If you think me too conceited,
Or to paffion quickly heated;
If my wandering head be lefs
Set on reading than on drefs;
If I always feem too dull t'ye;
I can folve the difficulty.

You would teach me to be wife;
Truth and honour how to prize;
How to fhine in converfation,
And with credit fill my station;
How to relish notions high;
How to live, and how to die.

But it was decreed by fate-
Mr. Dean, you come too late,
Well I know, you can difcern,
I am now too old to learn:
Follies, from my youth infill'd,
Have my foul entirely fill'd;
In my head and heart they center,
Nor will let your leffons enter.

Bred a fondling, and an heiress,
Dreft like any Lady Mayorefs,
Cocker'd by the fervants round,
Was too good to touch the ground;
Thought the life of every lady
Should be one continual play-day-
Balls, and mafquerades, and fhows,
Vifits, plays, and powder'd beaux.

Thus you have my cafe at large,
And may now perform your charge.
Thofe materials I have furnish'd,
When by you refin'd and burnish'd,
Muft, that all the world may know em,
Be reduc'd into a Poem.

But, I beg, fufpend a while
That fame paltry, burlefque ftyle;
Drop for once your conftant rule,
Turning all to ridicule;

Teaching others how to ape you;
Court nor Parliament can cape you ;`
Treat the publick and your friends
Both alike, while neither mends.

Sing my praife in ftrain fublime:
Treat me not with doggrel rhyme.
'Tis but jutt, you should produce,
With each fault, each fault's excufe;
Not to publish every trifle,
And my few perfections ftille."
With fome gifts at least endow me,
Which my very foes allow me.
Am I fpightful, proud, unjuft 2:
Did I ever break my trust?
Which of all our modern dames
Cenfures lefs, or lefs de ames ?
In good manners am I faulty?
Can you call me rude or haughty?
Did I e'er my mite withhold
From the impotent and old?
When did ever I omit

"

Duc regard for men of wit?
When have I eftcem exprefs'd
For a coxcomb gaily dre.d?
Do I, like the female tribe,
Think it wit to fleer and gibe
Who with lefs defigning ends
Kindlier entertains their friends;

With good words, and countenance fprighty,
Strives to treat them more politely?

Think not cards my chief diverfion :
'Tis a wrong, unjust afperfion :
Never knew I any good in 'em,
But to dofe my head like laudanum.
We by play, as men by drinking,
Pafs our nights, to drive out thinking.
From my ailments give me leifure,
I fhall read and think with pleasure ;
Converfation learn to relish,

And with books my mind embellish.
Now, methinks, I hear you cry,
Mr. Dean, you must reply.

Madam, I allow 'tis true:

All thefe praifes are your due.
You, like fome acute philofopher,
Every fault have drawn a glofs over ;
Placing in the firongest light
All your virtues to my fight.

Though you lead a blameless life,
Are an humble prudent wife,
Anfwer all domeftic ends;
What is this to us your friends?"
Though your children by a nod
Staud in awe without a rod;
Though, by your obliging sway,
Servants love you, and obey;
Though you treat us with a fmile ;
Clear your looks, and fmooth your ftyle;
Load our plates from every dish';"
This is not the thing we with.
Colonel -

may be your debtor; We expect employment better. You must learn, if you would gain us, With good fenfe to entertain us.

Scholars, when good fenfe defcribing,
Call if fafting and imbibing :
Metaphoric meat and drink
Is to understand and think:
We may carve for others thus;
And let others carve for us:
To difcourt and to attend,
Is to help yourself and friend.
Converfation is but carving ;
(arve for all, yourself is ftarving-:~
Give no more to every gueft,
Than he's able to digeft;
Give him always of the prime,
And but little at a time,
Gave to all but juft enough;
Let them neither farve nor stuff:
And, that you may have your due,
Let your neighbours carve for you.
This comparison will hold,
Could it well in rhyme be told
How converfing, liftening, thinking,
Jufly may refemble drinking
For a friend a glafs you fill,
What is this but to inftill 2.

