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WIT, by learning well refin'd,
A beau, but of the rural kind,
To Sylvia made pretences;
They both profefs'd.an equal love :
Yet hop'd by different means to move
Her judgment or her fenfes.

Young fprightly Flirt, of blooming mien,
Watch'd the beft minutes to be feen;

Went-when his his glass-advis'd him;
While meagre Phil of books enquir'd;
A wight, for wit and parts admir'd;
And witty ladies priz'd him,

Sylvia had wit, had fpirits too:
To hear the one, the other view,
Sufpended held the fcales :

Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its share.
Let none the preference declare,
But turn up-heads or tails.

STANZAS

To the memory of an agreeable Lady, buried in marriage to a perfon undeferving her.

WAS always held, and ever will,
By fage mankind, difcreeter,

'TWA

T'anticipate a leffer ill,

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread difcafes, pain,
And languishing conditions;
Who don't the leffer ill fuftain
Of phyfic and physicians?
Rather than lofe his whole eftate,
He that but little wife is,
Full gladly pays four parts in eight
To taxes and excifes.

Our merchants Spain has near undone
For loft fhips not requiting:
This bears our noble king to fhun
1 he lofs of blood-in fighting!
With numerous ills, in fingle life,

The bachelor's attended:
Such to avoid, he takes a wife-
And much the cafe is mended!
VOL V.I.

COLEMIRA.

A Culinary ECLOGUE.

"Nec tantum Veneris, quantum studiosa culinæ.”

IGHT's fable clouds had half the world o'erfpread,

And filence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed:
When love, which gentle fleep can ne'er infpire,
Had feated Damon by the kitchen fire.

Penfive he lay, extended on the ground;
The little lares kept their vigils round;
The fawning cats compaffionate his cafe,
And pur around, and gently lick his face :

To all his plaints the fleeping curs reply,
And with hoarfe fnorings imitate a figh.
Such gloomy fcenes with lovers' minds agree,
And folitude to them is best fociety.

Could I (he cried) exprefs, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face; Thou wouldft, Colemira, grant what I implore, And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.

Ah! who can fee, and feeing not admire, Whene'er fhe fets the pot upon the fire! Her hands out-fhine the fire, and redder things; Her eyes are blacker than the pots fhe brings.

But fure no chamber-damfel can compare, When in meridian luftre fhines my fair, When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly rills, Adown her goodly cheek the fweat diftills.

Oh how I long, how ardently defire, To view those rofy fingers ftrike the lyre! For late, when bees to change their climes began, How did I fee them thrum the frying-pan!

With her! I fhould not envy George his queen, Though the in royal grandeur deck'd be seen : While rags, juft fever'd from my fair one's gown, In ruffet pomp and greafy pride hang down.

Ah! now it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the h I hear thy mellow voice! How would that voice exceed the village bell; Would that but fing, "I like thee paffing well!

When from the hearth fhe bade the pointers go, How foft! how eafy did her accents flow! "Get-out, the cry'd, when strangers come to fup, "One ne'er can raife thefe fnoring devils up."

Then, full of wrath, fhe kick'd each lazy brute,

Alas! I envy'd even that falute;

'Twas fure mifplac'd-Shock faid, or fee a'd to

fay,

He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.

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If the the mystic bellows take in hand,
Who like the fair can that machine command?
O may' thou ne'er by Eo us be seen,
For he wou'd fure demand thee for his queen.

But should the flame this rougher aid refuse,
And only gentler med'cines be of use;
With full-blown checks fhe ends the doubtful
ftrife,

Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.

Such arts as thefe, exalt the drooping fire,
But in my breaft a fiercer flame infpire:
I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er;
And swell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips, no more!

With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen,
When this proud damfel has more humble been,
When with nice airs fhe hoift the pan-cake round,
And drop'd it, haple's fair! upon the ground.

Look, with what charming grace! what win-
ning tricks!

The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks!
So bright fhe makes the candlesticks the handles,
Oft have I faid, there were no need of candles.

approve,

But thou my fair! who never wouldst a
Or hear the tender ftory of my love;
Or mind, how burns my raging breast,—a but-

ton

Perhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton.

Thus faid, and wept the fad defponding fwain, Revealing to the fable walls his pain:

But nymphs are free with those they should deny;

To hofe, they love, more exquifitely coy!
Now chirping crickets raise their tinkling]
voice

The lambent flames in languid streams arise,
And smoke in azure folds evaporate and dies.

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His breakfast half the morning,

He conftantly attended;
And when the bell rung
For evening fong,

His dinner fearce was ended!

