly fare,
And dozing in an easy-chair;
Pursue the goddess Health in vain,
To find her in a country scene,
And everywhere her footsteps trace,
And see her marks in every face;
And still her favourites we meet,
Crowding the roads with naked feet.
But, oh! so faintly we pursue,
We ne'er can have her full in view.

II. AT AN INN IN ENGLAND.

THE glass, by lovers' nonsense blurr'd, Dims and obscures our sight;

So, when our passions Love has stirr'd, It darkens Reason's light.

III. ON A WINDOW AT THE FOUR CROSSES IN THE

WATLING-STREET ROAD, WARWICKSHIRE.

FOOL, to put up four crosses at your door,
Put up your wife, she's CROSSER than all four.

IV. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER.

THE church and clergy here, no doubt,
Are very near a-kin;
Both weather-beaten are without,
And empty both within.

V. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER.

My landlord is civil,

But dear as the d-1:
Your pockets grow empty
With nothing to tempt ye;
The wine is so sour,
'Twill give you a scour :
The beer and the ale
Are mingled with stale.
The veal is such carrion,
A dog would be weary on.
All this I have felt,

For I live on a smelt.

VI. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER.

THE walls of this town
Are full of renown,

And strangers delight to walk round 'em :
But as for the dwellers,

Both buyers and sellers,

For me, you may hang 'em, or drown 'em.

VII. ANOTHER, AT HOLYHEAD.*

O NEPTUNE! Neptune! must I still
Be here detain'd against my will?
Is this your justice, when I'm come
Above two hundred miles from home;
O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains,
Half choked with dust, half drown'd with rains,
Only your godship to implore,

To let me kiss your other shore?
A boon so small! but I may weep,
While you're like Baal, fast asleep.

VIII. ANOTHER, WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW WHERE
THERE WAS NO WRITING BEFORE.

THANKS to my stars, I once can see
A window here from scribbling free!

These verses are signed JK--; but written, as it is presumed, in Dr. Swift's hand.-D. S.

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