To conclude this long etfay;
Pardon, if I difobey;
Nor, against my natural vein,
Treat you in heroic ftrain,

as all the parish kirows,
rdly can be grave in profe:
ll to lafh, and lathing imile,
befits a lofty ftyle.

om the planet of my birth
ncounter vice with uni th
icked minifters of state
an easier fcorn than hate:
dt find it answers right;

orn torments them more than spight. the vices of a court

but ferve to make me sport. ere I in fome foreign realm, hich all vices overwhelm; ould a monkey wear a crown, ift! tremble at his frown? uld I not, through all his ermine,

the ftrutting, chattering vermin? ely write a fmart lampcon, expofe the brisk baboon*? When my Mufe officious ventures the nation's representers; aching by what galden rules o knaves they turn their fools: w the helm is rul'd by Walpole,

whofe oars, like flaves, they all pull t the veffel fplit on fhelves;

ith the freight enrich themselves: e within my little wherry,

I their madness makes me merry:

te the watermen of Thames,

ow by, and call them names;
ze the ever-laughing age,
a jeft I spend my rage
Lough it must be understood,
would hang them, if I could);
I can but fill my nitch,.
attempt no higher pitch;
ave to D'Anvers and his mate
axims wife to rule the state.

lteney deep, accomplish'd St. Johns,
ourge the villains with a vengeance:
t me, though the fmell be noifome,
rip their bums; let +Caleb hoife 'em;
hen apply Alecto's whip,

ill they wriggle, howl, and skip. Deuce is in you, Mr. Dean : What can all this passion mean? Mention courts! you'll ne'er be quiet a corruptions running riot. nd as it befits your station: ome to use and application: for with fenates keep a fufs. fubmit; and aufwer thus: If the machinations brewing, To complete the public ruin, Fever once could bave the power, oaffect me half an hour;

Sooner would I write in bufkins,
Mournful elegies on Bluefkins.
If I laugh at Whig and Tory,

I conclude, a fortiori,
All your eloquence will scarce
Drive me from my favourite farce.
This I muft infift on: for, as
It is well obferved by †Horace,
Ridicule hath greater power

To reform the world, than four.
Horfes thus, let jockies judge elfe,
Switches better guide than cudgels.
Baftings heavy, dry, obtufe,
Only dulnefs can produce;
While a little gentle-jerking
Sets the fpirits all a-working.

Thus, I find it by experiment,

Scolding moves you lefs than inerriment.

I may form and rage in vain;
It but ftupises your brain.
But with raillery to nettle,

Sets your thoughts upon their mettle;
Gives imagination fcope;

Never lets the mind elope;

Drives out brangling and contention,

Brings in reafon and invention.
For your fake, as well as mine,
I the lofty ftyle decline,

I should make a figure fcurvy,
And your head turn topsy-turvy.

I, who love to have a fing
Both at fenate-house and king;
That they might fome better way tread,
To avoid the public hatred;

Thought no method more commodious,
Than to fhew their vices odious;
Which I chofe to make appear,
Not by anger, but a fneer.
As my method of reforming
Is by laughing, not by ftorming
(For my friends have always thought
Tenderness my greatest fault);
Would you have me change my ftyle?
On your faults no longer fmile;
But, to patch up all our quarrels,
Quote you texts from Plutarch's Morals;
Or from Solomon produce
Maxims teaching Wifdom's ufe?

If I treat you like a crown'd-head,
You have cheap enough compounded;
Can you put in higher claims,
Than the owners of St. James?
You are not fo great a grievance,
As the hirelings of St. Stephen's,
You are of a lower clafs

Than my friend Sir Robert Brafs,
None of thefe have mercy found;

I have laugh'd, and lafh'd them round.

The famous thief, who, whilst on his trial at the Old Bailey, ftabbel Jonathan Wild, N.

«Ridiculum acri, &c.

Y y 2

Have you feen a rocket fly?

You would swear it pierc'd the sky:
It but reach'd the middle air,
Bursting into pieces there:
Thousand fparkles falling down
Light on many a coxcomb's crown;
See what mirth the fport creates ;
Singes hair, but breaks no pates.
Thus, fhould I attempt to climb,
Treat you in a ftyle fublime,
Such a rocket is my Mufe:
Should I lofty numbers choose,
Ere I reach'd Parnaffus' top,
I should burft, and bursting drop;
All my fire would fall in fcraps;
Give your head fome gentle raps ;
Only make it smart awhile :
Then could I forbear to fmile,
When I found the tingling pain
Entering warm your frigid brain;
Make you able upon fight
To decide of wrong and right;

Talk with fenfe whate'er you pleafe on 3
Learn to relish truth and reafon?

