D. Should I once more my heart resign,
Would you the penitent receive?
Would Suky fcorn'd atone my crime?
And would my Bruny own her fave?
B. Though brighter he than blazing ftar,

More fickle thou than wind or fea,
With thee, my kind returning dear,
I'd live, contented die with thee.

A DAINTY NEW BALLAD.

Occafioned by a Clergyman's Widow of Seventy Years of Age, being married to a young Excifeman.

HERE liv'd in our good town,

Trelict of the gown,

A chaste and humble dame; Who, when her man of God Was cold as any clod,

Dropt many a tear in vain.
But now, good people, learn all,
No grief can be eternal;

Nor is it meet, I ween,
That folks fhould always whimper,
There is a time to fimper,

As quickly fhall be seen.
For love that little urchin,
About this widow lurching,
Had Cily fix'd his dart;
The filent creeping flame
Boil'd fore in every vein,

And glow d about her heart.
So when a pipe we smoke,
And from the flint provoke

The fparks that twinkling play;
The touchwood old and dry
With heat begins to fry,

And gently waste away.
With art the patch'd up nature,
Reforming every feature,

keftoring every grace : To gratify her pride,

She stopp'd each cranny wide,
And painted o'er her face.
Nor red, nor eke the white,
Was wanting to invite,

Nor coral lips that pout;
But, oh! in vain she tries,
With darts to arm those eye
That dinily fquint about.
With order and with care,
Her pyramid of hair

Sublimely mounts the sky;
And, that the might prevail,
She bolfter'd up her tail,

With rumps three stories high,
With many a rich perfume,
She purify'd her room,

As there was need, no doubt;
For on these warm occafions,
Offenfive exhalations

Are apt to fly about.

On beds of rofes lying,
Expecting, wishing, dying,

1 hus languifh'd for her love
The Cyprian Queen of old,
As merry bards have told,
All in a myrtle grove.
In pale of mother church,
She fondly hop'd to lurch,

But, ah me! hop'd in vain ;
No doctor could be found,
Who this her cafe profound

Durft venture to explain.
At length a youth full smart,
Who oft by magic art

Had div'd in many a hole;
Or kilderkin, or tun,
Or hogshead, 'twas all one,
He'd found it with his pole.
His art, and eke his face,
So fuited to her cafe,

Engag'd her love-fick heart;
Quoth fhe, My pretty Diver,
With thee I'll live for ever,

And from thee never part.

For thee my bloom reviving,
For thee fresh charms arising,

Shall melt thee into joy ;
Nor doubt, my pretty sweeting,
Ere nine months are compleating,
To fee a bonny boy.

As ye have feen, no doubt,
A candle when just out,

In flames break forth again;
So fhone this widow bright,
All blazing in defpight

Or threescore years and ten.

CANIDIA's EPITHALAMIUM.
Upon the fame.

TIME as malevolent, as old,
To blast Canidia's face,
(Which once 'twas rapture to behold)
With wrinkles and disgrace.

Not fo in blooming beauty bright,

Each envying virgin's pattern,
She reign'd with undifputed right
A priestess of St. Cattern.

Each fprightly foph, each brawny thrum,
Spent his first runnings here;
And hoary doctors dribbling come,
To languish and despair.

Low at her feet the proftrate arts
their humble homage pay;

To her the tyrant of their hearts,
Each bard directs his lay.

But now, when impotent to please,
Alas! fhe would be doing;

Reversing Nature's wife decrees,
She goes herself a-wooing.

*She was bar-keeper at the Cattern-wheel in

Oxford.

Though

BEW

HUNTING SONG.

EHOLD, my friend, the rofy-finger'd Mora,
With blushes on her face,
Peeps o'er yon azure hill;

Rich gems the trees enchase,
Pearls from each bush distil,

Arife, arife, and hail the light new-born.

