UPON PLAYING AT OMBRE I WITH TWO LADIES. KNOW that Fortune long has wanted fight, That, as fhe wanted eyes, fhe could not hear; Yet fhe, ftill contradicting, gifts imparts, 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, Oh! raife thy voice! one Song I ask ; 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 ; I ftrait reply'd, Thou know'ft alone If thou 'lt be kind, and make me bleft. 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 : What her happy thoughts indite; 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, 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, Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live? AN I EPISTLE, 1716. Pray, good Lord Harley, let Jonathan know, Your humble fervant, ANOTHER ELKANAH SETTLE. EPISTLE. Pray, Lady Harriot, the time to affign T TRUE'S ЕРІТАРН. IF wit or honefty could fave Our mouldering afhes from the grave, His prudence and his wit were feen That ferving her was to be bleft.- That men are beafts, and dogs have sense ! Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes: Ne'er fkulk'd from whence his fovereign led him, And mend your own, by True's behaviour! EPIGRAM. } O Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his letters, betters. How happen'd it then that the packets were loft? Poft. THE |