UPON PLAYING AT OMBRE

I

WITH TWO

LADIES.

KNOW that Fortune long has wanted fight,
And therefore pardon'd when the did not right;
But yet till then it never did appear,

That, as fhe wanted eyes, fhe could not hear;
I begg'd that he would give me leave to lose,
A thing he does not commonly refuse !
Two matadores are out against my game,
Yet ftill I play, and still my luck's the fame;
Unconquer'd in three fuits it does remain,
Whereas I only afk in one to gain;

Yet fhe, ftill contradicting, gifts imparts,
And gives fuccefs in every fuit-but Hearts.

CUPID'S

PROMISE,

A FRENCH SONG, paraphrafed.

SOFT Cupid, wanton, amorous boy,

The other day, mov'd with my lyre,

In flattering accents spoke his joy,
And utter'd thus his fond defire.

Oh! raife thy voice! one Song I ask ;
Touch then thy harmonious firing:

To Thyrfis easy is the task,

Who can fo fweetly play and fing.

Two

Two kiffes from my mother dear,

Thyrfis, thy due reward fhall be ;
None, none, like Beauty's Queen is fair,
Paris has vouch'd this truth for me.

I ftrait reply'd, Thou know'ft alone
That brightest Chloe rules my breaf,
I'll fing the Two instead of One,

If thou 'lt be kind, and make me bleft.
One kifs from Chloe's lips, no more,
I crave: He promis'd me fuccefs;
I play'd with all my skill and power,
My glowing paflion to exprefs.
But, oh my Chloe, beauteous maid!
Wilt thou the wifh'd reward bestow?
Wilt thou make good what Love has said,
And, by thy grant, his power fhow?

TO THE EARL OF OXFORD.

Written extempore, in Lady OXFORD's Study, 1717.

PEN, ink, and wax, and paper, fend

To the kind wife, the lovely friend :
Smiling, bid her freely write

What her happy thoughts indite;
Of virtue, goodness, peace, and love,
Thoughts which angels may approve.

A LETTER to the Honourable Lady MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY, when a Child.

Y noble, lovely, little Peggy,

MY

Let this my first epistle beg you,
At dawn of morn and close of even,
To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.
In double beauty say your prayer:
Our Father first,-then, Notre Pere:
And, deareft child, along the day,
In every thing you do and fay,
Obey and please my lord and lady,
So God shall love, and Angels aid ye.
If to thefe precepts you attend,
No fecond letter need I fend,

And fo I reft your conftant friend.

}

LINES Written under the Print of Toм BRITTON the Sinall-coal-man, painted by Mr. WOOLASTON.

THO

HOUGH doom'd to fmall-coal, yet to arts ally'd, Rich without wealth, and famous without pride; Mufick's beft patron, judge of books and men, Belov'd and honour'd by Apollo's train : In Greece or Rome fure never did appear So bright a genius, in fo dark a fphere: More of the man had artfully been fav'd, Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue grav'd.

TRUTH

TOLD

LAST.

TRUTH

AT

AYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife,

SA

"You never yet told me one truth in your life." Vext Pontia no way could this thesis allow,

"You're a Cuckold, fays fhe; do I tell you truth now?”

Written in Lady HowE's Ovid's Epiftles. HOWEVER high, however cold, the fair, However great the dying lover's care,

to move,

Ovid, kind author, found him fome relief,
Rang'd his unruly fighs, and fet his grief
Taught him what accents had the power
And always gain'd him pity, fometimes love.
But, oh! what pangs torment the deftin'd heart,
That feels the wound, yet dares not fhew the dart!
What care could Ovid to his forrows give,

Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live?

AN

I

EPISTLE,

1716.

Pray, good Lord Harley, let Jonathan know,
How long you intend to live incognito.

Your humble fervant,

ANOTHER

ELKANAH SETTLE.

EPISTLE.

Pray, Lady Harriot, the time to affign
When she shall receive a turkey and chine;
That a body may come to St. James's, to dine.

T

TRUE'S

ЕРІТАРН.

IF wit or honefty could fave

Our mouldering afhes from the grave,
This ftone had still remain'd unmark'd,
I ftill writ profe, True ftill have bark’d.
But envious Fate has claim'd its due,
Here lies the mortal part of True;
His deathlefs virtues muft furvive,
To better us that are alive.

His prudence and his wit were feen
In that, from Mary's grace and mien,
He own'd the power, and lov'd the Queen.
By long obedience he confeft

That ferving her was to be bleft.-
Ye murmurers, let True evince

That men are beafts, and dogs have sense !
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
He ne'er could fawn or flatter thofe

Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes:

Ne'er fkulk'd from whence his fovereign led him,
Or fnarl'd against the hand that fed him.—
Read this, ye ftatesmen now in favour,

And mend your own, by True's behaviour!

EPIGRAM.

}

O Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his letters,
And thought they were fafe in the hands of his

betters.

How happen'd it then that the packets were loft?
These were Knights of the Garter, not Knights of the

Poft.

THE