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Who, like her miftrefs on Britannia's throne,
Fights and fubdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise you but in vain effay ;
Ev'n while you write, you take that praise away: 10
Light to the stars the fun does thus restore,
But shines himself till they are seen no more.

* 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.

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STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY, 1718.

STELLA this day is thirty-four,

(We fha'n't difpute a year or more):
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Altho' thy fize and years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at fixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green,
So little is thy form declin'd;
Made up fo largely in thy mind.

Oн, would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, fize, and years, and wit!
No
age could furnish out a pair

Of nymphs fo graceful, wife, and fair;
With half the luftre of your eyės,

With half your wit, your years, and fize.

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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.

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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,
And like the liquor and the meat,
Will call again, and recommend
The Angel inn to ev'ry friend.
What tho' the painting grows decay'd?

The houfe will never lofe its trade:
Nay, tho' the treach'rous tapfter Thomas
Hangs a new angel two doors from us,
As fine as dawber's hands can make it,
In hopes that strangers may mistake it,
We think it both a shame and fin
To quit the true old Angel-inn.

Now this is Stella's cafe in fact:

An angel's face a little crack'd;
(Could poets, or could painters fix
How angels look at thirty-fix) :
This drew us in at firft to find
In fuch a form an angel's mind;
And ev'ry virtue now fupplies
The fainting rays of Stella's eyes.
See at her levee crouding fwains,
Whom Stella freely entertains
With breeding, humour, wit and fenfe;
And puts them but to fmall expence ;
Their mind fo plentifully fills,
And makes fuch reasonable bills,

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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,
When Doll hangs out a newer face;
Or stop and light at Cloe's head,
With fcraps and leavings to be fed?
THEN, Cloe, ftill go on to prate
Of thirty-fix, and thirty-eight;
Purfue your trade of fcandal-picking,
Your hints, that Stella is no chicken ;,
Your innuendos, when you tell us,
That Stella loves to talk with fellows:

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And let me warn you to believe

That, fhould you live to fee the day
When Stella's locks must all be gray,
When age muft print a furrow'd trace
On ev'ry feature of her face;
Tho' you, and all your fenfelefs tribe

A truth, for which your foul fhould grieve;

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Could art, or time, or nature bribe,
To make you look like beauty's Queen,

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And hold for ever at fifteen;

No bloom of youth can ever blind

mind;

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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 gravely fat me down to think :
I bit my nails, and scratch'd my head,
But found my wit and fancy fled :
Or, if with more than usual pain,
A thought came flowly from my brain,
It coft me Lord knows how much time
To shape it into fenfe and rhyme:
And, what was yet a greater curfe,
Long thinking made my fancy worse.
FORSAKEN by th' inspiring Nine,

I waited at Apollo's fhrine:

I told him what the world would fay,
If Stella were unfung to day;

-How I fhould hide my head for shame,

When both the Jacks and Robin came;

How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer,
n the rogue would fneer,

How Sh-
And fwear it does not always follow,
That femel'n anno ridet Apollo.

I have affur'd them twenty times,
That Phoebus help'd me in my rhymes;
Phoebus infpir'd me from above,
And he and I were hand and glove.
But, finding me fo dull and dry fince,
They'll call it all poetic licence;

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I furnish hints, and you should use all 'em,

VOL. VI.

L

You yearly fing as she grows old,
You'd leave her virtues half untold,

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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,
That, let what Dean foever come,

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My orders are, I'm not at home;

And, if

your voice had not been loud,

;

You must have pass'd among the croud.
But now, your danger to prevent,
You must apply to Mrs Brent *
For fhe, as priestess, knows the rites
Wherein the god of earth delights.
Firft, nine ways looking, let her ftand
With an old poker in her hand;
Let her defcribe a circle round
In Saunder's + cellar on the ground:
A fpade let prudent Archy † hold,
And with discretion dig the mould:
Let Stella look with watchful eye,
Rebecca, Ford, and Grattons by.

**

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.

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