Nor give the fmalleft room to guefs
The time when wants of nature prefs;
But after marriage practise more
Decorum than fhe did before;
To keep her spouse deluded ftill,
And make him fancy what fhe will.
In bed we left the married pair:

'Tis time to fhew how things went there.
Strephon, who had heen often told
That fortune ftill affifts the bold,
Refoiv'd to make the firft attack;
But Chloe drove him fiercely back.
How could a nymph fo chafte as Chloc,
With conftitution cold and fnowy,
Permit a brutish man to touch her?
Ev'n lambs by inftinet fly the butcher.
Refiftance on the wedding-night
Is what our maidens claim by right:
And Chloe, 'tis by all agreed,

Was maid in thought, and word, and deed.
Yet fome affign a different reafon;
That Strephon chofe no proper season.
Say, Fair-ones, must I make a pause,
Or freely tell the secret caufe?

Twelve cups of tea (with grief 1 fpeak)
Had now constrain'd the nymph to leak.
This point muft needs be fettled first:
The bride muft either void or burst.
Then fee the dire effects of pease;
Think what can give the colic ease.
The nymph, opprefs'd before, behind,
As fhips are tofs'd by waves and wind,
Steals out her hand, by nature led,
And brings a veffel into bed;
Fair utenfil, as fmooth and white
As Chloe's fkin, almost as bright.
Strephon, who heard the fuming rill
As from a moffy cliff distil,

Cry'd out, Ye Gods! what found is this?
Can Chloe, heavenly Chloe,
But when he fmelt a noifome steam,
Which oft attends that luke-warm ftream;
(Salerno both together joins,

As fovereign medicines for the loins;)
And though contriv'd, we may fuppofe,
To flip his ears, yet ftruck his nofe;
He found her, while the fcent increas'd,
As mortal as himfelf at least.
But foon, with like occafions preft,
He boldly fent his hand in queft
(Infpir'd with courage from his bride)
To reach the pot on t' other fide;
And, as he fill'd the reeking vase,
Let fly a roufer in her face.

The little Cupids hovering round,
(As pictures prove, with garlands crown'd)
Abath'd at what they faw and heard,
Flew off, nor ever more appear'd.

Adieu to ravishing delights,
High raptures, and romantic flights;
To goddeffes fo heavenly fweet,
Expiring fhepherds at their feet;
To filver meads and fhady bowers,
Drefs'd up with amaranthine flowers.

How great a change! how quickly made!
They learn to call a spade a spade.
VOL. V.

They foon from all conftraints are freed;

Can fee cach other do their need.
On box of cedar fits the wife,
And makes it warm for deareft life;
And, by the beaftly way of thinking,
Finds great fociety in ftinking.
Now Strephon daily entertains
His Chloe in the homelieft ftrains;
And Chloe, more experienc'd grown,
With intereft pays him back his own.
No maid at court is lefs afham'd,
Howe'er for felling bargains fam'd,
Than fhe to name her parts behind,

Or when a-bed to let out wind.

Fair Decency, celestial maid!

Defcend from Heaven to Beauty's aid!

Though Beauty may beget defire,
'Tis thou must fan the Lover's fire;
For Beauty, like fupreme dominion,
Is beft fupported by Opinion:
If Decency bring no fupplies,
Opinion falls, and Beauty dies.

To fee fome radiant nymph appear
In all her glittering birth-day gear,
You think fome Goddefs from the sky
Defcended, ready cut and dry:
But ere you fell yourself to laughter,
Confider well what may come after;
For fine ideas vanish faft,
While all the gross and filthy last.