Hark! hark! the merry horn calls, come away:
Quit, quit thy downy bed;
Break from Amynta's arms;
Oh let it ne'er be said,

That all, that all her charms,

Though she's as Venus fair, can tempt thy stay.
Perplex thy foul no more with cares below,
For what will pelf avail !

Thy courfer paws the ground,
Each beagle cocks his tail,

They spend their mouths around,

While health, and pleasure, fmiles on every brow.
Try, huntsmen, all the brakes, spread all the plain,
Now, now, fhe's gone away,
Strip, ftrip, with speed purfue;
The jocund God of day,

Who fain our sport would view,

See, fee, he flogs his fiery fteeds in vain.

From him who breathes in country air alone,
In all things elfe thy foul and mine are one;
And like two aged long acquainted doves,
The fame our mutual hate, the fame our mutual
loves.

Clofe, and fecure, you keep your lazy neft,
My wandering thoughts won't let my pinions reft;
O'er rocks, feas, woods, I take my wanton flight,
And each new object charms with new delight.
To fay no more, my friend, I live, and reign,
Lord of myself: I've broke the fervile chain,
Shook off with fcorn the trifles you defire,
All the vain empty nothings fops admire,
Thus the lean flave of fome fat pamper'd priest
With greedy eyes at firft views each luxuriant
feaft;

But, quickly cloy'd, now he no more can eat
Their godly viands, and their holy meat:
Wifely ambitious to be free and poor,
Longs for the homely fcraps he loath'd before.
Seck ft thou a place where nature is obferv'd,
And cooler reafon may be mildly heard:
To rural fhades let thy calm foul retreat,
Thefe are th' Elyfian fields, this is the happy
feat,

Proof against winter's cold, and fummer's heat.
Here no invidious care thy peace annoys,

Sleep undisturb'd, uninterrupted joys;
Your marble pavements with difgrace muft yield

On the wings of the wind

The merry beagles fly ;

Dull Sorrow lags behind :

Ye fhrill echoes, reply;

Catch each flying found, and double our joys.

Ye rocks, woods, and caves, our musick repeat : The bright spheres thus above,

A gay refulgent train,
Harmoniously move

O'er yon celestial plain

Like us whirl along, in concert fo fweet.

Now pufs threads the brakes, and heavily flies,
At the head of the pack
Old Fidler bears the bell,
Every foil he hunts back,

And aloud rings her knell,

Till forc'd into view, fhe pants and the dies,

In life's dull round thus we toil, and we fweat;

Difeafes, grief, and pain,
An implacable crew,
While we double in vain,
Unrelenting pursue,

Till, quite hunted down, we yield with regret.

Your muddy aqueducts can ne'er compare
With country ftreams, more pure than city air;
Our yew and bays inclos'd in pots ye prize,
And mimic little beauties we defpife.

The role and woodbine marble walls fupport,
Holly and ivy deck the gaudy court:
But yet in vain all fhifts the artift tries,
The difcontented twig but pines away and dies.
The houfe ye praife that a large profpect yields;
And view with longing eyes the pleasure of the
'Tis thus ye own, thus tacitly confefs, [fields;
Th' inimitable charms the peaceful country bless.
In vain from nature's rules we blindly ftray,
And push th' uneafy monitrix away:
Still the returns, nor lets our confcience reft,
But night and day inculcates what is beft,
Our trueft friend, though an unwelcome gueft.
As foon th' unikilful fool that's blind enough,
To call rich Indian damask Norwich fluff,
Shall become rich by trade; as he be wife,
Whofe partial foul and undifcerning_eyes
Can't at firft fight, and at each tranfient view,
Diftinguish good from bad, or falfe from true.
22

He

He that too high exalts his giddy head
When Fortune fmiles, if the jilt frowns, is dead:
Th' afpiring fool, big with his hau hty boaft,
Is the most abject wretch when all his hopes are
loft.

