Who, like her miftrefs on Britannia's throne, * EPIGRA A M. A Bishop by his neighbours hated, Has caufe to with himfelf tranflated: But why fhould Hough defire tranflation, Lov'd and esteem'd by all the nation? YET, if it be the old man's case, I'll lay my life, I know the place : "Tis where God fent fome that adore him, And whether Enoch went before him. 5 STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY, 1718. STELLA this day is thirty-four, (We fha'n't difpute a year or more): Oн, would it please the gods to split Of nymphs fo graceful, wife, and fair; With half your wit, your years, and fize. 5 And then, before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle fate, (That either nymph might have her fwain), To fplit my Worship too in twain. STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY, 1720. ALL travellers at firft incline Where-e'er they see the faireft fign; And, if they find the chambers neat, The houfe will never lofe its trade: Now this is Stella's cafe in fact: An angel's face a little crack'd; : 5 10 15 20 25 So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how the lives! And, had her ftock been lefs, no doubt She must have long ago run out. THEN who can think we'll quit the place, 30 35 40 And let me warn you to believe That, fhould you live to fee the day A truth, for which your foul fhould grieve; 45 Could art, or time, or nature bribe, 50 And hold for ever at fifteen; No bloom of youth can ever blind mind; 55 The cracks and wrinkles of your All men of fenfe will pafs your door, And croud to Stella's at fourscore. STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY; A great bottle of wine, long buried, being that day dug up. 1722. ESOLV'D my annual verfe to pay, RE By duty bound, on Stella's day, Furnish'd with paper, pens, and ink, I waited at Apollo's fhrine: I told him what the world would fay, -How I fhould hide my head for shame, When both the Jacks and Robin came; How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer, How Sh- I have affur'd them twenty times, 5 10 15 20 25 I furnish hints, and you should use all 'em, VOL. VI. L You yearly fing as she grows old, 40 But, to say truth, such dulness reigns, 'Thro' the whole fet of Irish deans, I'm daily ftunn'd with such a medley, Dean W, Dean D, and Dean Smedley, 45 My orders are, I'm not at home; And, if your voice had not been loud, ; You must have pass'd among the croud. ** BEHOLD the bottle, where it lies With neck elated tow'rds the skies! The god of winds and god of fire Did to its wondrous birth confpire; And Bacchus for the poet's use Pour'd in a strong infpiring juice. See! as you raise it from its tomb, It drags behind a spacious womb, And in the spacious womb contains A fov'reign med'cine for the brains. The housekeeper. The footman. **Friends of the author. + The butler. A lady, friend to Stella. 50 55 60 65 70 |