O Strephon, ere that fatal day
When Chloe ftole your heart away,
Had you but through a cranny spy'd
On houfe of cafe your future bride,
In all the poftures of her face
Which nature gives in fuch a cafe;
Distortions, groanings, ftrainings, heavings;
'Twere better you had lick'd her leavings,
Than from experience find too late
Your goddefs grown a filthy mate.
Your fancy then had always dwelt
On what you faw, and what you smelt;
Would fill the fame ideas give ye,
As when you spy'd her on the privy;
And, fpite of Chloe's charms divine,
Your heart had been as whole as mine.
Authorities, both old and recent,
Direct that women must be decent;
And from the spouse each blemish hide,
More than from all the world befide.

Unjustly all our nymphs complain
Their empire holds fo fhort a reign;
Is after marriage loft so foon,

It hardly holds the honey-moon:
For, if they keep not what they caught,

It is entirely their own fault.

They take poffeffion of the crown,
And then throw all their weapons down:
Though, by the politician's fcheme,
Whoc'er arrives at power fupreme,

Thofe arts by which at firft they gain it,
They ftill muft practife to maintain it.
What various ways our females take
To pafs for wits before a rake!
And in the fruitlefs fearch pursue
All other methods but the true!
Fff

Some try to learn polite behaviour By reading books against their Saviour; Some call it witty to reflect

On every natural defect;

Sone fhew they never want explaining,
To comprehend a double-meaning.
But fure a tell-tale out of school
Is of all wits the greatest fool;
Whose rank imagination fills
Her heart, and from her lips diftils:
You'd think the utter'd from behind,
Or at her mouth was breaking wind.
Why is a handfome wife ador'd
By every coxcomb but her lord?
From yonder puppet-man inquire,
Who wifely hides his wood and wire;
Shews Sheba's queen completely drest,
And Solomon in royal veft;
But view them litter'd on the floor,
Or ftrung on pegs behind the door;
Punch is exactly of a piece

With Lorrain's duke, and prince of Greece.

A prudent builder should forecast
How long the ftuff is like to laft;
And carefully observe the ground,
To build on fome foundation found.
What house, when its materials crumble,
Muft not inevitably tumble?
What edifice can long endure,
Rais'd on a bafis unfecure?

Rash mortals, ere you take a wife,
Contrive your pile to laft for life:
Since beauty fcarce endures a day,
And youth fo fwiftly glides away;
Why will you make yourself a bubble,
To build on fand with hay and stubble?
On sense and wit your paflion found,
By decency cemented round;
Let prudence with good-nature strive
To keep esteem and love alive.
Then, come old age whene'er it will,
Your friendship fhall continue ftill:
And thus a mutual gentle fire
Shall never but with life expire.

E'er drove, before he fold his land,
So fine a coach along the Strand;
The spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were filver, and the axle gold:
(I own, 'twas but a coach and four,
For Jupiter allows no more!)

Yet, with his beauty, wealth, and parts,
Enough to win ten thousand hearts,
No vulgar deity above

Was fo unfortunate in love.

Three weighty caufes were affign'd,
That mov'd the nymphs to be unkind.
Nine Mufes always waiting round him,
He left them virgins as he found them.
His finging was another fault;
For he could reach to B in alt:
And, by the fentiments of Pliny,
Such fingers are like Nicolini.
At last, the point was fully clear'd:
In short, Apollo had no beard.

THE PLACE OF THE DAMNED.

A

1731.

LL folks who pretend to religion and grace, Allow there's a HELL, but difpute of the place: But, if HELL may by logical rules be defin'd The place of the damn'd-I'll tell you my mind. Where-ever the damn'd do chiefly abound, Moft certainly there is HELL to be found: Damn'd poets, damn'd criticks, damn'd blockbeads, damn'd knaves,

Damn'd fenators brib’d, damn’d prostitute slaves; Damn'd lawyers and judges, damn'd lords and damn'd Squires i

Damn'd spies and informers, damn'd friends and damn'd liars;

Damn'd villains, corrupted in every flation;
Damn'd time-ferving priefts all over the nation;
And into the bargain I'll readily give you
Damn'd ignorant prelates and counsellors privy.
Then let u no longer by parfons be flamm'd,
For we know by these marks the place of the damn'd:
And HELL to be fure is at Paris or Rome.
How happy for us that it is not at home!

