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But diff'rent Scenes his gloomy Journey show
To the deep Regions of Infernal Woe:
The chorded Instrument he wakes, and Sings
With Voice Divine, responsive to the Strings.

Then Heart-Sick Agony uprear'd her Head,
And Care fat smiling on his Iron Bed;
Convulsive Pain, that wont with restless Woe,
To writh her tortur'd Body to and fro,
The Smart remitted which she felt before,
Lean'd on her Hand, and listen'd to his Lore.
As sharp Revenge his Iron Weapon swung,
He heard; the Blow in Air suspended hung.
Pale Fear, that ever doubtful of Surprize,
Unweary'd, rollid the Quickness of her Eyes,
Shudd'ring, and starting oft from Place to Place,
Stood ftill, and fix'd her Sight on Orpheu's Face.
Despairing Love, (for Love this World invades)
Self-Nain, the saddest object of the Shade,
Was figur'd straying on a lonely Plain,
And bending seem'd to meet the wafted Strain,
He look'd, as waking from bewilderd Thought;
And in his Arms the fleeting Æther caught.

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Of the Twenty-Seventh Ode


Third Book of Horace.

Impios parre recinentis Omen,
Ducat, &c.

AY noisy Rakes affront the Jades,
Who go to carry on their Trades,

At Belvidere's, or Fox-Hall;

And may Eternal Billingsgate, Be those unlucky Swingers Fate,

Who in Coision Pox-All


II. May

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May Drury-Nymphs meet Sailors Caree And once in earnest say their Pray'rs,

When toft by raging Billows May Mantue-Makers, when got looss, Meet the feverest Tongue-abuse,

Of Smutty-talking Fellows.

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But, Phillis, Thou (might I advise) Should'st, by Example, be more wise,

Than once to go on Board; Nor heed what thy Old Aunt will say, When she to Kingston for a Day,

Would go to fee My Lord,


In vain upon the Silver Thames,
The Pleasure-Boat divides the Streams;

With Oars and Sails made Guwdy; Since ev'ry Tongue has License free, Each School-Boy has a Liberty,

To vent his Wit in Bawdy.


A Tradesman's Wife, perhaps o'th' City,
Might like this way of being Witty,

To hear what People can say; 1
And when she hears a Smutty Foke,
Straight her Imagination's ftruck,

It tickles MADAM's Fancy.

Don't you remember Betty Brown,
Whilom a mighty Toast in Town,

Tho' now of scanty Fame;
How first her Grandmother convey'd her,
On Board a pair of Oars, and made her
In Surrey do

that same?

VII. .

The B A W D, indeed, had much ado,
To make th' Untoward Thing come to,

Spight of her Patron's Bounties;
But she bethought her 'twas an Earl,
And where's that unambitious Girl,

That would not nose a Countess?



But when his Lordship had bereft her,
Of all he'd have, he fairly left her,

Poffest with Thousand Furies;
First cursing one, and then the other,
She spard not Him, nor her Grandmother,

But call'd her damn'd Procuressa.


I guess'd, I thought what he would do
And yet your Point you would pursue,

Fresh Arguments still urgingi,
Your Reasons furę were very good,
Thus to seduce your Flesh and Blood,

And ruin a poor Virgin

But am I sure that He has don't
Oh! yes, I was not dreaming on't,

I feel my curst Condition;
Alas! these Lords are full of Danger,
And many a One has brought a Stranger,

To lodge with foul Physician. .

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