Sit loofe to all the world, nor aught admire,
Thefe worthlefs toys too fondly we defire;
Since when the darling's ravish'd from our heart,
The pleasure's over-balanc'd by the fmart.
Conline thy thoughts, and bound thy loofe defires,
For thrifty nature no great cost requires :
A healthful body, and thy miftrefs kind,
An humble cot, and a more humble mind:
1 hefe once enjoy'd, the world is all thy own,
From thy poor cell defpife the tottering throne,
And wakeful monarchs in a bed of down
The ftag well arm'd, and with unequal force,
From fruitfulmeadows chac'd the conquer'd horfe;
The haughty beaft that stomach'd the difgrace,7
In meaner pastures not content to graze,
Receives the bit, and man's affiftance prays.
The conquef gain'd, and many trophies won,
His falle confederate ftill rode boldly on;
In vain the heast curs'd his perfidious aid,
He plung'd, he rear'd, but nothing could per-
fuade

}

The man whofe lortunes fit not to his mind,
The way to true content thall never find;
If the fhoe pinch, or if it prove too wide,
In that he walks in pain, in this he treads afide.
But you, my friend, in calm contentment live,
Always well pleas'd with what the Gods shall give;
Let not bafe shining pelf thy mind deprave,
Tyrant of fools, the wife man's drudge and flave;
And me reprove if I fhall crave for more,
Or feem the leaft uneafy to be poor.
Thus much I write, merry, and free from care,
And nothing covet, but thy prefence here.

But for the vine felects a spouse,

Chatte emblem of the marriage-bed, Or prunes the two luxuriant boughs, And grafts more happy in their ftead. Or hears the lowing herds from far, That fatten on the fruitful plains, And ponders with delightful care,

The profpect of his future gains. Or fhears his fheep that round him graze, And droop beneath their curling loads; Or plunders his laborious bees

Of balmy nectar, drink of Gods!
His chearful head when Autumn rears,
And bending boughs reward his pains,
Joyous he plucks the luscious pears,

The purple grape his finger ftains.
Each honeft heart's a welcome guest,
With tempting fruit his tables glow,
The Gods are bidden to the feaft,

To flare the bleflings they beftow. Under an oak's protecting fhade,

In flowery meads profufely gay,
Supine he leans his peaceful head,

And gently loiters life away.
The vocal streams that murmuring flow,
Or from their fprings complaining creep,
The birds that chirp on every bough,

Invite his yielding eyes to fleep.
But, when bleak storms and lowering Jove
Now fadden the declining year,
Through every thicket. every grove,
Swift he pursues the flying deer.
With deep-hung hounds he sweeps the plains;
The hills, the vallies, fmoak around:
The woods repeat his pleafing pains,
And Echo propagates the found.
Or, pufh'd by his victorious fpear,
The grifly boar before him flics,
Betray'd by his prevailing fear

Into the toils, the monfter dies.
His towering falcon mounts the skies,
And cuts through clouds his liquid way:
Or elfe with fly deceit he tries

To make the leffer game his prey.

Who, thus poffefs'd of folid joy,
Would love, that idle imp, adore ?

Cloe's coquet, Myrtilla's coy,
And Phyllis is a perjur'd whore.

Adieu, fantaftic idle flame!
Give me a profitable wife,
A careful, but obliging dame,
To foften all the toils of life:
Who fhall with tender care provide,
Against her weary spouse return,
With plenty fee his board fupply'd
And make the crackling billets burn:
And while his men and maids repair
To fold his fheep, to milk his kine,
With unbought dainties feast her dear,
And treat him with domeftic wine.

I view

I view with pity and difdain

The collly trifles coxcombs boast,
Their Bourdeax, Burgundy. Champaign,
Though fparkling with the brightest toast.
Pleas'd with foud manufacture more,
Than all the turn the knaves impofe,
When the vain cully treats his whore,
At Brawn's, the Mitre, or the Rofe.
Let fons their fickly palates please,
With luxury's expensive store,
And feat each virulent difeafe

With dainties from a foreign fhore.
I, whom my little farm fupplies,
Richly on nature's bounty live;
The only happy are the wife,
Content is all the Gods can give.
While thus on wholefome cares I feaft,
Oh! with what rapture I behold
My flocks in comely order hafte
T'enrich with foil the barren fold!