B

JUDA S. 1731.

Y the juft vengeance of incensed skies, Poor Bishop Judas late repenting dies. The Jews engag'd him with a paltry bribe, Amounting hardly to a crown a tribe; Which though his confcience forc'd him to refere (And, parfons tell us, no man could do more; Yet, through despair, of God and man accur, He loft his bishoprick, and hang'd or burit. Thofe former ages differ'd much from this; Judas betray'd his master with a kiss: But fome have kifs'd the gofpel fifty times, Whose perjury's the leaft of all their crimes;

AN EPISTLE TO MR. GAY.* 1731.

H

OW could you, Gay, difgrace the Mufes' train, To ferve a tastelefs Court twelve years in vain! Fain would I think our female friend † fincere, Till Bob, the poet's foe, poffefs'd her ear. Did female virtue e'er fo high afcend, To lofe an inch of favour for a friend?

Say, had the Court no better place to choose For thee, than make a dry-nurfe of thy Mufe? How cheaply had thy liberty been fold, To fquire a royal girl of two years old; In leading-ftrings her infant-steps to guide, Or with her go-cart amble fide by fide!

But princely Douglas and his glorious dame
Advanc'd thy fortune, and preferv'd thy fame.
Nor will your nobler gifts be mifapply'd,
When o'er your patron's treafure you prefide:
The world fhall own, his choice was wife and juft,
For fons of Phoebus never break their trust.

Not love of beauty lefs the heart inflames
Of guardian eunuchs to the Sultan's dames:
Their paffions not more impotent and cold,
Than thofe of poets to the luft of gold.
With Pean's pureft fire his favourites low,
The dregs will ferve to ripen ore below;
His meanest work: for, had he thought it fit
That wealth should be the appennage of wit,
The god of light could ne'er have been so blind
To deal it to the worst of human-kind.

But let me now, for I can do it well,
Your conduct in this new employ foretel.
And first: to make my obfervation right,
I place a flatefman full before my fight,
A bloated minifter in all his geer,
With fhameless vifage and perfidious leer;

* The Dean, baving been told by an intimate friend, ther the Duke of Queerfoury bad employed Mr. Gay to infpect the accounts and management of bis Grace's receivers and flowards (which bowever proved to be a miflake,) wrote this Epiftle to his Friend,

The Count fs of Suffolk. N.

Two rows of teeth arm each devouring jaw,
And oftrich-like his all-digesting maw.
My fancy drags this monfter to my view,
To fhew the world his chief reverfe in you.
Of loud unmeaning founds a rapid flood
Rolls from his mouth in plenteous ftreams of mud;
With these the court and fenate-house he plies,
Made up of noife, and impudence, and lies.

Now let me fhew how Bob and you agree:
You ferve a potent prince, as well as he.
The ducal coffers, trufted to your charge,
Your honest care may fill, perhaps enlarge:
His vaffals eafy, and the owner bleft;
They pay a trifle, and enjoy the rest.
Not fo a nation's revenues are paid:
The fervant's faults are on the mafter laid.
The people with a figh their taxes bring;
And, curfing Bob, forget to blefs the King.

Next hearken, Gay, to what thy charge requires,
With fervants, tenants, and the neighbouring squires.
Let all domeftics feel your gentle sway;
Nor bribe, infult, nor flatter, nor betray.
Let due reward to merit be allow'd;
Nor with your kindred half the palace crowd;
Nor think yourself secure in doing wrong,
By telling nofes with a party ftrong.