Thus we both fhall gain our prize: to laugh, and you grow wife.

A YOUNG LADY'S COMPLAINT,

FOR

The Stay of the DEAN in ENGLAND. 1726.

LOW, ye Zephyrs, gentle gales;

Neptune, with thy trident long,
Trident three-fork'd, trident strong;
And ye Nereids fair and gay,
Fairer than the rofe in May,
Nereids living in deep caves,.
Gently wa'd with gentle waves;
Nereids, Neptune, lull asleep
Ruffing forms, and ruffled deep;
All around, in pompous ftate,
On this richer Argo wait :
Argo, bring my Golden Fleece;
Argo, bring him to his Greece.
Will Cadenus longer ftay?
Come, Cadenus, come away;
Come with all the hafte of love,
Come unto thy turtle-dove.
The ripen'd cherry on the tree
Hangs, and only hangs for thee;
Laifcious peaches, mellow pears,
Ceres with her yellow ears,
And the grape, both red and white,
Grape infpiring juft delight;
All are ripe, and courting fue
To be pluck'd and prefs'd by you.
Pinks have lott their blooming red,
Momning hang their drooping head;

Every flower languid feems,
Wants the colour of thy beams,
Beams of wondrous force and power,
Beams reviving every flower.
Come, Cadenus, blefs once more,
Blefs again thy native fore;
Blefs again this drooping ifle,
Make its weeping beauties fmile,
Beauties that thine abfence mourn,
Beauties wishing thy return.
Come, Cadenus, come with hafle,
Come before the winter's blaft;
Swifter the the lightning fly;

Or I, like Vanefla, die.

A LETTER TO THE DEAN,

WHEN IN ENGLAND. 1726. YOU will excufe me, I fuppofe, For fending rhyme instead of profe, Becaufe hot weather makes me lazy; To write in metre is more easy.

While you are trudging London town, I'm strolling Dublin up and down; While you converfe with lords and dukes, I have their betters here, my books: Fix'd in an elbow-chair at eafe, I choose companions as I please. I'd rather have one single thelf Than all my friends, except yourself; For, after all that can be faid, Our beft acquaintance are the dead. While you're in raptures with Faustina*; I'm charm'd at home with our Shelina. While you are ftarving there in ftate, I'm cramming here with butchers meat. You fay, when with those lords you dine, They treat you with the beft of wine, Burgundy, Cyprus, a d Tokay; Why fo can we, as well as they. No reafon then, my dear good Dean, But you should travel home again. What though you may n't in Ireland hope To find fuch folk as Gay and Pope; If you with rhymers here would share But half the wit that you can spare, I'd lay twelve eggs, that, in twelve days, You'd make a dozen of Popes and Gays."

Our weather 's good, our iky is clear ; We 've every joy, it you were here; So lofty and fo bright a sky Was never feen by Ireland's eye! I think it fit to let you know, This week I fhall to Quilca go; To fee M'Fayder's horny brothers Firft fuck, and after buil their mothers; To fee, alas! my wither'd trees! To fee what all the country fees! My ftunted quicks, my famifh'd beeves, My fervants fuch a pack of thieves;

* Signora Faujina, a fumous Italian finger,

My fhatter'd firs, my blafted oaks,
My house in common to all folks;
No cabbage for a fingle snail,

My turnips, carrots, parfnips, fail;

My no green peas, my few green sprouts ;
My mother always in the pouts;
My horfes rid, or gone aftray;
My fall itol'n, or run away;
My mutton lean, my pullets old,
My poultry ftarv'd, the corn all fold.

A man, come now from Quilca, fays, "They've ftol'n the locks from all your keys" But, what muft fret and vex me more, He fays, "They ftole they keys before. "They've ftol'n the knives from all the forks; "And half the cows from half the turks," Nay more, the fellow fwears and vows, "They've ftol'n the fturks from half the cows:" With many more accounts of woc. Yet, though the devil be there, I'll go : 'Twixt you and me, the reafon's clear, Because I've more vexation here,

Though fome, we find, are more discreet, Before the world are wondrous fweet,

And let the.r hufbands hector: But, when the world 's afleep, they wake, That is the time they choofe to fpeak; Witness the curtain-lecture.