He fpar'd not ev'n heroics,

On which we poets pride us;
And wou'd make no more
Of king Arthur's *, by the fcore,
Than all the world befide does.
In books of geography,

He made the maps to flutter;
A river or a fea

Was to him a difh of tea;
And a kingdom, bread and butter.
But if fome mawkiih potion
Might chance to over-dose him,
To check its rage,
He took a page

Of logic to compofe him

A trap, in hafte and anger,

Was bought, you need not doubt on't
And, fuch was the gin,
Where a lion once got in,

He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheese, not books, 'twas baited,
The fact I'll not belye it-
Since none I'll tell you that-
Whether fcholar or rat

Mind books, when he has other diet.
But more of trap and bait, Sir,

Why should I fing, or either?
Since the rat, whe knew the flight,
Came in the dead of night,

And dragg'd them away together:
Both trap and bait were vanish'd,
Through a fracture in the flooring;
Which, though fo trim
It now may feem,

Had then-a dozen or more in.
Then anfwer this, ye fages!

Nor deem a man to wrong ye,
Had the rat which thus did feize on
The trap, lefs claim to reason,
Than many a fcull among ye?

Dan Prior's mice, I own it,
Were vermin of condition;
But this rat who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,

Was the greater politician.
That England 's topfy-turvy,

Is clear from these mishaps, Sir;
Since traps we may determine,
will no longer take our vermin,
But vermin + take our traps, Sir.

tions.

*By Blackmore.

1

Let

Written at the time of the Spanish depreda

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On certain PASTORALS.

rude and tunelefs are thy lays, The weary audience vow,

'Tir not th' Arcadian fwains that fings, But 'tis his herds that low.

A friend, who, weigh'd with your's, must prize
Domitian's idle paffion;

That wrought the death of teazing flies,

But ne'er their propagation.

Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm,
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To flight dame nature's faireft form
And figh for nature's vermin.
And fpeak with some respect of beaux,
Nor more as triflers treat 'em :.
'Tis better learn to fave one's cloaths,
Than cherish moths, that eat 'em.

On Mr. C― of Kidderminster's Poetry.

The Extent of COOKERY,

W

"Aliufque et idem."

HEN Tom to Cambridge firft was fent,
A plain brown bob he wore ;

Read much, and look'd as though he meant
To be a fop no more.

THY verfes, friend. are Kidderminster stuff, Sce him to Lincoln's inn repair,

And I must own you've measured out cnough.

To the VIRTUOSOS.

HATI, to

AIL, curious wights! to whom so fair

Who deem thofe grubs beyond compare,
Which common fenfe defpifes.
Whether o'er hill, morafs, or mound,
You make your sportsman fallies;
Or that your prey in gardens found
Is urg'd through walks and alleys.
Yet, in the fury of the chace,

No flope could e'er retard you ;-
Bleft if one fly repay the race,

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Or painted wings reward you.
Fierce as Camilla o'er the plain
Purfued the glittering ftranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleafing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.
'Tis you difpenfe the favourite meat
To nature's filmy people;

Know what conferves they chufe to eat,
And what liqueurs to tipple.
And if her brood of infects dies,
You fage affiftance lend her;
Can ftoop to pimp for amorous flies,
And help them to engender.
'Tis you protect their pregnant hour;
And when the birth 's at hand,
Exerting your obftretic power,
Prevent a mo.hlefs land.

Yet oh howe'er your towering view
Above grofs objects rises,

Whate'er refinements you purfue,
Hear, what a friend advifes:

Famous for a coarfe woollen manufacture.

His refolution flag;

He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.

Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
But gets into the house,

And foon a judge's rank rewards.

His pliant votes and bows,

Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags, give place!
Full Sottoms come intead!

Good Lord to fee the various ways

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A BALL A D.

"Trahit fua quemque voluptas."

ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young fquire,

FROM

To bring down a wife, whom the fwains might admire;

But, in fpite of whatever the mortal could fay,
The goddess objected the length of the way!
To give up the opera, the park, and the ball,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country
hall;

To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor a laceman to plague in a morning-not fhe! To forfake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick, and live,

Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;

To forego the dull box for his lonefome abode, O heavens! fhe should faint, she should die on the road;

To for go the gay fashions and geftures of France, And leave dear Augufte in the midst of the dance, Ad Harlequin too!-'twas in vain to require it; And the wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it.

She might yield to refign the fweet-fingers of Ruckholt,

Where the citizen-matron seduces her cu kold; But Ranelagh foon would her footfte ps recal, And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall.

To be fure the could breathe no where elfe but in town,

Thus the talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a

clown;

But the while honeft Harry defpair'd to fucceed, A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SLENDER's Ghoft. Vide Shakespear.

B

ENEATH a church-yard yew,
Decay'd and worn with age,

At dusk of eve methought I fpy'd

Poor Slender's gholt, that whimpering cried, O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

Ye gentle bards! give ear!'

Who talk of amorous rage,
Who fpoil the lily, rob the rofe,
Come learn of me to weep your woes:
O iweet, O fwect Anne Page!
Why fhould fuch labour'd ftrains
'Your formal Mufe engage i
I never dream'd'or flame or dart,
That fir d my breast or pierc'd my heart,
But figh'd, O fweet Anne Page!
And you! whofe love-fick minds
No medicine can affuage!
Accute the leech's art no more,
But learn of lender to deplore ;
O fweet, O [weet Anne Page!