'Be rich; but of your wealth make no parade; At least, before your mafter's debts are paid: Nor in a palace, built with charge immense, Prefume to treat him at his own expence. Each farmer in the neighbourhood can count To what your lawful perquifites amount. The tenants poor, the hardness of the times, Are ill excufes for a fervant's crimes. With intereft, and a premium paid befide, The mafter's preffing wants must be supply'd; With hafty zeal behold the fterward come By his own credit to advance the fum; Who, while th' unrighteous mammon is his friend, May well conclude his power will never end. A faithful treasurer! what could be do more? He lends my Lord what was my Lord's before. 'The law fo ftrictly guards the Monarch's health, That no phyfician dares prefcribe by stealth: The council fit; approve the doctor's skill; And give advice, before he gives the pill, But the fate empiric acts a safer part; And, while he poifons, wins the royal heart. But how can I defcribe the ravenous breed? Then let me now by negatives proceed.

Suppofe your Lord a trufty fervant fend
On weighty business to fome neighbouring friend:
Prefume not, Gay, unless you serve a drone,
To countermand his orders by your own.

Should fome imperious neighbour fink the boats,
And drain the fifb-ponds, while your mafler dotes;
Shall he upon the ducal rights intrench,
Because he brib'd you with a brace of tench?

Nor from your Lord his bad condition hide,
To feed his luxury, or footh his pride:

Nor at an under-rate his timber fell,
And with an oath affure him, all is well;
Or fwear it rotten, and with bumble airs
Requeft it of bim to complete your flairs:
Nor, when a mortgage lies on half his lands,
Come with a purfe of guinças in your hands.
Have Peter Waters always in your mind:
That rogue, of genuine minifterial kind,
Can half the peerage by his arts bewitch,
Starve twenty lords to make one fcoundrel rich;
And, when he gravely has undone a fcore,
Is humbly pray'd to ruin twenty more.

A dextrous fleward, when his tricks are found,
Hufb-money fends to all the neighbours round;
His mafter, unfufpicious of his pranks,
Pays all the coft, and gives the villain thanks.
And, fhould a friend attempt to fet him right,
His Lordship would impute it all to spight;
Would love his favourite better than before,
And trust his honesty just so much more.
Thus families, like realms, with equal fate,
Are funk by premier minifters of flate.

Some, when an heir fucceeds, go boldly on,
And, as they robb'd the father, rob the son.
A knave, who deep imbroils his lord's affairs,
Will foon grow neceffary to his heirs.
His policy confifts in fitting traps,

In finding ways and means, and flopping gaps;
He knows a thousand tricks whene'er he please,
Though not to cure, yet palliate each difcafe.
In either cafe, an equal chance is run;
For, keep or turn him out, my Lord's undone.
You want a hand to clear a filthy fink;
No cleanly workman can endure the ftink.
A ftrong dilemma in a defperate cafe!
To act with infamy, or quit the place.

A bungler thus, who fearce the nail can hit,
With driving wrong will make the pannel fplit;
Nor dares an abler workman undertake
To drive a fecond, left the whole fhould break.
In every court the parallel will hold;
And kings, like private folks, are bought and fold.
The ruling rogue, who dreads to be cafhier'd,
Contrives, as he is bated, to be fear'd;
Confounds accounts, perplexes all affairs;
For vengeance more imbreils, than skill repairs,
So robbers (and their ends are just the fame),
To 'fcape inquiries, leave te kafe in flame.

I knew a brazen minifter of ftate, Who bore for twice ten-years the public hate. In every mouth the question moft in vogue Was, When will they turn cut ibis odious regue? A juncture happen'd in his highest pride: While be went robbing on, ele major dy'd. We thought there now remain'd no room to doubt; His wok is done the minifier muji out. The court invited more than one or two; Will you, Sir Spencer? or, Will you, or you? But not a foul his office dra accept; The fubtle knave had all the plunder swept : And, fuch was then the temper of the times, He ow'd his prefervation to his crimes.

The candidates observ'd his dirty paws,
Nor found it difficult to guess the cause;
But, when they smelt fuch foul corruptions round
him,

Away they fled, and left him as they found him.
Thus, when a greedy floven once has thrown
His not into the mess, 'tis all bis otun.

