Let Warwick's mufe with Afh And Ozel's with Lord Hervey's, L- himself, that lively lord, -t join, Shall join with F- in one accord, I Ye ladies too draw forth your pen ; Since Now, Tonfon, lift thy forces all, Review them, and tell nofes: For to poor Ovid shall befal A ftrange metamorphosis; A metamorphofis more ftrange Than all his books can vapour 60 65 70 "To what," (quoth 'fquire)" fhall Ovid change?" 75 Quoth Sandys, To wajie paper. *U M B R A. CLOSE to the best-known author Umbra fits, The conftant index to all Button's wits. Obl Who's here? cries Umbra: only Johnson- 5 Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies. : Then up comes Steele he turns upon his heel, But cries as foon, Dear Dick, I must be gone; DUKE UPON DUK E. An excellent new Ballad. To the Tune of Chevy-Chace. TO lordings proud I tune my lay, Who feaft in bow'r or hall : Tho' Dukes they be, to Dukes I fay, Now, that this fame it is right footh, From what befel John Duke of Guife, And Nic. of Lancastere. When Richard Coeur-de-Lion reign'd, 5 A word and blow was then enough: If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff; 35. 1 Look in their face, they tweak'd your nofe, At every turn fell to't; Come near, they trod upon your toes; They fought from head to foot. Of these the Duke of Lancastere Stood paramount in pride; He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod His foes, and friends befide. Firm on his front his beaver fate ; So broad, it hid his chin; For why he deem'd no man his mate, With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek, No vixen civet-cat fo fweet, Nor could fo fcratch and tear.. Right tall he made him felf to fhow, 20 25 30 Oh, thus it was: He lov'd him dear, 40 Forthwith he drench'd his defp'rate quill, 45 "This eve at whisk ourself will play, "Sir Duke! be here to-night." Ah no! ah no! the guilelefs Guife Demurely did reply; I cannot go, nor yet can ftand, So fore the gout have I. The Duke in wrath call'd for his fteeds, And fiercely drove them on; 50 Lord! Lord! how rattled then thy ftones, 55 O kingly Kenfington! i... All in a trice he rush'd on Guife, Thruft out his lady dear; He tweak'd his nofe, trod on his toes, And fmote him on the ear. But mark, how 'midst of victory Fate plays her old dog trick! Up leap'd Duke John, and knock'd him down, And fo down fell Duke Nic. Alas, oh Nic.! oh Nic. alas! Right did thy goffip call thee: As who fhould fay, Alas the day For on thee did he clap his chair, And on that chair did fit; Up didft thou look, oh woeful Duke! Thy mouth yet durst not ope, Certes for fear of finding there Ad, instead of trope. "Lie there, thou caitiff vile! quoth Guife; No Jheet is here to fave thee: "The cafement it is fhut likewife; 66 Beneath my feet I have thee. "If thou haft aught to speak, speak out." Then Lancastere did cry, "Know'st thou not me, nor yet thyself? "Who thou, and who am I? "Know'st thou not me, who (God be prais'd) "Have brawl'd and quarrell'd more, 85 "Than all the line of Lancaftere, "That battled heretofore? "In fenates fam'd for many a fpeech, "And (what fome awe muft give ye, "Tho' laid thus low beneath thy breech), "Still of the council privy; Still of the duchy chancellor ; "Durante life I have it ; "And turn, as now thou doft on me, But now the fervants they rufh'd in ; To-morrow with thee will I fight And now the fun declining low Beftreak'd with blood the fkies; When, with his fword at faddle-bow, 95 100 105 |