And hafted forward to pursue
Fresh objects fairer to his view;
In hope to spring some nobler game;
But all he took was just the same :
Too fcornful now to stop his pace,
He spurn'd them in his rival's face.
Poffeffion kept the beaten road;
And gather'd all his brother strow'd;
But overcharg'd, and out of wind,
Though ftrong in limbs, he lagg'd behind.
Defire had now the goal in fight :
It was a tower of monstrous height ;
Where on the fummit Fortune stands,
A crown and fceptre in her hands;
Beneath a chafm as deep as hell,
Where many a bold adventurer fell.
Defire in rapture gaz'd a while,
And faw the treacherous goddess smile;
But, as he climb'd to grasp the crown,
She knock'd him with the fceptre down.
He tumbled in the gulph profound;
There doom'd to whirl an endless round.
Poffeffion's load was grown fo great,
He funk beneath the cumberous weight:
And, as he now expiring lay,
Flocks every ominous bird of prey;
The raven, vulture, owl, and kite,
At once upon his carcafe light,
And, strip his hide, and pick his bones,
Regardless of his dying groans.
CENSURE. 1727.
E wife, inftruct me to endure
An evil, which admits no cure;
Or, how this evil can be borne,
Which breeds at once both hate and fcorn.
Bare innocence is no fupport,
When you are try'd in Scandal's court.
Stand high in honour, wealth, or wit :
All others, who inferior fit,
Conceive themselves in confcience bound
To join, and drag you to the ground.
Your altitude offends the eyes
Of those who want the power to rise.
The world, a willing stander-by,
Inclines to aid a fpecious lye :
Alas! they would not do you wrong;
But all appearances are strong!
Yet whence proceeds this weight we lay
On what detracting people say?
For let mankind discharge their tongues
In venom, till they burft their lungs,
Their utmost malice cannot make
Your head, or tooth, or finger ake;
Nor fpoil your fhape, diftort your face,
put one feature out of place;
Nor will you find your fortune fink
By what they speak or what they think;
Nor can ten hundred thousand lyes
Make you lefs virtuous, learn'd, or wife.
The most effectual way to baulk
Their malice, is—to let them talk,
Set of phrafes learnt by rote;
A paffion for a scarlet-coat ;
When at a play to laugh, or cry,
Yet cannot tell the reason why;
Never to hold her tongue a minute,
While all the prates has nothing in it;
Whole hours can with a coxcomb fit,
And take his nonsense all for wit;
Her learning mounts to read a fong,
But half the words pronouncing wrong;
Hath every repartee in store
She spoke ten thousand times before;
Can ready compliments supply
On all occafions, cut and dry;
Such hatred to a parson's gown,
The fight will put her in a fwoon;
For converfation well endued,
She calls it witty to be rude;
And, placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing;
Nor make a fcruple to expofe
Your bandy leg, or crooked nofe;
Can at her morning tea run o'er
The fcandal of the day before;
Improving hourly in her skill,
To cheat and wrangle at quadrille.
In chufing lace, a critick nice,
Knows to a groat the lowest price;
Can in her female clubs difpute,
What linen beft the filk will fuit,
What colours each complexion match,
And where with art to place a patch.
If chance a mouse creeps in her fight,
Can finely counterfeit a fright;
So fweetly screams, if it comes near her,
She ravishes all hearts to hear her.
Can dextrously her husband tease,
By taking fits whene'er the please ;
By frequent practice learns the trick
proper feafons to be fick ;
Thinks nothing gives one airs so pretty,
At once creating love and pity;
If Molly happens to be carelefs,
And but neglects to warm her hair-lace,
She gets a cold as fure as death,
And vows fhe scarce can fetch her breath;
Admires how modeft women can
Be fo robuftious, like a man.
In party, furious to her power;
A bitter Whig, or Tory four;
Her arguments directly tend
Against the side she would defend;
Will prove herself a Tory plain,
From principles the Whigs maintain;
And, to defend the Whiggish caufe,
Her topicks from the Tories draws,
O yes! if any man can find.
More virtues in a woman's mind,
Let them be fent to Mrs. Harding*.
'She'll pay the charges to a farthing;
Take notice, fhe has
To add them in the next edition;
They may out-fell a better thing:
So, halloo, boys; God fave the king!
CLEVER TOM CLINCH
GOING TO BE HANGED. 1727.
As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling,
Rode stately through Holbourn to die in his calling,
He ftopt at The George for a bottle of fack,
And promis'd to pay for it when he came back.
His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches, were white;
His cap had a new cherry ribband to tye't.
The maids to the doors and the balconies ran,
And faid, "Lack-a-day! he's a proper young man!"
But, as from the windows the ladies he spy'd,
Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each fide;
And, when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry,
He fwore from his cart, "It was all a damn'd lye !”
The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee;
gave him a kick in the guts for his fee :
Widow of John Harding, the Drapier's printer. N
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