By the Author of the Satire, intituled, Blafphemy as Old as the Creation.

To Mrs. M. H. on her working a Coat in Silks.

THEN MIR A's Hands her Needle thread,

W

What gaudy Scenes our Eyes furprize?

To view a Grove, or flow'ry Bed,

Beneath her fnowy Fingers rife!

IN every Leaf fuch Beauties dwell,
So fair they spread, fo full they bloom;
Her skilful Fingers far excel

The Painter's Quill, or Artift's Loom.

ON the rich Bed fresh Rofes blown,
The Jefmin and the Myrtle meet;

And, as they mingle, feem to own,

More fair her Cheek, her Breath more fweet.

THAT Lilly from her Hand she took,

Which with the Snow in Whiteness vies;
That bright Carnation from her Look,
That shining Amaranth from her Eyes.

THOSE Opening Buds but half reveal'd,
That promise foon a fairer Hue,
Shew like her Breafts with Lawn conceal'd,
Which boast their Sweets and Softnefs too.

WHAT tho' the abfent Sun retir'd,

The naked Field no longer warms?
Each Bloffom, by her Art inspir'd,
Opens as wide, as gayly charms.

THY Flow'rs for ever hold their Prime,
Nor Frofts, nor chilling Winters fear;
Since near thy Hoop, that happy Clime,;
"Tis Spring or Summer all the Year.

PITY, lov'd Maid, that envious Years

Thy Youth fhou'd hurt, thy Sweets confume;
When wrought by thee, each Bud appears
Unchang'd, and always in its Bloom.

EACH Youth with thee must furely grieve,
The partial Rigour of the Sky;

That MIRA's Works must bloom and live,
When MIRA's Beauties fade and die..

A FEW fair Months our Gardens charm,
Now flourish, and anon decay:
Each Season on thy Coat is warm,
And every verdant Month is May.

LET Autumns then the Lilly hide,
Our Rofes blaft, our Myrtles chill:
When feated close to MIR A's Side,
'Tis June, or fragrant April ftill.
VICTORIOUS Nymph! whofe Hand has done
Beyond weak Nature's fainter Power:

Waking each Plant without the Sun;
Swelling each Bud without the Shower.
WHEN every Field befide is feen

Robb'd of its Pride; we here behold
Gay fpreading Stems of lively Green,

And yellow Fruit of ripening Gold.

Dr.

Dr. Davey Shones, a Welfh Surgeon, his Bill at Ofweftrey, for Mrs. Suefanna

Madox.

Sept. 9, 1730:

NOR drefing hur mortify'd elcere upon 1. s. d. hur Lege, and clen it from ftinkin,

Fo

with fprits of Chamfire, Tinct. Myrhe,

an udder dings prapor for 49 tims. 15 tims 3 1 6 it coft me 2 s. 6 d. evry tim before I cow'd

get the stinking fleffe away, and the oder 34 tims⚫

For lancin and fcallin the boune

For ungts. ols, and linimt. to anointe the ftinkin Lege

For pills aurea guilded with goulde

Ο ΙΟ

the}

7 6

7 6

6

For drams and cordiolls for hur and hur

companeons

For lodgen, care, and attendunce uppon hur
For runnin away, and hindrin me to have?
tim to make hur cure to purficteon
For envy, hatred, and mallis, and ill-will in
fpaaking, uttrin, and purnouncin fevrall
reflecfhons, and fuls ftorees uppon me
and my hous

For brekin my glas in the glas windows
with her hors is nos

1 12

2 10

I 12

1. 10 9 6

An

C

An EPIGRAM.

UPID once having robb'd an Hive,

He lik'd the Trade, and hope'd to thrive:

At length the filching Knave was stung;
Mad with the Pain, he ftamp'd, he flung;
His clammy Fingers oft he blew,
And to his Mother ftreight he flew.
Mamma, he cries, this curfed Bee,

fee;

How it has wounded me, you
How big the 'Swelling! yet the Sting
Was but a little tiny thing.

Quoth Venus, Precious Son of mine,
Juft fuch a tiny thing is thine;

And yet, how much 'twill make 'em swell,
After ftol'n Sweets, the Girls can tell.

H

EPITAPH.

ERE lies Honeft William Dawe,

Altho' an Attorney at Law:

If he be not bleft,

God help the reft.

Another

I Bell of Crakebill under this Sveinn

Four of my own Sons laid it on my Weam; I was a Man of my Meat, and Master of my Wife, And liv'd in my own House without mickle Strife. If thou be'st a better Man in thy Time than I was--in mine, Take this Stein off my Weam and lye on Top of thine.

The