The languid ox approaches flow,

To share the food his labours earn;
Painful he tugs th' inverted plough,
Nor hunger quickens his return.
My wanton fwains, uncouthly gay,
About my fmiling hearth delight,
To fweeten the laborious day,
By many a merry tale at night.

Thus fpoke old Gripe, when bottles three,
Of Burton ale, and fea-coal fire,
Unlock'd his breat; refov'd to be
A generous, honeft, country squire.
That very night his money lent,
On bond, or mortgage, he call'd in,
With lawful ufe of fix per cent.
Next morn, he put it out at ten.

་་

FABLE I.

THE CAPTIVE TRUMPETER,

-Quo non præftantior alter "Ereciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu.".

A PARTY of huffars of late

VIRG.

For prog and plunder scour'd the plains, Some French Gens d'Armes furpriz'd, and beat, And brought their trumpeter in chains.

In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard
For quarter begg'd on bended knee,
Pity, Meffieurs! In truth 'tis hard
To kill a harmless enemy.
Thefe hands, of flaughter innocent,
Ne'er brandifh'd the deftructive fword,
To you or yours no hurt I meant,
O take a poor musician's word.
But the ftern foe, with generous rage,
Scoundrel! reply'd, thou first shalt die,
Who, urging others to engage,

from fame and danger bafely fly. The brave by law of arms we fpare,, 1 hou by the hangman fhalt expire; 'Tis juft, and not at all fevere,

To stop the breath that blew the fire.

FABLE II.

The Bald-pated WELSHMAN, and the FLY.

- Qui non moderabitur iræ, "Infecum volet effe, do er quod fuaferit & mens, "Dum pœnas odio per vim feftinat inuito." HoR.

A SQUIRE of Wales, whofe blood ran higher

han that of any other fquire,
Hafty and hot; whofe peevith honour
Reveng'd each flight was put upon her,
Upon a mountain's top one day
Expos'd to Sol's meridian ray;

He fum'd, he rav'd, he curs'd, he fwore,
Exhal'd a fea at every pore:

At laft, fuch infults to evade,
Sought the next tree's protecting shade;
Where as he lay, diffolv'd in fweat,
And wip'd off many a rivulet,
Off in a pet the beaver flies,
And flaxen wig, time's best disguise,
By which, folks of maturer ages
Vic with fmooth beaux, and ladies pages:
Though 'twas a fecret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd age had cropt his crown,
Grubb'd all the covert up, and now
A large fmooth plain extends his brow.
Thus as he lay with numfkul bare,
And courted the refreshing air,
New perfecutions ftill appear,
A noily fly offends his ear

Alas what man of
and fenfe
parts
Could bear fuch vile impertinence?
Yet fo difcourteous is our fate,
Fools always buz about the great.
This infe now, whofe active spight,
Teaz'd him with never-ceafing bite,
With fo much judgment play'd his part,
He had him both in tierce and quart:
In vain with open hands he tries,
To guard his ears, his nofe, his eyes;
For now at laft, familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his worship's crown,
With teeth and claws his kin he tore,
And stuff'd himself with human gore.
At laft, in manners to excel.

Untrufs'd a point, fome authors tell.
But now what rhetoric could affuage
The furious fquire, ftark mad with rage?
impatient at the foul difgrace,
From infect of fo mean a race

And plotting vengeance on his foe, -
With double fift he aims a blow:

The nimble fly cfcap'd by flight,
And skip'd from this unequal fight.
Th' impending itroke with all its weight
Fell on his own beloved pate.

hus much he gain'd by this adventurous deed, He foul'd his fingers, and he broke his head. MORAL.

Let fenates hence learn to preferve the state,
Aud fcorn the fool, below their grave debate,
Who by th' unequal ftrife grows popular and
great.