Such was the cafe with you, I find:
All day you could conceal your mind;
But when St. Patrick's chimes
Awak'd your Mufe (my midnight curfe,
When I engag'd for better for worse),

You fcolded with your rhymes.

Have done! have done! I quit the field;
To you, a to my wife, I yield:

As the muft wear the breeches;
So hall you wear the laurel-crown,
Win it, and wear it, 'tis your own;
The poet's only riches.

PALINO DIA. HORACE, BOOK I, ODE XVI. REAT Sir, than Phoebus more divine,

Gwhofe verfes far his rays out-fhines

Look down upon your quondam foe;
Oh! let me never write again,
If e'er I difoblige you, Dean,

Should you compassion show.
Take thofe Jambicks which I wrote,
When anger made me piping hot,
And give them to your cook,
To finge your fowl, or fave your paste,
The next time when you have a feast;
They'll fave you many a book.
To burn them, you are not content;
I give you then my free confent;

To fink them in the harbour:
If not, they'll ferve to fet off blocks,
To roll on pipes, and twift in locks:
So give them to your barber.

Or, when you next your phyfick take,
I muft intreat you then to make
A proper application;
'Tis what I've done myself before,

With Dan's fine thoughts, and many more,
Who gave me provocation.

What cannot mighty anger do?
It makes the weak the ftrong pursue,
A goofe attack a fwan;

It makes a woman, tooth and nail,
Her husband's hands and face affail,
While he's no longer man.

BEC'S BIRTH-DAY.

November 8, 1726.

THad rate a luckier one, the 'd give it ye:
HIS day, dear Bec, is thy nativity;
She chofe a thread of greatest length,
And doubly twifted it for ftrength;
Nor will be able with her fhears
To cut it off these forty years.
Then who fays care will kill a cat?
Rebecca fhews they 're out in that,
For the, though over-run' with care,
Continues healthy, fat, and air.

As, if the gout should feize the head,
Doctors pronounce the patient dead;
But, if they can, by all their arts,
Eject it to th' extremeft parts,
They give the fick man joy, and praife
The gout, that will prolong his days;
Rebecca thus I gladly greet,

Who drives her cares to hands and feet:
For, though philofophers maintain
The limbs are guided by the brain,
Quite contrary Rebecca's led.
Her hands and feet conduct her head,
By arbitrary power convey her;
She ne'er confiders why, or where:
Her hands may meddle, feet may wander,
Her head is but a mere by-ftander;
And all her buftling but supplies
The part of wholsome exercise.
Thus nature hath refolv❜d to
pay her
The cat's nine lives, and eke the care.

Long may the live, and help her friends
Whene'er it fuits her private ends;
Domestic bufinefs never mind
Till coffee has her ftomach lin❜d:

But, when her breakfaft gives her courage, Then think on Stella's chicken-porridge;

I mean when Tiger* has been ferv'd,
Or elfe poor Stella may be ftarv'd.

May Bec have many an evening nap,
With Tiger flabbering in her lap;
But always take a special care
She does not overfet the chair!
Still be the curious, never hearken
To any fpeech but Tiger's barking!

And when the 's in another fcene,
Stella long dead, but first the Dean,
May fortune and her coffee get her
Companions that may please her better!
Whole afternoons will fit befide her,
Nor for neglects or blunders chide her,
A goodly fet as can be found
Of hearty golips prating round;
Fresh from a wedding or a chriftening,
To teach her ears the art of listening.
And pleafe her more to hear them tattle,
Than the Dean ftorm, or Stella rattle.

Late be her death, one gentle nod,
When Hermes, waiting with his rod,
Shall to Elyfan fields invite her,

Where there shall be no cares to fright her!

MOST OF THEM WRITTEN IN 1726.

I. On a Window at an INN.

TE fly from luxury and wealth,

WTo hardtips, in pursuit of health;

From generous wines and coftly fare,
And dofing in an easy chair;
Pursue the Goddefs Health in vain,
To find her in a country scene,
And every where her footfteps trace,
And fee her marks in every face;
And ftill her favourites we meet,
Crouding the roads with naked feet,
But, oh! fo faintly we purfue,
We ne'er can have her in full view.