Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two ;
In age, at length, grows weak and fick,
For his third leg adopts a stick.

Now, in your turn, 'tis juft, methinks,
You should refolve me, Madam Sphinx.
What greater ftranger yet is he,

Who has four legs, then two, then three;
Then lofes one, then gets two more,
And runs away at last on four?

EPIGR A M, Extempore,

To the Master of ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE*, 1712.

I food, Sir, patient at your feet,

Before your elbow-chair;

But make a bishop's throne your feat,
I'll kneel before you there.

One only thing can keep you down,
For your great foul too mean;

You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne,
Pay homage to the Queen.

* See the history of this epigram, Gent. Mag. 1774, P 16.

+ Mr. Prior, though he paid a becoming deference to the Master of St. John's as a Fellow of that College, thought fome refpect was due to the public character which he had just before fuftained in France.

NELL

NELL AND JOH N.

WHEN Nell, given o'er by the Doctor, was dying,

And John at the chimney stood decently crying; 'Tis in vain, faid the woman, to make such ado, For to our long home we must all of us go!

True, Nell, reply'd John; but, what yet is the worst
For us that remain, the best always go first :
Remember, dear wife, that I faid so last year,
When you loft your white heifer, and I my brown mare!

BIBO

WHEN

AND CHARO N.

HEN Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, As full of champagne as an egg 's full of meat, He wak'd in the boat; and to Charon he said, He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead. Trim the boat, and fit quiet, ftern Charon reply'd: You may have forgot, you was drunk when you dy'd.

WIVES by the Dozen.

DEATH! how thou fpoil'ft the best project of life!
Said Gabriel, who ftill, as he bury'd one wife,
For the fake of her family, marry'd her coufin;
And thus, in an honeft collateral line,

He ftill marry'd on till his number was nine,
Full forry to die till he made up his dozen.

VOL. II.

R

FATAL

FATA L

LOVE.

POOR Hal caught his death, standing under a spout,

. Expecting till midnight, when Nan would come out; But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,

And curs'd was the weather that quench'd the man's flame.

Whoe'er thou art, that read'st these moral lines, Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.

A SAILOR'S

WIFE.

Q

UOTH Richard in jeft, looking wiftly at Nelly,
Methinks, child, you feem fomething round in
the belly!

Nell anfwer'd him fnappifhly, How can that be,
When my husband has been more than two years at fea?
Thy husband! quoth Dick: why that matter was carry'd
Moft fecretly, Nell; Ine'er thought thou wert marry'd.

On a FART, let in the House of Commons.

READER, I was born, and cry'd;

I crack'd, I fmelt, and fo I dy'd.

Like Julius Cæfar's was my death,
Who in the Senate loft his breath.
Much alike entomb'd does lie

The noble Romulus and I:

And when I dy'd, like Flora fair,
I left the Commonwealth my heir.

THE

THE

MODERN SAINT.

HER time with equal prudence Silvia shares,

Firft writes a billet-doux, then fays her prayers; Her mafs and toilet; vefpers and the play; Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the day : Conftant fhe keeps her Ember-week and Lent, At Eafter calls all Ifrael to her tent: Loofe without bawd, and pious without zeal, She still repeats the fins fhe would conceal. Envy herself from Silvia's life muft grant, An artful woman makes a Modern Saint.

THE PARA LLE L.

PR

ROMETHEUS, forming Mr. Day,
Carv'd fomething like a man in clay.
The mortal's work might well miscarry ;

HE, that does Heaven and earth control,
Alone has power to form a foul,
His hand is evident in Harry.

Since one is but a moving clod,
T'other the lively form of God;
'Squire Wallis, you will scarce be able,
To prove all poetry but fable.

LADY,

TO A YOUNG

Who was fond of FORTUNE - TELLING.

YOU, Madam, may with fafety go,

Decrees of destiny to know;

For at your birth kind planets reign'd,
And certain happiness ordain'd :
Such charms as yours are only given
To chosen favourites of Heaven.

But, fuch is

my

uncertain ftate,
'Tis dangerous to try my fate;
For I would only know from art,
The future motions of your heart,
And what predeftinated doom
Attends my love for years to come;
No fecrets elfe, that mortals learn,
My cares deferve, or life concern:
But this will fo important be,

I dread to fearch the dark decree;
For, while the fmalleft hope remains,
Faint joys are mingled with my pains;
Vain distant views my fancy please,
And give some intermitting ease:
But, fhould the ftars too plainly show
That you have doom'd my endless woe,
No human force, or art, could bear
The torment of my wild defpair.

This fecret then I dare not know,
And other truths are useless now.
What matters, if unbleft in love,
How long or fhort my life will prove?