1.ct him buz on, with fenfelefs rant defy
The wife, the good; 'yet still 'tis but a fly.

With

FABLE III.

THE ANT AND THE FLY.

"Quem res plus nimio delectavere fecundæ, "Mutatæ quatient."

HE careful ant that meanly fares,
And labours hardly to fupply,

With wholefome cates and homely tares,
His numerous working family;

Upon a vifit met one day

His coufin fly, in all his pride, A courtier infolent and gay,

By Goody Maggot near ally'd: The humble infect humbly bow'd, And all his lowest congees paid, Of an alliance wondrous proud

To fuch a huffing tearing blade. The haughty fly look'd big, and fwore He knew him not, nor whence he came; Huff'd much, and with impatience bore The fcandal of fo mean a claim. Friend Clodpate, know, 'tis not the mode At court, to own fuch clowns as thee, Nor is it civil to intrude

On flies of rank and quality. I-who, in joy and indolence,

Converfe with monarchs and grandees, Regaling every nicer sense

With olios, foups, and fricaffees;

Who kifs each beauty's balmy lip,

Or gently buz into her ear,

About her fnowy bofom skip,

HOR,

And fometimes creep the Lord knows where!

The ant, who could no longer bear
His cousin's infolence and pride,
Tofs'd up his head, and with an air

Of confcious worth, he thus reply'd:
Vain infect! know, the time will come,
When the court-fun no more shall shine,
When frofts thy gaudy limbs benumb,
And damps about thy limbs fhall twine;
When fome dark nafty hole fhall hide
And cover thy neglected head,
When all this lofty fwelling pride

Shall burft, and fhrink into a fhade: Take heed, left fortune change the scene: Some of thy brethren I remember, In June have mighty princes been,

But begg'd their bread before December.

MORAL.

This precious offspring of a t-d
Is firft a pimp, and then a lord;
Ambitious to be great, not good,
Forgets his own dear flesh and blood.
Blind Goddefs! who delight'ft in joke,
O fix him on thy lowest spoke;

The fox the charge deny'd,

To the grave ape the cafe was left,

In Juftice to decide.

Wife pug with comely buttocks fate,
And nodded o'er the laws,
Diftinguish'd well through the debate,
And thus adjudg'd the caufe:

The goods are ftole, but not from thee,
Two pickled roads well met,

Thou shalt be hang'd for perjury,

He for an errant cheat.

MORAL.

Juv.

Hang both, judicious brute, 'twas bravely faid,
May villains always to their ruin plead!
When knaves fall out, and spitefully accuse,
There's nothing like the reconciling noose.
O hemp! the nobleft gift propitious heaven
To mortals with a bounteous hand has given,
To ftop malicious breath, to end debate,

To prop the shaking throne, and purge the state.

THE DOG AND THE BEAR.

"-Delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi,

"Seditione, dolis, fcelere, atque libidine & ira "Iliacos intra muros, peccatur, & extra."

POWSER, of right Hockleian fire,

Tow

A dog of mettle and of fire, With Urfin grim, an errant bear, Maintain'd a long and dubious war: Oft Urfin on his back was toft, And Towser many a collop loft; Capricious Fortune would declare, Now for the dog, then for the bear. Thus having try'd their courage fairly, Brave Urfin first defir`d a parly ; Stout combatant (quoth he) whofe might I've felt in many a bloody fight, Tell me the caufe of all this pother, And why we worry one another? That's a moot point, the cur reply'd, Our masters only can decide. While thee and I our hearts blood spill, They prudently their pockets fill; Halloo us on with all their might, To turn a penny by the fight. If that's the cafe, return'd the bear, 'Tis time at laft to end the war ; Thou keep thy teeth, and I my claws, To combat in a nobler caufe; Sleep in a whole skin, I advise,

And let them bleed, who gain the prize,

MORAL.

Parties enrag'd on one another fall,
The butcher and the bear-ward pocket all.

Hon.

FABLE