And ye whofe fouls are held,

Like linne s in a cage! Who talk of fetters, links, and chains, Attend and imitate my trains?

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page! And you who boaft or grieve,

What horrid wars we wage ! Of wounds recei'd from many an eye, Yet mean as I do, when I figh,

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page! Hence every fond conceit

Of shepherd or of fage; 'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way Expreffes all you have to say,

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page !

The INVIDIOUS. MART.

Fortune if my prayer of old Was ne'er folicitous for gold, With better grace thou may'ft allow My fuppliant wifh, that afks it now. Yet think not, goddefs! I require it For the fame end your clowns defire it. In a well made effectual ftring, Fain would I fee Lividio fwing! Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing, But fuch a cur's not worth one s hanging. Give me, O goddess! store of pelf, And he will tye the knot himself.

I

The PRICE of an EQUIPAGE. "Servum fi potes, Ole, non habere,

Et regem potes, Ole non habere." MART.

Afk'd a friend, amidst the throng, Whofe coach it was that trail'd along : "The gilded coach there-don't ye mind? That with the footmen ftuck behind."

O Sir! fays he, what! han't you seen it? 'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. 'Tis odds, methinks, you have forgot Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not ! Your old acquaintance Damon !" True; But faith his equipage is new."

"Blefs me, faid I, where can it end?
What madness has poffefs'd my friend?
Four powder'd flaves, and thofe the tallest,
Their ftomachs doubtlefs not the fmalleft!
Can Damon's revenue maintain

in lace and food, fo large a train?
I know his land-each inch of ground-}
'Tis not a mile to walk it round—
If Damon's whole eftate can bear
To keep his lad and one-horfe chair,
I own tis past my comprehenfion."
Yes, Sir, but Damon has a penfion-

Thus

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To the memory

Of A. L. Efquire,

Juftice of the peace for this county;
Who, in the whole courfe of his pilgrimage
Through a trifling ridiculous world,
Maintaining his proper dignity,
Notwithstanding the fcoffs of ill-difpofed perfons,
And wits of the age,
That ridiculed his behaviour,

Or cenfured his breeding;
Following the dictates of nature,
Defiring to cafe the afflicted,
Eager to fet the prifoners at liberty,
Without having for his end

The noise, or report fuch things generally cause in the world,

(As he was feen to perform them of none)
But the fole relief and happiness

Of the party in diftrefs;
Himfelf refting easy

When he could render that fo;/
Not griping, or pinching himself,
To hoard up fuperfluitics;
Not coveting to keep in his poffeffion
What gives more difquietude, than pleasure;
But charitably diffusing it

To all round about him:

Making the moft forrowful countenance

To fmite

In his prefence;

Always beftowing more than he was afked,
Always imparting before he was debred;
Not proceeding in this manner
Upon every trivial fuggeftion,

But the moft mature and folemn deliberation ; With an incredible prefence and undauntedneis of mind;

With an inimitable gravity and economy of face;

Bidding loud defiance

To politeness and the fashion,
Dared let a f-t.

H

To a FRIEND.

'AVE you ne'er feen, my gentle squire, The humours of your kitchen fire? Says Ned to Sal, "I lead a spade, Why don't ye play ?—the gir!'s afraidPlay fomething-any thing-but playis but to pais the time awayPhoo-how the ftands-biting her nailsAs though the play'd for hali her vails— Sorting her cards, hagling and picking— We play for nothing, do ns chicken ?> That card will do 'blood never doubt it, It's not worth while to think about,it "

Sal thought, and thought, and miss'd her aim, And Ned, ne'er fludying, won the game.

Methinks, old friend, 'tis wondrous true
That verfe is but a game at loo.
White many a bard, that fhews fo clearly
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to ftudy, fret and toil;

nd play for nothing, all the while :
Or pralle/at moft, for wreaths of yore
Ne'er lignify'd a farthing more:
Till, having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He fees your flying pen obtain it.

Through fragrant fcenes the trifler roves
And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves:
Where with trange heats his bolom glows,
And myftic flames the God beflows.
You now none other flame require,
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verles to defy the forners,
In fhit-houfes and chimney-corners.

Sal found her deep-laid fchemes were vain—
The cards are cut-come deal again-
No good comes on it when one lingers-
I'll play the cards come next my fingers-
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When the had left it wholly to her.

Well, now who wins ?-why, fill the fameFor Sa has loft another game.

"I've done; (fhe mutter'd) I was faying,

It did not arguty my playing.

Some folks will win, they cannot chufe,

But think or not think-1ome mult lofe.

I may have won a game or is

But then it was all age ago
It ne'er will be my lot ag in-
I won it of a baby then-
Give me an ace of trumps and fee,
Our Ned will beat me with a three.
'Tis att by tuck that things are carry'd-
He'll fuffer for it, when he's marry'd."

Thus Sal, with tears in either eye;
While victor Ned fat tuttering by.

hus 1, long envying your fuccefs,
And beat to write and Rudy lols,
Sate down and fcribo ed in a trice,
Just what you fe-and you delpife.

You,

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