ON THE IRISH BISHOPS.* 1731.

LD Latimer preaching did fairly defcribe A bishop, who rul'd all the rest of his tribe: And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell? Why truly 'tis Satan, arch-bishop of hell. And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre Surrounded with jewels of fulphur and nitre. How nearly this bifhop our bithops refembles! But he has the odds, who believes and rho trembles. Could you fee his grim grace, for a pound to a penny, You'd fwear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny: Poor Satan will think the comparison odious; I wish I could find him out one more commodious. But this I am fure, the most reverend old dragon Has got on the bench many bishops fuffragan; And all men believe he refides there incog. To give them by turns an invisible jog.

Our bishops, puff'd up with wealth and with pride, To hell on the backs of the clergy would ride. They mounted and labour'd with whip and with fpur, in vain-for the devil a parfon would ftir. So the Commons unhors'd them; and this was their doom,

On their crofters to ride, like a witch on a broom. Though they gallop'd fo faft, on the road you may find 'em,

And have left us but three out of twenty behind'em, Lord Bolton's good grace, Lord Car, and Lord

Now hear an allufion :-A mitre, you know, divided above, but united below. this you confider, our emblem is right; he bishops divide, but the clergy unite. ould the bottom be fplit, our bifhops would dread hat the mitre would never stick faft on their head: nd yet they have learnt the chief art of a sovereign, Machiavel taught them; divide, and ye govern. at courage, my lords; though it cannot be faid hat one claven tongue ever fat on your head; Il hold you a groat (and I wish I could fee 't,) your flockings were off, you could fhew cloven feet. But hold, cry the bishops; and give us fair play; efore you condemn us, hear what we can say. hat truer affections could ever be shown, han faving your fouls by damning our own? nd have we not practis'd all methods to gain you; ith the tithe of the tithe of the tithe to maintain you;

-ovided a fund for building you fpitals?

u are only to live four years without victuals. Content, my good lords; but let us change hands; rit take you our tithes, and give us your lands. God blefs the Church and three of our mitres; nd God blefs the Commons, for biting the biters.

ON THE DEATH OF DR. SWIFT.*

ccafioned by reading the following MAXIM in ROCHEFOUCAULT," Dans l' adverfité de nos "meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours quelque "chofe qui ne nous déplaît pas."

In the adverfity of our best friends, we always "find fomething that doth not displease us."

S Rochefoucault his maxims drew

They argue no corrupted mind

him; the fault is in mankind.
This maxim more than all the reft
thought too bafe for human breast:
In all diftreffes of our friends,
We first confult our private ends;
While nature, kindly bent to cafe us,
Points out fome circumftance to pleafe us."
If this perhaps your patience move,

et reafon and experience prove.
We all behold with envious cyes
ur equals rais'd above our size.
Who would not at a crowded show
and high himfelf, keep others low?

love my
friend as well as you:
But why should he obftruct my view?
Then let me have the higher post;
Suppofe it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had fome heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won;
Rather than thus be over-topt,
Would you not with his laurels cropt?
Dear honeft Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan !
How glad the cafe is not your own!

What poet would not grieve to fee
His brother write as well as he?
But, rather than they should excel,
Would with his rivals all in hell?

Her end when emulation miffes,
She turns to envy, ftings, and hiffes:
The strongest friendship yields to pride,
Unless the odds be on our fide.
Vain human-kind! fantastic race!
Thy various follies who can trace?
Self-love, ambition, envy, pride,
Their empire in our hearts divide.
Give others riches, power and station,
'Tis all to me an ufurpation.
I have no title to aspire;

Yet, when you fink, I feem the higher.
In Pope I cannot read a line,
But with a figh I wifh it mine:
When he can in one couplet fix
More fenfe than I can do in fix;
It gives me fuch a jealous fit,

I cry,

"Pox take him and his wit!"